This particular week in the liturgical year is chock full of feasts! Today was the celebration of the Dedication of the Church of St. John Lateran, which is one of the few liturgical events that takes precedence over Sunday . Monday is St. Leo the Great; Tuesday -- St. Martin of Tours; Wednesday -- St. Josaphat; Thursday-- St. Frances Xavier Cabrini. Friday is an ordinary day. Saturday morning celebrates St. Albert the Great, but the evening is trumped by Evening Prayer I of Sunday. (I deliberately mixed it up on all those links; there's a lot of other good stuff Google-able.)
But I don't especially want to talk about these particular celebrations. What I really want to stress is the advantage of having a liturgical year at all, with celebrations that come around on a predictable basis.
Although my husband and kids are all Catholic, and you probably can't tell it from this blog (:-D), I'm not. (The whole story is for another time, maybe.) Anyway, although not raised Catholic, I was raised in a church with a liturgical tradition. Advent is followed by Christmas is followed by Epiphany is followed by Lent is followed by Easter is followed by Pentecost is followed by summer (OK, we were a little sloppy!) and repeat. There were special things about each season, things to look forward to each year. And over the course of three years you were exposed to pretty much every story and theme of scripture.
When I went off to college, and later when I lived in Ohio, the evangelical groups I belonged to had a less specific year. Christmas and Easter, yes, but the rest not so much. And I missed it. It's harder to celebrate the spiritual side of Christmas when you haven't spent four weeks preparing your hear. (It's also easier to slip into the cultural/materialistic rut that had carols playing in Wal-Mart the day after Hallowe'en. I know Thanksgiving is a secular holiday, but come on, cut me a break!
I also missed Lent, strange as it sounds. When you haven't been fasting, or "giving up something for Lent" as I did as a child, or both, then the feast becomes less significant. In fact, if you never fast, a literal feast becomes just dinner. I wonder if some of the obesity epidemic is traceable to the idea that every day is a feast?
So when Roger returned to the Catholic church, and the kids joined him, I plunged back into the liturgical cycle with joy. And adding saints' days just added to the joy. No matter how you feel about declaring somebody "officially" a saint, those who have gone before us in the faith are worth celebrating. Also, it's very helpful. When an older friend in the choir tells me that she's not really just "Mary", but "Maria Magdalena" because of the day she was born, I can hit the liturgical calendar and know to send her a card on July 22!
Sunday, November 09, 2008
Saturday, November 08, 2008
Sloppy Saturday #1 -- Nerd Test
I told you that Saturday could be anything, and I meant it. I've seen this nerd test before, and I always get about the same score. Of course I was born nerdy, and I live in a household of geeks and nerds. I rather expect your scores will be lower, but let me know. I'd kind of like some company, and if you score higher I will acknowledge that with a grin -- and a bow!
Friday, November 07, 2008
Family Friday #1 -- Frustration
I was going to do a photo post of everybody, so that when I talk about them you'll have a mental image, but that's going to have to wait until I have tech support (like Tommy!) sitting next to me and helping me to get the pictures I want without linking to identifying information as well. Roger and George have Flickr accounts, and everybody is on Facebook, but I can't seem to do a transfer. Sigh. I have a file on my desktop, but it has unhelpful photo names like Variousphotos001.jpg.
Fortunately the family themselves are not frustrating, although some of them are frustrated! (Actually, pretty much everybody over two is frustrated by the election results, especially the passage of Proposal 2 here in Michigan.) Roger is frustrated because his small business is dead slow, not surprising in the Michigan economy. I am astounded that I am as calm as I am about our finances. I know that's the grace of God.
Arwen is blooming with our fourth grandchild. Bryan is enjoying the fruits of the garden they did last summer, and realizing that he has some of his Dad's family's green thumb. Camilla is grasping that "later" means something, to Arwen's great relief.
Rosie is enjoying having two boys, and cooking up a storm -- her favorite domestic chore. Anthony is one of the leading salesmen at his company. Daniel is jabbering constantly, in complete if short sentences. I can have a conversation with him on the phone now! Matthew is growing like a weed, weighing much more than Daniel did at equivalent ages. Good thing Rosie is strong!
Maggie is in her senior year, and stressing about where and whether to do grad school. Unfortunately she got her anxious point of view from me :-( George is loving his job in the Coast Guard, and thinking about going for 20. He'd still only be 37 when he got out.
Katie is loving college, but not Latin. She's also in many activities. Tommy becomes a better drummer every day, and is a great kid except maybe when he hasn't had enough sleep. Lucas and Joe sleep half the day and fight the rest.
And that's the brief version of my family for this week!
Fortunately the family themselves are not frustrating, although some of them are frustrated! (Actually, pretty much everybody over two is frustrated by the election results, especially the passage of Proposal 2 here in Michigan.) Roger is frustrated because his small business is dead slow, not surprising in the Michigan economy. I am astounded that I am as calm as I am about our finances. I know that's the grace of God.
Arwen is blooming with our fourth grandchild. Bryan is enjoying the fruits of the garden they did last summer, and realizing that he has some of his Dad's family's green thumb. Camilla is grasping that "later" means something, to Arwen's great relief.
Rosie is enjoying having two boys, and cooking up a storm -- her favorite domestic chore. Anthony is one of the leading salesmen at his company. Daniel is jabbering constantly, in complete if short sentences. I can have a conversation with him on the phone now! Matthew is growing like a weed, weighing much more than Daniel did at equivalent ages. Good thing Rosie is strong!
