Sunday, July 01, 2007

40 Day Fast




Fasting for me is usually a very private matter. Normally, I fast secretly with a specific focus on a prayer intention. Not today and tomorrow, however. I will be tooting my horn and fasting from now until July 3 for Compassion International, because all day long I believed in my heart of hearts it was June 30, instead of July 1, the day I am on for this important 40 Day Fast.

I ask you not to think about it and forget soon after, but go now and sponsor a child at their website. Any charity watchdog organization knows these people are all about releasing children from poverty for real. Our family sponsors three boys and a girl just like my own little brood. It's a little like adoption without all the work.

I'll focus the rest of my post on a particular day I gained perspective and longed to see a nation released from poverty. My son and I took a trip to China a few years ago. One day we spent holding babies, blowing bubbles, spooning food, comforting toddlers, and looking through books with older disabled children in an orphanage there. It was privately paid for by Americans with half given to the Chinese. The grounds, the buildings, the rooms ,full of toys and fun, were pristine. The children were clean, well loved, and well cared for. My son and I were only permitted inside the upstairs part of the orphanage still run through American funding though we were guided to lunch through the Chinese section. The construction of open windows allowed us to view the children downstairs as well. It was a stark contrast to the upstairs in that nothing was painted brightly, there was nothing in the rooms at all except a table and chairs, and there were not nearly as many staff members tending children. Still the experience in no way screamed "tragic" like the depictions of horrific conditions of Russian orphanages my husband has visited.

But here's the tragedy- the "why" behind Chinese children entering an orphanage in the first place. The Chinese "one child per family" rule creates a system of doom for smallest most vulnerable. Children with any problems at all are sometimes dumped, because they have some imperfection. For example, a child might happen to have the misfortune of being a girl. Boys grow up to be parent's means to "social security", and a girl certainly could not be expected to provide for parents in old age. So Chinese orphanages house many more females than males, and generally only healthy girls are to be adopted from their country. Special need boy adoptions are the exception, not the rule. Children with a cleft palate or another medically treatable disease become orphans, because parents simply could never afford to pay for surgeries. Also, physical imperfections lead to second or third class citizenship just like they do here in the U.S., so parents look for a healthy and whole boy to secure their future and abandon the lesser. The worst poverty of all is the children who are aborted, because parents cannot afford the government fines imposed for second children.

My son, Peace, looks a little pale in these pictures. Though he'd been full of life and exuberance on our adventurous mission, the orphange drained the color straight from his face. I had to pry a bit to find out why. Peace was completely embarrassed to tell me he'd never been around children with so many handicaps- eyes missing, helmets for seizures, holes where there weren't supposed to be in faces, missing arms or fingers. He hated passing by the children in the Chinese section of the orphanage believing those children were terribly neglected. He felt particularly uneasy while we fed the babies with cleft palates a greenish yellow goo, and thick globs would push back through the holes in their lips. He'd never seen anything so startling before, and I hadn't thought to explain things to him. Once I shared my insights and that most everything could be medically fixed or least made better when the children were adopted, he became much more comfortable. These children were the children with great promise for a future. I failed to mention to Peace the unborn aborted babies, and abandoned babies not found until too late or not at all.

All China's children are the ones I fast for tonight and tommorrow.

One of the children we sponsor from Compassion International is a Chinese boy who lives in much more dire circumstances than we encountered at the orphanage.

Should I?

I was wondering if I should:
1. squeeze into a blue denim jumper(I'd have to borrow one) and crisp white t-shirt
2. shove my massive amounts of hair under a head scarf
3. lace up my pristine white tennis shoes with starched white socks underneath
4. bring along a ruler
5. put on my schoolish school marm glasses
6. squeal my tires on my way into the parking lot of the little country church just down the road in Loudon, TN
7. slap the ruler sharply on the secretary's desk
8. demand she march out with me immediately into the parking lot to correct the misspelled word on the church sign

In Loveing Memory of...

9. then explain how I irritable I become when someone has forgotten to drop the "e" when adding an "ing"?

Friday, June 29, 2007

Pooh Bear discovered and demonstrated for me today that she doesn't have to move her lips at all to say, "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty." (try it) She's such a crack up.
Back from Nashville all edjumicated on Aquina's catagorization of the 4 Cardinal Virtues, Jesus' Miracles in light of the OT prophets, now, and Parousia. I'm also reacquainted with the struggles of (some of) the prophets. Sound like fun to you? It may not be your cup o' tea, but it's most definately mine. And the company at these gatherings is fabulous- like coming home. I also met someone for the first time who posts brilliantly on an email loop I own.

On the long drive home, Helen met me halfway in Cookeville for a little shopping, dinner at Crawdaddy's (yum!), and coffee at Poets. What do we have to talk about after 27 years of friendship? Nothing and everything. At Poet's, I noticed the ten year old serving us(okay maybe he was 16 but not a minute older) wore a Bonaroo bracelet. Because Helen had mentioned a high school friend of ours attended Bonaroo this year (do many old people like me seek that sort of event?), I asked the young server if he met any old men at the concert to get Helen's goat. Surprisingly, he mentioned holding a conversation for an hour with a 40 year old man. Odd, but funny. Helen and I asked about the Police, and the server quaintly replied, "They didn't have enough volume, but I liked them. I guess they aren't necessarily a rockin' band or anything though." If I hadn't already felt old, I did after that comment. Wasn't I just in a new white Scirroco beside high school buddies Brian, Jeff, and Helen with the new release of Roxanne cranked at such volume levels which can only explain my hearing loss today? Brian would hardly drive, because drumming the steering wheel held more significance than staying in the road. Memories evoked by this conversation at Poets only further my heartfelt hysteria of what my own children will be doing in the next 2 years or so.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

I can't breathe. My boy, Tater, leaves for France in nine days, and we've got boat loads to do. He's got reports due. We need to take a collection of daily life photos. He's got to make CD's of his favorite music. I have to buy him new sneakers and maybe another few pairs of shorts. The only shirt of the twenty he owns and likes to wear is his Underarmor which he left at a friend's house 45 minutes away yesterday. Arggh.

All the four children and their leader are coming here for a camp out Thursday while I'm away. I just hope Buck wipes the counters, keeps the floors swept, and the bathroom free from that hint of everpresent boy pee.

Friday I volunteer for registration at the SMHEA homeschool fair and catch up on my bread making supplies there. I may hit a workshop or two, since there are many about high school, which I'll begin teaching next year. I won't think about that today. I'll think about that tomorrow or next year even. Overwhelmin'.

We usually have everyone over for the 4th of July, and I don't know if I can pull it off with him leaving the very next day. Two friends have offered to have it at their homes for us, but Buck stands firm on tradition of celebrating here so far.

I'm pulling myself together for a course I'm auditing in Nashville on Thursday and another for another course I'm taking in July which has scores of assigned reading. Found a possibility of childcare for that time. God bless that family!

Tonight is a swim meet, and I don't look forward to having parents rib me for DQing their children...again.

I also have two other conflicts I need to work out haunting my mind when I'm not buzzing around.


So, with all this to do, I got my nails done. Shallow but satisfying.

Sunday, June 24, 2007

Whew. That was a close call.

Home improvements do not become me. The dark side of my impatience emerges at first sight of power tools directed toward my home. Buck and I have been married eighteen years, and it's still not easy for us to survive building projects.

I think Buck and I will stay married after all, though he hasn't completed the floors yet. We've made the daunting discovery that trim and doorway transitions are tedious and persnickity business, and Buck has nine doorways with which to contend.
Since he has to finally head back to work after a vacation to put in floors for me, it make take weeks to come by as much time as he needs to complete the task. I may have be forced to seek Yoda to help train me in the Jedi ways of patience in the mean time.

Tomorrow three children go to music camp in the mornings creating time for me to do some things I keep putting off for better days. My homeschool room needs some major attention in the areas of decluttering, organization, and carpet cleaning. However, I keep thinking of fun things I want to do instead like getting my nails done and having hot chocolate at Starbucks instead.

Last week when Miriam and I met to discuss a book at Starbucks, the young man behind the counter insisted I try the black and white chocolate with a squirt of cinnamon dolche after addressing me as "dude". "Dude, you don't just want hot chocolate. You want..." I was shocked into simply nodding my head "yes", because I have never been called a dude before. The irreverant cashier was right- his combination hot chocolate rocked.

About the book we're discussing, Blue Like Jazz. I'm four chapters in, and though I won't stop reading, I'm not digging the writing so far. It's jumpy and a tinge too negative for my pick of inspirational books. I'll blog more about it as I progress, since so many bloggers seem to love it.

Thursday, June 21, 2007

What am I up to? Obviously not blogging. I'm avoiding the place formerly known as my home. Hopefully in just one or two more days, I will not think of this space as chaos. My husband is putting down new floors in the kitchen and living room, so all of the furniture is crammed into children's rooms. Noone can walk anywhere, especially without shoes. I am ever so grateful for no ER trips as a result of stepping on nails thus far. My fridge has been squished in the laundry room, and my stove unplugged since Sunday. My kitchen sink or dishwasher have no water connected. Buck washed our few dishes in the laundry sink last night. No easy task as elbow room doesn't exist between a fridge, washer/dryer, and a kithcen hutch.

I am thankful to have such wonderful floors coming, but I am a grump when my nest is such a mess. I've been taking the kids on day trips to the park and to friends houses for hours upon hours of play to avoid power tools, sawdust, and overall disorder at home. Today is swim practice, book study with Miriam, and the evening will be consumed with a swim meet.

Buck needs help with the wiring of the diswasher and island, and finishing the tricky parts at the zillion doorways. I'm hoping and praying our expert builder will have enough time to get to these things with Buck tonight after his long tiring work day. Isn't it a blessing that we have a friend like that?

News from the pretend farm:
My children report a dozen new baby chicks under the wing of a leghorn mother hen. Peace says he watched them "fly" seven feet from the hayloft to the ground. I don't see those tiny birds survived the leap being so very fragile. Amazing creatures.

This momma hen talked softly to me just outside in the garden this morning as I harvested plenty of purple and yellow bush beans. I had no earthly idea she had twelve babies underneath her until my children mentioned it later. I also picked yellow and zuchinni squash and dill. The goats loved crunching the drying sugar snap pea vines I tossed to them.

Hope your day is blessed and may all your projects make progress today.

Monday, June 18, 2007


The Forty Day Fast begins June 22.

Forty days. Forty Bloggers. We are each taking a day to fast to consider world causes and blogging about our experience. Would you like to join us?

Sunday, June 17, 2007

You know you are in too deep with developing next year's science curriculum when a chapter in a Magnet book titled "Rubbing and Attracting" makes you laugh so hard you pee your pants (and you almost get kicked out of the library).

Saturday, June 16, 2007


I really was minding my own business, but my son, Peace's room is right next to mine. Both our doors had been open on this lazy Saturday afternoon while I worked on my computer, and I heard the snap and rattle of building lego ships coming from his door. In the background, I noticed Peace was listening to opera on the radio. I figured it was because he left his radio on after "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me" or "Says You". I was wrong. It's just because he likes opera. Once I gave it some thought, I realized I've heard him listening to it other days as well. Just as my mind began to ponder the exact origin of his opera listening, something happened which helped me clarify "the why" behind my thirteen year old son's selection of music. As the soprano on the recording sang the same note with short loud bursts in long succession of "ahh, ahh, ahh, ahhhh" my son matched the note and followed with his own voice. Only his sound pronunciation for each "ahh" came out "bwak, bwak, bwak, bwaaaak". Peace likes opera, because it sounds like chickens singing. Peace really likes chickens, and I've written this before- he's a chicken whisperer. Now it all makes complete sense.
Peace ran to my room to find out why I was laughing out loud, because he had no idea I'd been listening to his cheerful opera chicken session.

Garden update

Perhaps you heard the story on NPR yesterday about the drought in Tennessee. At our home, I'd say we've had 30 minutes total of good solid rain in the last month. No full summer showers days to cool the sweltering heat. A few drops of rain here and there once a week contains the only pitter patter of raindrops clunking on my tin roof. Even the big storms all around haven't hit our farm.

So, how does my garden even grow? We water with city water via sprinkler daily, and it's lookin' fine. I feel slightly guilty as there is a severe lawn watering limit in this county. We certainly do not water our lawn, and it looks nearly dead. A garden is not a lawn, but our area is feeling the drought squeeze, and I don't want to take more than my share.

From the garden, we've harvested some gorgeous zuchinni already, and gourmet bush beans are not far behind. Today I decided to give them a few more days, but it won't be long. Corn is tassling. There are blossoms on the cucumbers. Tomatoes are small and green. Nastursiums are in full bloom. Basil is ready for harvest, but I'm waiting to harvest with the tomatoes. Nothing like a tomato, basil, grilled cheese on sourdough. The clematis destroyed by the late frost has two huge blooms. I came across the fatality of my sole egg plant (noone eats it but me) this morning. Something has munched it to death. I replanted a watermelon to a better spot as it wasn't getting enough sunshine. Peppers and cantaloupe are progressing. Many sunflowers, black eyed Susan's, and zinnias are nearly ready to display their true magnificent colors. My circle garden of flowers outside my window does not prosper this year, because I do not water often enough. I started some purple coneflower in a pot which are ready to plant in my flower beds.

Wish me luck with my garden, but pray for rain in Tennessee. It's been a rough start for real farmers with the late frost and now thirsty land.

Friday, June 15, 2007

A post for Jana on science homeschooling

Dear Jana,
Before sixth grade, science is fun for me to teach. We live it, we breathe it here on our farm. It's bumping it up a notch to college preparation which I find so difficult.

I am afraid my personal lack of science enthusiasm will taint my boys.

I believe a teacher should enjoy their subject and feel at ease teaching it. Neither describes me regarding higher sciences. I'd much rather learn about Einstein's wife than his Theory of Relativity. My son with a bent toward science, needs to learn Relativity.

Looking over the library's collection of books, I can choose the ones which will work best rather than dry textbooks. I'm looking for the best "living books" as Charlotte Mason would say. Yes, I have read her and have actually made giant shifts in our home school because of her influence. For example, I purge our bookshelves of twaddle on a regular basis. Who gives us Disney books anyway?? I'd rather eat dirt than read a book about a cartoon. Also, Mason and Maria Montessori inspired me to move to our farm in order to live nature study. Our woods, garden, chickens, goats give us a direct connection to the natural world.

Back to science. At some point, "living books" become unavailable on Quantum Physics. In which case, I'll pick the best of the library's bunch before the school year begins.

I have to hold a book in my hand to evaluate it. It takes too much time to sort through books on the fly during the school year, so we're doing so ahead of time.

You should have seen my response to my son's seventh grade Bob Jones Physical Science text this year from his once a week co-op. At best, it bored me to tears. At worst, it's contents and perspectives irked me at times. My son, Peace, actually liked the durn course, but he had another teacher who loved the subject matter.

As for Sonlight, I've used it in the lower grades and enjoyed it very much. The activities and books were engaging and delightful. I love keeping the books around for my children to pick up and read now that we aren't using it anymore. Every book has been a winner in our family except one. In the end, I haven't find Sonlight academically rigorous enough for us, so we've switched to something which suits us better. I am not saying Sonlight is not academic enough for other families, because others may have better implementation than myself or need less practice in some skills than my boys.

So, Jana, do you homeschool middle or high school yet? If so, what works for you?

Aslan is on the move...

If you are local, don't miss The Word Player's production of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. I wasn't so sure how such an imaginative book could be adapted to a play, and I was not disappointed. The children and I went to the dress rehearsal last night, and each of us loved it. Though it's community theater, the script, the choreography of dance and fighting, the actors, costumes, make up, and props were all well done. The experience was delightful.

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Fantastic Niece's High School Graduation Party- enjoyed
Sweetest Two Year Old Nephew's Birthday- terrific
Visit with Buck's dear family- wonderful
Free hotel room provided by Buck's brother- generous
Visit to my sister and family- marvelous
Talented Niece's play- well done, girl!
Unexpected visit with an old friend- serendipitous
Missed visit with dear friend due to a death in the family- sad
Whirlwind 2-day trip to Cincinnati and home- amazing
Animals and garden tended by Hauna- grateful
Swim meet in which I disqualified two of my own children- melancholy
Science course planning for homeschooling- tedious


Sleeping in my own bed next to my husband with a few days off- priceless

Saturday, June 09, 2007

"I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day." -- E.B. White

I'm posting this quote to motivate myself. I woke up with much different things on my mind than improving and enjoying the world. I'm full of worry and lacking inspiration. Not the kind of worry produced by scary circumstances, but the overwhelmed kind. I'll be okay by Wednesday, but the next few days I have lots on my plate to take care of while Buck isn't fully functioning.

Thursday, June 07, 2007

Everyday Post

I have new carpet under my feet at this moment. The installers came this morning and transformed my bedroom from maroon nightmare into a peaceful space with neutral brown rectangled flooring. I've decided the paint color Buck and I slathered on the walls is exactly the color of a Blue Spruce tree. My eyes no longer ache from the clash of mismatched color.
Fabric for curtains still floats on a slow boat from China. Really. Once the container ship docks and send it's cargo to Short Sheet, making drapes will be the last piece of my room decorating frenzy- unless I come across reasonably priced and pretty computer desk or matching oval mirrors. Oh, I'd like a fuzzy matching blue throw for the end of my bed too.
Buck got some kind of deal on his face that makes him look positively miserable. Nevermind and no time for that, because he's had no choice but to move chests, tables, computers, desks, and a king sized bed. Hopefully, he can get some rest and relaxation at his work tomorrow. Oh, yeah, that probably won't be true either.
In another week or two, if Buck still wants to be married to me, we'll move on to flooring for the living room and kitchen.

Tonight is our first swim meet of the season. I have that same "stroke and turn judge angst" I got last year. Would it bother you at all to disqualify children who haven't figured out how to swim the butterfly legally yet?

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

Homeschool ramble

Today I join Claire in a mammoth homeschool project. She purchased an excellent series of lectures for high school science, and now she's taking notes on all the DVD's and forming questions. I may help some with this process. However, today, I will be Claire's data entry person. She's using my library card, her husband's, and her children's to consolidate Knox County Public Library's children's science collection. I will be finding and typing in several hundred book titles and having them sent to our branch. Next week, Claire and I will spend hours with those books, choosing which ones will best supplement concepts in the videos.

Why in the world should we go to all this trouble? Wouldn't sending our children to middle or high school do the trick? It might, but here are some reasons I'll homeschool next year.

1. My oldest son went to an excellent elementary school for kindergarten and first grade. His teachers, who were incredibly gifted and created love of learning in their classrooms, asked me to "practice" reading and math with Peace at home. Though he went to a great school for hours a day, honestly, I ended up being the one to teach him essential phonics and math facts for a few hours after school. After two years, I picked up on the trend, and so did he. Peace asked in the spring of his first grade year, "Mom I'm inside all day, and then I have to come home and study. When do I get to be outside? It's so pretty out there. Can't we homeschool?"
I realized quickly that when it came to the big and important skills, I would have to tutor my average son all through school. Teachers simply don't have time to keep up with all educational components of every single child. So why not let the nature boy study outside at home?

2. Secondly, the public school system in my county generally graduates student like mine (not incredibly academically self-motivated boys) to junior college if they go to college at all. I can motivate and tailor for college prep much more effectively as teacher than as tutor.

3. Private school is too expensive, especially for four children and one family income. I already struggle with relational parenting under normal everyday stress, so what would adding the responsibility of a job do to my family?

4. There are boxed curriculums out there, but so far, I've found them all boring. Why not make learning interesting? We'll do boring only if we can't figure out something better.

5. High school DVD courses are very expensive. We're talking between $500-$1,000 per course per year.

6. Who loves and cares about the success of my children more than Buck and I?


So, Claire and I will pour ourselves into weeks of science work to create something worthy and simple to implement for the coming school year. Wish us luck.

Monday, June 04, 2007

Posted on Lectio Diva this morning.

Sunday, June 03, 2007

The Best Thing I've Read All Day

After catching up on some reading for my Shepherd's Call work- a couple of sentences from History's Golden Thread, packed full of ten dollar words like "eschatology", "typology", and "progressive incarnation", I needed a little breather.

So, I began a book of lighter content titled Say Goodbye to Whining, Complaining, and Bad Attitudes in You and Your Kids by Turansky and Miller. The first few pages I found rather trite, but I gave it a few more pages to impress me. Impress me it did.

Here's a quote I may chew on for days from a father of eight named Mr. Porter:

"Families are made up of imperfect people," he began. "From infants to adults, each person has a tendency to make selfish choices. We've learned, though, that for every form of selfishness in a family there's an honor based solution. Honor thinks of what would please someone else and gives more than expected. It's putting someone else's needs above your own. Honor values others in tangible ways. Children can learn honor and so can parents. Sure, confrontation is till necessary, and discipline still takes work. But we've found that when we focus on developing honor, we see amazing results."

In all the struggles I've had in thirteen years of parenting, the best advice steadfastly comes back in positive form. Nagging doesn't honor. Getting louder and more angry doesn't honor. Force doesn't honor.

Honor is as clean and clear as a freshly bleached white cotton sheet blowing in a gentle breeze from a laundry line on a hot summer day- honoring relationships keep a constant bottom line of considering others at least equal or better than oneself and acting upon that belief. I'll be the person I'm made as this becomes my reality.

Saturday, June 02, 2007

Apron strings

I disparaged Pooh Bear's homemade apron in yesterday's post. Buck believed Goodwill might produce a child-sized well-sewn apron, so she and I looked around inside Goodwill while Buck dropped off some of our clutter for other people to buy to decorate or clutter their house. I must admit my lack of faith that Goodwill would have a selection of aprons for Pooh Bear to choose, because I've looked before and have never found a single apron for her or myself. I really would like one to wear while cooking, but I will refuse unless it's:
1. pretty
2. two dollars or less
I want nothing to do with a bright orange apron with HOME DEPOT written across my breasts or an inane saying like, "Chefs Make Better Lovers." Oh, brother. The colors musn't clash with my kitchen or offend my sense of beauty. Nor do I want something so expensive, it would rattle me to get tomato sauce smeared upon it.

The Goodwill muse did not choose bless me with glam cooking garb yesterday, but she did fly near to Pooh Bear. I couldn't miss a gigantic, floppy-eared, country bunny, the exact size of Pooh Bear. I noticed the animal sported a lacey calico dress overlayed with nothing less than white fru fru apron. I promptly tested to see if the apron could be removed from the stuffed bunny, and viola! It was easily untied and parted from the bunny's ensemble. I called Pooh Bear over for her to try it on. A perfect fit. Her expression was a mix of disbelief and euphoria, "Do you think we could buy this, Mommy?" We tied the apron back on the bunny and both of us skipped with glee to the front of the store hand in hand. Okay, Pooh Bear skipped, and I walked fast. I approached the register,"I want to buy the bunny, take it's apron off, and give the bunny back to Goodwill if that's okay with you." The sales lady scrunched up her face and inquired, "I'll let you just by the apron, but why?" I asked the clerk if she liked the Wizard of Oz as much as Pooh Bear, and waved my hand down to Pooh Bear's outfit. "Oh, I see the ruby slippers. You're doing the Dorothy thing. That'll be two dollars."

Pooh Bear got quite a few compliments at Wal-mart and the carpet store. One lady went out of her way to ask Pooh Bear, "Where can one find a Dorothy outfit like yours? I wish I had one." When Pooh Bear smiled like the Cheshire Cat and shrugged her shoulders at the lady, I answered, "Hand-me-downs, Goodwill, a fuzzy dog from a stuffed animal collection, and an old Easter basket should work for you too."

Friday, June 01, 2007

Imperfect

A dear old friend of mine told me she just couldn't bring herself to read my blog. She left me with the impression that it intimidated her somehow, and I didn't understand.

I think I understand a little better now.

This morning, I visited a perfect blog written by a perfect and beautiful blogger with a perfect life. She posted gorgeous pictures of herself and her family. She wrote about her historic restored house, blissful homeschool experience, classic and impeccable taste in all things vintage. I swear I looked for just one post or picture with a hint of a tiny flaw, but there were none.

Was I somehow jealous? Maybe. Will I visit her blog again? No way, because I picked up a cruel measuring stick too long for myself while lurking there.

I realize now that my dear old friend must have found that same unkind ruler for herself on my blog. And though I wish I could, I cannot remove it from her hands.

So, today I wanted to mention that I bite my fingernails terribly. I take for granted those I love much too often. I must spray chicken poop from my sidewalk every single day. I have never cleaned the outside of my windows in the four years I've lived at my house. My seventeen year old van could never be clean or good looking again. There are weeds in my lovely garden. My children are not always well mannered and thoughtful. Homeschool is excruciating at times. I am hopeless with a budget. I not as domestic as I need to be. For example, up until today, one of my cabinets had a thick layer of goo where honey has perpectually dripped for years. And you should see what my daughter is wearing to the carpet store this afternoon- her blue Dorothy dress with white bear buttons, ruby red slippers with white socks (I talked her out of the purple and yellow ones), and a frazzled apron she cut herself from light green checked fabric. I spent at least five minutes convincing her to brush her hair, but it didn't really help tame her wild disarrayed mane. She's carrying a basket lined with a colorful Russian shawl with a stuffed dog on top.

My life is imperfect.

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

More everyday posting

The decluttering and painting is done in my room. Note that the cat is extremely pleased as he has many new opportunities of clean and clear space to shed white hair onto dark surfaces. I am totally bugged that the edger brush still put little silvery greenblue blots of paint on the ceiling, and I'm not altogether sure why. Grrr! I so wanted to do it perfectly- like our fancypant orthodontist's office with the Hummer brace bus.

Buck agreed to new carpet, but I am intimidated about picking something out. Last time I chose a berber, I didn't see the goofy orange dots in the sample until it covered my little girl's bedroom floor.

Tater's Children's International Summer Village leader, Amber, came for dinner tonight. She just graduated with her degree in child psychology- specializing in schizophrenia and violent personality disorders. During a wild Vyne card game of The Great Dalmuti with Amber and our family, Tater exclaimed, "Isn't mine a totally crazy family?" Amber could not contain her laughter, "No, Tater. I've met my share of totally crazy families, and this isn't one." It was a priceless moment lost on Tater, but well appreciated by me and Buck. Every family member accompanied Amber on a tour of the pretend True Vyne Farm, and we ended by going over paperwork for their trip to France. She mentioned the possibility of us hosting an overnight for team building for U.S. delegates before they head out in July. Sounds great to me.

Tomorrow Hauna and I plan to teach ourselves how to build a trellis from vines from a book. Wish us luck.

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

To the First Kat from Scribbit

Dear Kat,
Meet Kat. One is a new bloggie friend and the other is absolutely most wonderful college roommate ever.

Here's the recipe from Scribbit. It's yummy.

Oh, and the sauce makes enough for two meals.

3 tablespoons butter
1/4 c flour
5 cups milk
2 teaspoons mild chili powder
3/4 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon pepper
1 tablespoon olive oil
4 cloves minced garlic
½ pound diced, chicken
8 ounces finely chopped frozen spinach, thawed
6 ounces grated cheddar
2 tablespoons Parmesan, plus some for topping
16 ounces of cooked penne

Melt the butter and add the flour, whisking to combine. Slowly whisk in the milk and cook over a medium heat until the sauce is thick and bubbly. Add the chili powder, salt and pepper.

Meanwhile, saute chicken and garlic in the olive oil until it begins to brown then add the spinach, heating throughly and cooking the chicken until it's done. Add the chicken mixture to the sauce then add the grated cheddar and Parmesan, stirring until the cheeses melt. Serve over cooked rigatoni and topped with shredded Parmesan.

Yawn Post

I know it sounds silly, but I can't paint my bedroom until I get rid of all the junk. I spent yesterday clearing a mountain of clutter. The clutter consists primarily of books, computer CD's, mail, disorganized notebooks and papers. And what's up with the wires all over the place? Buck has flimsy explanations for keeping every one. I'm patting myself on the back for finding important missing notebooks I require for my Shepherd's Call work. I also found three solid writing projects waiting patiently for me if I get a wild hair to pick them up again.

Four years ago, when we moved into this house, I peeled off a gawdy border trimming the wall next to the ceiling in my bedroom. I never went back and repaired the chunks of drywall I also removed during the job. In fact, I've never done anything to my bedroom, since I've lived here beside peel off that border. Guess that fix is on queue 1,460 days later. I chose ice blue green paint to match a fabulous fabric I ordered at Short Sheet last weekend. It's worth the hour drive to Crossville just to wander aimlessly in that gorgeous store for an hour or two. The bedspread I ordered from Ebay is silk chocolate brown. My sinister plan is for all new decor to totally clash with the nasty, faded and stained maroon carpet enough for Buck to demand we immediately install new natural colored berber carpet.

Along with improving my living quarters, I'm making dinner today for a large family of all boys whose mom and dad are in China picking up their adopted daughter. Won't that be a hoot? A delightful little girl surrounded by six rowdy brothers? Sunday I tried out a chicken rigatoni recipe by scribbit, and it makes nearly a ton of food. It just might do for a pack of devouring wolves like these young men. The best part of all is that these crazy people LOVE my sometimes pathetic cooking. They'll treat me royalty when I carry in trays of food.

Saturday, May 26, 2007

Memorial


I will not pledge allegiance to any flag, but I will stand with my hand over my heart when the Pledge of Allegiance is spoken. I love my country. I am patriotic, which astoundingly means that I love peace and pray for an end to all war, not just wars concerning the U.S., but across the globe. Afterall, America allows me the luxury of freedom of ideas and speech, and I recognize people have given their lives for my freedom. I am so very thankful to live in a location where I don't lay down my head in fear each night that ferocious bombs will cave in the roof overhead and land on my sleeping children's beds. My greatest worries of the day have been weeding the overgrown monkey grass from my trellis of climbing pink roses arched over the grey sidewalk and choosing a new paint greenish pale blue color for my bedroom.

Last evening, I took my yearly sobering American experience like a dose of bitter liquid by placing flags in the Lenoir City Cemetary on the graves of war veterans alongside my sons. It's something my Boyscouts do annually for Memorial Day.

A tall thin somewhat curved man, a veteran in a ball cap and jeans, with a kind yet low and scruffy voice, met us there as usual with his pick up truck to hand out bundles of red, white, and blues neatly tucked in rows on the truck bed. His voice made the listener want to clear his or hear throat while he is talking in an effort to free the frog which must have been hopelessly trapped deep inside his neck. The question which I silently ask myself about him goes something like this, "Does he remember the horrors of war? Does he suffer now from them?" Aloud I asked, "May I have a stack o' flags, please?" I was a little surprised he remembered me as there are so many of us who come back time after time to participate, "Mam, I know you've done this before, so you don't need me to explain."

Most graves were very well kept, but there are a few which required weeding and brushing off in order to verify markings such as Veitnam, Korea, WW I, WW II, Armed Forces, Navy, Airforce, Marine. Our thirsty national drought had made poking the pointy wooden end of the short poles into the dry compacted dirt a more difficult task than usual. Each time I struggled to push the flag into the hard rusty earth, I spoke to myself through the lump in my throat, "Thank you for your service, sir. You've made my America a better place."

Every grave needed to be read to be sure no veteran was missed. I kept to myself wandering through the cemetary, knowing sometimes head or footstones undo me- I wiped tears without making a raucous. One grave for a child read, "See you in the morning." I couldn't help but think about the mother of that child who may have spoken those words for the last time as they lowered her child's coffin into the ground. I thought of all the daunting mornings since in which the mother woke up wishing she could hear her daughter's soft singing or feel the curve of her small body during a bedtime story just once more. Will that illusive morning ever come again?

Another granite stone I came upon belonged to a veteran who died fairly recently. I realized mine would be the first Memorial Day flag to reside at his grave. The grass hadn't fully grown over the length of his casket, and I felt the flag easily sink down beside the marker. I do hope he died proud of the service he gave to his country. To me and mine.

"Thank you" are not adequate words for all you American military people, but it's what I have to sincerely offer. Your lives and deaths matter to me.

Friday, May 25, 2007

Velvet Elvis and


I realize I'm a latecomer in reading Velvet Elvis by Rob Bell. I heard about the book when it first came out, and was reminded of it by a friend in the fancy orthodontist office. I tend to wait for the dust to settle a while on a trendy books like this one before I buy. Can you believe I still have not read Purpose Driven Life and probably will not? Ultimately, Rob's quirky writing style in Velvet insulted my vast intelligence. It took me a long time to finish, because I had to be in a certain charitable mood in order to be willing to pick it up and continue reading. He wrote some things I truly don't believe or like, and he also penned some illuminating and amazing ideas I'd never before explored. The interesting stuff created a little trail of sweet breadcrumbs to the end for me. I give the book my recommendation with a disclaimer for the things with which I disagreed, specifically the anti-creationist perspective and the possibility of denying the Virgin Birth. Just so you know, I didn't write any notes in the back of the book in the empty pages like I was supposed to.

It hurts my teeth and gives me a headache just now to think about sinking back into his choppy sentences by picking up his latest Sex God. I know it might be arrogant of me to say so, but I really think I have a great grasp on the topics contained in that particular book- I've been blissfully researching with my husband for almost nineteen years now.

I also just finished Running with Scissors. I do NOT recommend it, and I certainly don't want to see the movie as the book was incredibly graphic for me. I have a thirteen year old son, the same age of the boy in the book, and I hated every minute of the abuse the boy in the story endured. I learned nothing except more ways for families to mess up children.

Thursday, May 24, 2007

Routine



Routine
by Arthur Guiterman

No matter what we are and who,
Some duties everyone must do:

A Poet put aside his wreath
To wash his face and brush his teeth,

And even Earls
Must comb their curls,

And even Kings
Have underthings.

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

You know your son is something of a geek when...


You know your son is something of a geek when at the beach he asks, "Mom, may I please swim past the continental shelf?" And I do use the word "geek" as the sweetest term of endearment (just in case he reads this).

Saturday, May 19, 2007

Home Sweet Home


I love the way my own bed feels so inviting and warm.
how my garden gives hope to every new day.
the anticipation of projects put off during the school year.
new eyes to see what needs to be done to bring peace to my home.
the ease of putting my children to bed in their own rooms.
the crowing sound of roosters to wake me in the bright sunny morning.
goats calling out to me as I pull tall weeds.
my overgrown vineyard.
fresh chocolate chip muffins made with newly milled whole wheat.
the prospect of time to study and think.
connection with dear friends.
a new book which arrived in the mail while I was away.
calling my life back to daily order.
graduation announcements of splendid young people in my mail.
the single volunteer pink snap dragon in full bloom just outside my window.
Home.

Thursday, May 17, 2007

What I like to do on vacation:
read, read, read
sleep
hike
work out everyday
eat
be alone or just with my beloved
see and learn new things

What I've done on vacation:
read a little
worked out a little, took my first Pilates class ever
ate
played Sorry, Uno Attack, cards
went to see Spiderman III
rode a zillion roller coasters
saw the Weeki Wachi mermaids (again), they were so glad we came
visited with all the grandparents and a dear aunt and uncle
sat on the beach, I put my feet in but I don't like to swim with sharks
watched some television I never see like National Geographic
spent a day away with Buck
totally dug the Salvador Dali museum in St. Pete

I'm missing my garden and hoping the new rescued goats are adjusting well with the others. Hauna is taking care of everything at True Vyne Farm, so I know all is fine. I'm also missing long times of quiet away from others and the sacred unhurriedness of the life we create at home. The grass will be up our knees when we arrive, due to the ever malfunctioning lawn tractors. Before we left, Buck broke down and purchased a faithful John Deere, but, of course, it rained the two days before we vacated. I'll have to fight Buck for the mower- both of us enjoy cutting the fields.

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Saturday, May 12, 2007

Somethins' burnin'



My mom kept the children for us the last few days, so Buck and I could have a few days alone together. Quite a treat. We made a sunny day plan of hikes and beach, and a rainy day plan of museums and movies. It didn't rain, but we were forced to invoke the indoor plan. I knew something was up yesterday morning when I found the carhops at our swanky hotel (thanks again, Mom) in Tampa wore surgical masks. Outside everywhere plumed with smoke from the Georgia forest fires. Visibility on the bridge from Tampa to St. Pete was down to a quarter of a mile!

And here's a free vacation tip for you, I've learned through experience. On really smoky days in Florida, you might not want to be reading The Road, a post apocalyptic tale of a man and his son struggling to survive after fire burned the United States to the ground. It was not easy for me to shake the dark mood of the book while breathing in grey clouds as thick as fog all day long.

Here's my quick review of the book as it's now finished. It took me a a while to figure out Carthy's style, but eventually I grew accustomed to it. It's a page turning harsh journey book, not an uplifting redemptive read. I'd give it an 8 on The Super Scientific Vyne 1-10 reading scale.

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

Saturday, May 05, 2007

The Goat Brigade

Betsy, the Goat Yoda, asked me to pick up two rescued Nubian does yesterday. I had some concerns about transport, because my goat whisperers Buck and Peace were unavailable. Buck had to work and Peace was off to Boy Scout camp. I was left with energy boy (aka Tater), Wise One, and Pooh Bear as inadequate helpers. What if the goaties wanted to jump into the front seat and drive with me?

I called Claire with my woes, and she promptly offered the caprine wrangling services of herself and Slow to Speak. Apparently, they were just sitting around moping about Slow's departure, and a goat adventure sounded like the ticket out of the blues.

She was right.

Claire rigged up an amazing contraption with a baby gate and bungy cords which as a driver's security measure. Slow to Speak set a jolly tone when she began to sing the puppet song from The Sound of Music, "High on a hill stood a lonely goat herd. Lady, oda, lady, oda, lay, hee, who." She continued the merriment by pointing out how my ride had already been "mommed" and how the addition of goats would seal the deal. Though it embarresses some of my friends, I proudly drive a 1991 Previa with 230,000 miles on the odometer, sundry missing pieces, scratches, holes, and crayons melted on the passenger seat. I intend to drive it till it dies, which may be the end of time. It's been to the repair shop twice in five years.

Our goat exchange took place in a McDonald's parking lot. I think I met Betsy years ago when I bought soap molds from her. I carried the adorable black fuzzy creatures one at a time to my van without a bit of trouble. Though they are two years old, they are scrawny due to neglect, not Betsy's, but the previous owners who lost interest. Betsy explained the does are in much better shape now than when they arrived at her farm.

Slow to Speak spoke goat, so she told Sissy and Sarah, "Just lie down girls." They obeyed by coiling their necks 'round one another and lay peacefully till they cheerfully jumped out of the van at True Vyne Farm. Their names are Sissy and Sarah for now, until my children decide otherwise.

The does are springy, curious, loving, and surprisingly not afraid of rain. My other goats seem fine with the new girls in town.

I took a happier Claire and Slow to Speak to Claire's house. I'm glad to add another suddenly fun memory to our time together before Slow heads back to Oklahoma.

Thursday, May 03, 2007

Collection of Thoughts from Last Night's Liturgy for Slow to Speak


The Church of the Willow Tree

Picnic table cathedraled by barked arching arms, green fingers dripping ropes of new growth. There is Healing in those hands.

Chirping birds ring as bells.

The feast exudes garlic and overflows with oil. There is Healing in that oil.

We share the truest kind of Communion until all the wine is drained from the glass.

Flowers dress the table. Meaningful blossoms of purity, friendship, loyalty, suffering, and wisdom. The frangrance is sweet.

Night falls with evening prayer.

The Holy Spirit falls fresh like a bird on wing.

Dogs bark in the distance reminding me of your parting. My eyes do not laugh at this thought, but I let you go willingly.

Your work is not here now.

Go meet with destiny, again.

Drum roll please....

Slow to Speak has bestowed upon me my Indian name. She chose it, because she wanted to capture what is in my heart. Since eyes are the windows to the soul, she gave me the following name:

Laughing Eyes

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

I thought I'd seen it all. Until yesterday.

On my drive to the hardware store a few miles down our country road, I lagged behind a big red doolie truck (truck with four rear tires). Something flashed and dangled from underneath the trailer hitch on that vehicle in front of me. I wondered if the hitch had come undone somehow and might be about to fall off. Perhaps my next idea didn't demonstrate good judgement, because I decided to get closer to the truck to find out. My discovery left me blushing. The trailer hitch was fine, but the driver had attached a glistening set of swaying silver testicles. Apparently these are the new way to "cowboy your sweet ride".

Personally, I'll stick to air freshener in the shape of a daisy swinging from my rear view mirror.

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Sundries


What's sproutin' today in True Vyne garden?
sweet corn
nasturtium (never sprouted these outside in the ground before)
a precious few wildflowers
yellow squash
zucchini
beans, beans, beans (bush and pole)
sunflowers

Still no sign of watermelon, cucumbers or snap dragons. Hoping they simply take more time to germinate. I'm not joking when I tell you that I go out to my garden a few times a day in spring just to see if something new has popped up through the soil. It delights me to no end when I identify a new bud other than a weed pushing out of the dirt.

Speaking of new things. My children found two new baby chicks in the shed two days ago. Nothing like fuzzy yellow peeping creatures to ignite joy and energy in our family. Let the hatching begin!

I'm writing a liturgy for tomorrow to send a dear friend, Slow to Speak (aka Runs with Scissors) off to Oklahoma with the blessing of deep friendship. The liturgy is coming along beautifully, but I must admit a heavy heart in letting her go. She's called to live among the Kiowa Indians- a worthy work. I'm told she's giving me my Indian name in our service, something I look forward to receiving.

Off to make home made cinnamon rolls. The dough has been rising since I began in the garden this morning. We have an honored eleven year old guest who might like to eat breakfast sooner or later.

Sunday, April 29, 2007

I'm tickled pink as tomorrow is the last day of school co-op for the Vyne family. I asked my seventh grader Peace to write his teachers a good old southern thank you note.
Here's what he wrote to this English teacher, and I do quote:
Tank yous fore lurning me about comp; my kin is so pleazed

Saturday, April 28, 2007

Yawn Post

I intended to write something meaningful today, but here's what I did instead:
watered the garden
tended my new flowers
made muffins
scrubbed floors
scrubbed bathrooms
cooked lunch
scrubbed the kitchen
weeded through heaps of clothing for my children (winter clothes away, spring duds out)
worked on a Shepherd's Call with Jo
talked to a dear friend
10 loads of laundry
cooked dinner
sorted seeds
decluttered but not as much as I'd hoped
vacuumed
discovered two leaks
washed the shower curtain
listened to a whippoorwill with my boys

On the subject of decluttering- I've been thinking hard about how I could let go of some of my books. This is extremely difficult as I'm an addict. I have at least 10 bookshelves scattered throughout the house except the bathrooms. I have baskets for books in the bathrooms. I know, if I tried very hard, I could alleviate one entire bookshelf and earn some used book credit to boot. However, the thought of which ones to part with overwhelms me. Wouldn't that be like giving up children? Should I hire a therapist to help me sort through the shelves? I'm afraid it's hopeless.

Friday, April 27, 2007


I just received an invitation which is written entirely Spanish. Here are the words I recognize:
Cinco de Mayo
fiesta
Derby de Kentucky!
mint juleps y margaritas
television nueva
Svetlana's address (suspcious isnt' it?)
May 5, 3 pm (post time 6 pm)

What do you suppose it all means?

Thursday, April 26, 2007

Hoeing


Hoeing
by John Updike

I sometimes fear the younger generation will be deprived
of the pleasures of hoeling;
there is no knowing
how many souls have been formed by this simple exercise.

The dry earth like a great scab breaks, revealing
mosit-dark loam-
the pea-root's home,
a fertile wound perpetually healing.

How neatly the green weeds go under!
The blade chops the earth new.
Ignorant is the wise boy who
has never performed this simple, stupid, and useful wonder.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007



I attended a gathering today where a friend of mine, Chris, spoke. He's a powerful orator and inspirational man. He mentioned this painting "Christ Enters Brussels" as a favorite. Chris told us the painting was controversial and shunned in it's day(1889), because Christ was not depicted as a the leader with followers coming behind. Instead, Jesus' image is hard to find in the midst, the center, of the chaotic crowd. Chris compared the work of Christ as spiritual director as something much more closely related to this painting, walking beside people, than artwork which shows Christ out front. This is a match to my pedagogy as well. God became flesh in Christ and made a dwelling place among us. Reachable. Personal. Close. Touchable. Knowable. It's astounding that Christ would call us friends.

Sunday, April 22, 2007

I'm not even Methodist but...I'd like to proudly announce that, according to this terribly scientifically accurate poll, I am John.

You scored as John the Methodist. You are John the Methodist! You are a mysterious, shadowy figure obsessed with the threats that zombies and abstract art pose against humanity.

John the Methodist

100%

Lorna Koskela

75%

Art Ruch

75%

Theresa Coleman

58%

Keith McIlwain

33%

Gavin Richardson

33%

Jonathon Norman

17%

Allan Bevere

8%

Abi Carlisle-Wilke

8%

Which Methoblogger Are You?
created with QuizFarm.com

Saturday, April 21, 2007

How Does Truevyne's Garden Grow?

Seeds planted today:
cucumbers
watermelons
Honey and cream corn
Snap Dragons
Cosmos
Nastursium
a few sunflowers
wildflower mix
zuchinni
yellow squash
pole beans
gourmet bush beans

I know, I know it's heavy on flowers, but what's a garden without beauty?

plants planted from dear Hauna:
5 tomato
1 pepper

Only three of my sugar snap pea vines made it through the Big Chill, but the chives have a lovely happy bloom. And I have three little asparagus ready to be eaten which I forgot to bring in today. I'm mourning what I think may be the loss of my most favorite lavendar from a fancy greenhouse, but the lavendar plants I began a few years ago look perky. All traces of volunteer Zinnias died in the frost, but there is good news. The frost also killed the beginnings of volunteer Morning Glories,glorious yet completely invasive, which eventually overtake my unkempt garden by August. I guess I'll have to pick up more zinnia and sunflower seeds and tray of tomatoes, basil, and sweet peppers. We especially cannot have summer without a thousand Zinnias at Truevyne Farm.
After bugging me from the "get go" this morning...

Tater: Mom, can I have computer time now?

Truevyne: No, honey. Maybe later.

Tater: You've said that a hundred times already.

Truevyne: Later.

Tater: When later?

Truevyne: I dunno. It's a pretty day. Go play outside.

Tater: You already made me be outside the whole time while you were in the garden planting. Mom, you've been on the computer all day except for when you were gardening. Why can't I do that?

Truevyne: I'm writing an article. Go write an article.

Tater: What?! I'd rather play a game, Mom. I'm a kid.

Truevyne: Fine. Half an hour. No fighting with your brothers and sister afterward, okay?

Tater: Forget it. I'm going to teach myself yo-yo tricks instead.
If you mess up at being a wife and mother, nothing else you do really matters. Jackie Kennedy


I must disagree, Mrs. Kennedy. Every wife messes up. Every mother messes up. Some more than others, so I believe what matters most is much more about learning and teaching forgiveness than not "messing up". Mistakes are inevitable. Forgiveness and healing are optional.


Honestly, I used to think I could live my entire life without regrets. I woke up every morning and went about my good work- with inner city families and my neighbors. I did all the right things for all the right people. Looking back, I had a poorly examined life and conscience at that time without realizing it.

When I was pregnant with my first child I thought, "This will be easy, because I'm already great with children. I will study all the right books and be an expert parent."

Then I gave birth to my first son. I did not figure on the emotional tail spin an itty bitty seven pound living creature could cause. First of all, the birth did not follow the textbook. Secondly, despite my careful research and care, Peace dehydrated and had gotten a "fever of unknown origin" in his third day on earth. He spent several days from then on in the Children's Hospital enduring IV's, spinal taps, and blood tests. Seven days later, my husband, myself, and my mother returned home safely with Peace though we were utterly exhausted, spent, and undone.

Thirteen years later, I remain undone. I have a pile of regrets which string to the moon and back. The funny thing is that I don't really mind. I can't do or be more than I know how to be. I learned in Catechesis of the Good Shepherd that life "is a big work, a long work." I can't live in fear of messing up, because my life is messy. My marriage and children need deliberate and constant care and tending exponentially more than my vegetable garden. Weeds in the heart are far more difficult to pull than the stubborn Johnson grass which loves the right side of my tomato beds.

I know avoiding mess ups to be hopelessly impossible when:
my six year old daughter angrily cries, "You are breaking my life when you make me clean my room!",
I try to "help" the reluctant Peace with a composition assignment,
Wise One won't stop whining,
Tater refuses to acknowledge his mistakes,
and Buck has to listen to my ugly fuss about clutter on the kitchen counter.
Finding a way back to one another in conflict is the harder and more important task.

So, Mrs. Kennedy, since you can't speak for yourself from where you are, the charitable assumption is that you knew and practiced the art of forgiveness which kept your family strong and beautiful. I hope you don't mind me taking the liberty of going beyond your quote.

Thursday, April 19, 2007


Thicket Dweller got me thinking (again) in her recent posts, "How do I feel about what people, even strangers, think about me." My first response?

I don't care what others think of me. thank. you. very. much. I yam what I yam.

Those of you who know me, know that I don't struggle terribly with negative self worth, and I'm not hopelessly inclined toward arrogance either.

However, my first "I don't care" reaction didn't ring true inside the core of my being.

Yes. I. do. care. what. others. think.

And here's how I know- because the behavior of my children tells me so. Thicket taught me that when my children turn into whirling dervishes upon entering a store, it's because they sense my immediate dislike for what they "might" do. When children feel uncertain, they act uncertain. In turn, they look to parents for clues of how to be in times of question. When I give my son the "you are an embarrassment to me" vibe, inevitably, he becomes an embarrassment.

If I didn't care what other people thought of me and my brood of children, I wouldn't worry over their behavior. After all, and with the exception of the childish untrained parts, my kids are incredible human beings. I like who they are. Why do I change my mind so quickly about my own stepping into a china shop? They aren't bulls. Monkeys maybe, but not bulls.

The one factor which changes in the "china shop + me + children= certain disaster" equation is me with all my selfish thoughts and fears. It's simply callous that my own child can instantly become a bother to me if I want to look without his interruptions of "I have to go to the bathroom." and "Can't we go to the children's books first?"
I worry that something might get broken if I don't watch like a hawk. So, why can't my hoodlums look silently without touching and follow me wherever I want to go?

One answer is that God made children curious, so that they would be hungry to learn. How boring and sad the alternative would be to have zombies thoughtlessly trudgng behind in a store I find delightful. One goal I've always had for my offspring, aside from the goal of creating compassionate activists (as if I could do that?), was for each one to fall in love with learning.

In thirteen years of parenting my children in public, nothing has ever been broken except for perhaps a crevice in my child's heart when I am too harsh.

Hat tip to Thicket for teacing me a new lesson. Let's hope it sticks.

Tuesday, April 17, 2007


Panic. I just realized Tater is taking his final assessment in language arts for the year this afternoon, and I'm not prepared for summer. Otherwise, in the morning he'll wake up with absolutely nothing to do but fight with his brothers and sisters!

Not. Good.

Honestly, I am so over homeschooling that I'll embrace the break like a black bear hugs a dripping honey tree. I'm sick of cracking the academic whips over children as they whine, "I don't want to do math today. Why do I have learn about fractions anyway?" I have never acquired any brilliant answers to inspire my progeny toward scholarship except for the standard, "You don't want to raise your family on a minimum wage job now do you?" My motivational speech generally yields absolutely no effect, because my children honestly believe $5.25 an hour is an absolute fortune.

I'm scrambling to make summer charts of chores and enrichment for each child. The chart will give Tater a gauntlet to run and list a few things to accomplish before he starts irritating Peace to pieces, getting Wise One to cry, and clashing like Titans with Pooh Bear.

Monday, April 16, 2007

I Stop Writing the Poem



I Stop Writing the Poem
by Tess Gallagher

to fold the clothes. No matter who lives
or who dies, I'm still a woman.
I'll always have plenty to do.
I bring arms of his shirt
together. Nothing can stop
our tenderness. I'll get back
to the poem. I'll get back to being
a woman. But for now
there's a shirt, a giant shirt
in my hands, and somewhere a small girl
standing next to her mother
watching to see how it's done.

Sunday, April 15, 2007

Deerlodge weekend for us again sans the working man, Buck.

Big hits:
1. MOM My Ride http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HEFE3B0Rje0

2. Homemade tamales Buck helped me make beforehand smothered with Sweetwater Valley Farm Jalapeno cheese sauce

3. Adult conversation

Friday, April 13, 2007

Air Traffic Controller's Wife Rant

From the "get ready for more of it" files...

Recently, only one full performance level air traffic controller was scheduled in New Hampshire tower for a four hour stretch. After three hours on position and in compliance with FAA procedure, he handed his planes to the nearest center to watch over as he took a necessary "biological break". That's FAA lingo for "potty time out".

Two planes were left in a holding pattern for 12 minutes until he was able to return to position. Twelve minutes is certainly not unreasonable considering ten flights of stairs may be in the mix for the controller to scale.

However, one of those two planes in the holding pattern contained human lungs for a transplant.

Think the shortage of air traffic controllers is not real as the FAA states? Think it won't ever effect you or someone you love? Get ready, it just might.

Even if the FAA recognized the shortage and did something about it NOW (besides the current brilliant plan of mandatory six day work weeks), it would take a few years for trainees to make full performance level.

Currently, starting pay at the FAA academy is $8 an hour. Once one makes it to a tower like Knoxville, it's a whooping $15 an hour. Anyone want the most stressful job for that kind of pay in which one mistake might result in the death of hundreds of people? Old air traffic controllers, like my man, get paid exponentially more.

Call your government representatives. They are responsible for the shut down of negotiations between the FAA and the air traffic controllers in June last year.

Really, I'm mean it, really, old air traffic controllers do not want more pay. In fact, they are willing to take paycuts. More than anything ATC's want REST, days off, to bring back limits to time on position, a reasonable plan to hire new controllers.

When we contacted our state representative before June 'o6, he voted with the FAA against air traffic controllers on the basis that he believed my husband wanted more money. Ridiculous!

Don't let politics compromise air safety.

Thursday, April 12, 2007


Four years ago, after my knee reconstruction, I took up swimming. I swam a mile every other day for about a year.

I was reminded yesterday of why I run and don't swim nearly as often.

First of all, one has to bring a whole lot of stuff. You may know I don't even like to carry a purse much less a loaded gym bag- towel, clean underwear, suit, swim cap, pony tail holder, ear wax, and goggles. I've actually forgotten my towel, more than once, and had to use the paper ones from the sink holder to dry off before. I get ear aches without the wax. My horse hair requires the taming of a holder and cap lest I inhale wet strands of it gasping for my next breath. I get a less-than-fresh feeling puttting underwear in which I've sweated in during my weight workout. I wear contacts, so goggles prevent me from blindness and needlessly bumping into other swimmers in the lanes. My goggles have gone missing, so I borrowed Tator's yesterday. I needed to empty the right eye of water six thouand times, and my nose bridge held the imprint of an uncomfortable red gash for an hour after removal. What trouble.

Second of all, it takes a long time to swim. I can run three miles in half the time it takes me to swim one. And all that undressing, dressing, undressing, showering, dressing takes another 15 minutes. Then there is the 45 minute drive home. It's a long time to be out and about.

I surprised myself by swimming the entire mile. While it's not beautiful to watch, I manage all the four competitive strokes. Buck says he doesn't think he could endure a water mile, but he beats my running records every. single. time.

My knees whispered, "Thanks for the break, woman." a thousand times, so maybe I'll fit it in my schedule once in a while for the sake of those wimpy joints who cause me such trouble.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007


Today goes down for me as a great day. It's painfully private except to say my work I love best may be going somewhere I prayed it would, I've been asked to do something I love, and a plan for India in January 2009 may be in the works.

The great day is simply about hope for me, since the rest of the day was rather ordinary. I made muffins, homeschooled, looked at really old pictures with my children as they pulled them out all over the living room floor, walked the track with my walking buddy, read a little more of The Velvet Elvis (it's getting somewhat better), ate a delicious grilled dinner which Buck, Pooh Bear, and Tator pulled together, got medicine for Buck's sore tooth, and rented V for Vendetta.

Monday, April 09, 2007

The Vyne Easter was fantastic.

My children glimpsed at the treasures in their Easter baskets on the kitchen table as usual, but we quickly made our way outside to dig up from the garden our jar of Alleluias and Hallelujahs written on strips of white paper which we buried weeks before. The late cold snap caused us to slap on coats before we headed out the door. As a family, we fast from these two words during Lent. Once Buck reads the Easter story, we open the dirt crusted jar shout, "Alleluia, Hallelujah!" till it resounds across the meadow. Through the nearby fence, the goats inquired with their "ah,ah,ah,ah"s as to what we doing at the crack of dawn beside not feeding them. Tator had to chase stalker rooster Mohawk away for Pooh Bear and I to feel at ease for our family sunrise service.

I hurried off and away to spend the first hour of church with my buddy, Tom, who is autistic. My family arrived to worship with me the second hour. The presentations of song, dance, plays, and Word celebrated the Risen Jesus in a fresh and beautiful way.

We spent the rest of the pleasant day into the evening with the most hospitable Sky family. I didn't see hide nor hair of my boys except for at mealtimes due to the six entertaining boys the Sky home endeavors to contain. Carrie and I split the menu and laid out a splendid table. Of course, with that many boys, the meal was devoured soon after serving. Our families also both filled 300 eggs with candy for the traditional hunt. Buck and Bert took about half an hour to hide the eggs, and it took approximately four minutes for all eggs to be found.

I truly don't understand why Pooh Bear always fusses about going to the Sky's home, because she always has a grand time. "There are just too many boys there", she complains the week before our visit. She says she needs a girl to play with which the Sky's are just about to provide- they leave to pick up their five year old daughter through Chinese adoption in just a few weeks! Her Chinese names mean "Thinking of you forever". Pooh Bear plays with Thinking's dolls which wait patiently in Thinking's new room for her much anticipated arrival. The Sky's youngest boy, Eli, joined Pooh Bear and together they played non-stop house and mommy and daddy. Buck went out on the deck to harass them at one point and began talking in his old man voice, "I don't even remember your wedding. Two babies! How is it that you already have two babies?" Bert helped Eli and Pooh Bear dye eggs in the afternoon.

Other friends of the Sky's joined us for dessert of carrot cake and cupcakes. Carrie made a very Southern Living like Easter basket out of cupcakes. It was adorable. Pooh Bear and Eli put the finishing touches of brightly colored covered chocolate chips in all the right and wrong places. The conversation was light and pleasant, and sometimes deep as usual. I feel incredibly blessed to be part of the Sky Easter tradition.

Saturday, April 07, 2007

Not that I needed anything else to do, but...

Lectio Divas

What do you think of the name? I'll want feedback on concept and content if you could be so kind.

A day in the life...

Nothing says, "Dump all your junk right here" like a clean kitchen counter.

What happens when you put together:

a light box
a projector
black sand
stirring music from the Passion
an artist?

Something magnificent. Joe Castillo, the artist, presented the Passion of Christ story using these materials by drawing on a lightbox in sand using his fingertips. The images he constructed projected onto big screens in our church as he worked. Joe's digits slowly and methodically painted out scenes of the Garden of Gethsemane to the glorious Resurrection to the music from the Passion of the Christ.

His art set the solemn tone of Good Friday perfectly. Thank ye, Joe.

Friday, April 06, 2007

Good Friday

GEORGE HERBERT(famous "Metaphysical poet")
‘GOOD FRIDAY’ (written in 1633)
O my chief good,
How shall I measure out thy bloud?
How shall I count what thee befell,
And each grief tell?
Shall I thy woes
Number according to thy foes?
Or, since one starre show’d thy first breath,
Shall all thy death?
Or shall each leaf,
Which falls in Autumne, score a grief?
Or cannot leaves, but fruit, be signe
Of the true vine?
Then let each houre
Of my whole life one grief devoure;
That thy distresse through all may runne,
And be my sunne.
Or rather let
My severall sinnes their sorrows get;
That as each beast his cure doth know,
Each sinne may so.
Since bloud is fittest, Lord, to write
Thy sorrows in, and bloudie fight;
My heart hath store, write there, where in
One box doth lie both ink and sinne:
That when sinne spies so many foes,
Thy whips, thy nails, thy wounds, thy woes,
All come to lodge there, sinne may say,
No room for me, and flie away.
Sinne being gone, oh fill the place,
And keep possession with thy grace;
Lest sinne take courage and return,
And all the writings blot or burn.

Thursday, April 05, 2007



Don't know where you stand on women's college ball, but we got the champs (again) here in Tennessee. Give a shout out to our Lady Vols.

I ran into Pat Summit once in the grocery store some years ago. Did you know she actually eats food like the rest of us mortals?

Tuesday, April 03, 2007


Pooh Bear and I were browsing in Kohl's when an older well dressed saleswoman stopped Pooh Bear in her little six year old tracks with the exclamation, "Ruby red slippers! What pretty shoes." The elegant lady lifted her bifocals up closer to her eyes from the silver chain on her neck to take a closer look, "You look like the girl from Wizard of Oz. What's the girl's name from that movie?"

Pooh Bear grinned up at her baring her partly grown in front teeth, "Dorothy." There's no other shoes my girl will put on her feet of her dozen handsome hand-me-down shoe collection.

"That's right" the woman stooped down to look into Pooh Bear's eyes and continued, "Do you know, when I was in jr. high school, I got a pair of ruby red slippers too. I wore them to the homecoming dance and got first runner up in the homecoming court. I was never a beauty queen, but I won. Girl, your shoes made me remember that day. It was the first day I felt that I could be something- I was something special. I'm glad you wore those slipper here, so I could think of that again."

The clerk then turned her gaze my way for the first time. I could see a question mark in her shining eyes.

"Aren't those the times we remember that give us confidence and pride, the good kind of pride? I see that in you now." I affirmed in all genuineness. Her clothes, her walk, her talk, spoke the word "beauty".

The saleslady gave me a long nod of her head before walking off to her work duties, "Thank you for blessing me today."
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When I look back on those awkward jr. and high school days, I remember three days when my opinion of myself changed to something of embarrassment to one of self worth. None had anything to do with winning first runner up at anything, but a transformation in the way I thought of myself.
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I'll share one. I might be mortified to write the others out loud.

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All my high school hang out buddies had chosen entirely separate colleges spread across the USA- University of Kentucky, University of Virginia, Johnson Bible College (TN), Eckherd (FL), Northern Kentucky University, Indiana University, and others I can't think of just now. We met at Reet's dad's for our final "Big Chill" gathering before the first of us left the next day. Much of my time in high school was spent with lounging around some one's living room singing to guitars strumming. Ritt, Marc, and sometimes Jim played lotsa Fogelberg's "The Reach", Joel's "Sadness or Euphoria", "Captain Jack" and Dillon's "You ain't going nowhere". Many homespun tunes hailed from those fine men too. That last night together we jammed together one last time, and someone, probably Reets captured the memories with the camera. She shot tons of pics and sent them out to us all.
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Helen and I sorted the photos from that night together. Helen stopped flipping through the stack abruptly at a picture of me on the floor, hair everywhere (still that way), in a college sweat shirt and short blue jean skirt, arms supporting my outstretched frame looking over my shoulder. She asserted, "True, whenever you start feeling like you are having an ugly day at college, get this picture out. Aint' no way the girl in this picture can't feel great about herself." I was taken aback. When had I ever taken a good picture? I may have rushed to disagree with her and searched to point out my flaws, but Helen was right, the picture was entirely me and entirely good. Maybe for the first time, I let myself see beauty in myself.
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If you are thinking, "Isn't that vanity or selfish pride?" then you would be quite wrong. This new found loveliness sank inside my being and prevented me from taking crap from those who considered me less.
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Helen probably doesn't even remember that day (till I ask her to read this post), but her comments made all the difference in my college experience and probably still even make a difference now. I gained confidence in self presentation which still follows me today.
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Do you have any important ruby red slipper or photograph stories to share? Make sure you share them with me even if you don't want to do so on my blog.


Did you know this man turns 40 tomorrow?

Under all that coarse humor and sarcasm is one of the sweetest men in the universe.

Perhaps you didn't know he called my boys pretending to be Barney on their birthdays when they were very young? What single man who digs girls, parties, music, and radio remembers to call a five year old on his birthday?

I truly appreciate the friend you have been to Buck and our family for all these years. Heck, you're the only Uninvited Guest who will still talk to us.

You're simply the best, Chris Comer!

Monday, April 02, 2007

Wise One: Today at enrichment class we learned that exercise actually makes you smarter, Mom.

Me: Now that explains why I am so very smart, doesn't it?

Wise One: Yes, it does.

Me: Did you tell your teacher your old mom exercises?

Wise One: No, because it is so obvious!

The best thing is that this boy has not guile or pretense. He means what he says every time. I gotta love that child.