Maggie is in her senior year, and stressing about where and whether to do grad school. Unfortunately she got her anxious point of view from me :-( George is loving his job in the Coast Guard, and thinking about going for 20. He'd still only be 37 when he got out.
Katie is loving college, but not Latin. She's also in many activities. Tommy becomes a better drummer every day, and is a great kid except maybe when he hasn't had enough sleep. Lucas and Joe sleep half the day and fight the rest.
And that's the brief version of my family for this week!
Thursday, November 06, 2008
Tip-Line Thursday #1 -- Menu Planning
In honor of the ongoing input about menu planning going on over at Faith and Family (where Arwen blogs) I thought I'd have today's post touch on this topic. When it comes to meal planning, most women either love it or hate it, and since I've been in both categories, I'm hoping I have something helpful to say!
I was raised in a family that operated on the "pantry principle"; that is, there was always a substantial stock of assorted raw ingredients on hand (frozen meat, canned and dry goods) and each day's meal was concocted from items on hand. Weekly shopping trips were for perishables (dairy, produce, bread) and to restock items that had fallen below a certain threshold. The money-saving trick was never to replenish at full price if you could help it. That is, in the week chicken is on super sale, you buy enough chicken to last until the next sale rolls around. You have the money for this because this week you're eating the beef that you bought when it was on sale.
The catch to this system, of course, is the start-up. I was blessed that when Roger and I got married my mother took me out and stocked a basic pantry. (This was in addition to the awesome shower gift from some friends -- a laundry basket full of spices and baking items.) I'm glad I was able to do the same for my married daughters. I still work on a modified version of this principle, and consequently in 28 years of marriage have never raised my grocery budget above the government's "thrifty" spending level. (Click on the second bullet, and then the month. It's a pdf.)
The only glitch in this approach to food shopping is the day-to-day "cook what you feel like from stock on hand". When I was pregnant I was blessed to never actually get sick, but NOTHING ever sounded good. If Roger told me what he wanted I could cook it, and eat it when it was done, but he very quickly got tired of coming home from work wanting dinner and being asked "what do you want?" So for the sake of marital harmony, I began planning menus.
There are several possible approaches to menu planning. One is the "thumb through all your recipes and pick some out" technique. The one I tried first was the "master list." I listed all the main and side dishes my family liked, sorted by main ingredient -- pork, potatoes, pasta, whatever. Then I'd put together a week's worth of plans based on the lists. I still do a variation of this, but I've found that I can be more frugal if I do an alternation of a "big" shopping week -- sometimes hitting as many as eight stores -- with a "fill-in" week for milk and produce. So I plan several weeks at a time.
If you don't have as big a repertoire as I do, but would like to expand it, try this variation. Assign each day of the week a main food: Monday -- pasta, Tuesday -- hamburger, Wednesday -- chicken, and so forth. Then make old standbys some weeks, especially when things are busy, and try something new (or a variation, like making your own spaghetti sauce) when you have a little more breathing room. And if you and your family are happy with pasta and jarred sauce every week, don't feel like you have to insert variety all the time!
I have a hard deadline for doing something else now, so I'm going to go ahead and post this even though I could say much more. But if you have any questions, leave them in the comments and I'll try to answer.
I was raised in a family that operated on the "pantry principle"; that is, there was always a substantial stock of assorted raw ingredients on hand (frozen meat, canned and dry goods) and each day's meal was concocted from items on hand. Weekly shopping trips were for perishables (dairy, produce, bread) and to restock items that had fallen below a certain threshold. The money-saving trick was never to replenish at full price if you could help it. That is, in the week chicken is on super sale, you buy enough chicken to last until the next sale rolls around. You have the money for this because this week you're eating the beef that you bought when it was on sale.
The catch to this system, of course, is the start-up. I was blessed that when Roger and I got married my mother took me out and stocked a basic pantry. (This was in addition to the awesome shower gift from some friends -- a laundry basket full of spices and baking items.) I'm glad I was able to do the same for my married daughters. I still work on a modified version of this principle, and consequently in 28 years of marriage have never raised my grocery budget above the government's "thrifty" spending level. (Click on the second bullet, and then the month. It's a pdf.)
The only glitch in this approach to food shopping is the day-to-day "cook what you feel like from stock on hand". When I was pregnant I was blessed to never actually get sick, but NOTHING ever sounded good. If Roger told me what he wanted I could cook it, and eat it when it was done, but he very quickly got tired of coming home from work wanting dinner and being asked "what do you want?" So for the sake of marital harmony, I began planning menus.
There are several possible approaches to menu planning. One is the "thumb through all your recipes and pick some out" technique. The one I tried first was the "master list." I listed all the main and side dishes my family liked, sorted by main ingredient -- pork, potatoes, pasta, whatever. Then I'd put together a week's worth of plans based on the lists. I still do a variation of this, but I've found that I can be more frugal if I do an alternation of a "big" shopping week -- sometimes hitting as many as eight stores -- with a "fill-in" week for milk and produce. So I plan several weeks at a time.
If you don't have as big a repertoire as I do, but would like to expand it, try this variation. Assign each day of the week a main food: Monday -- pasta, Tuesday -- hamburger, Wednesday -- chicken, and so forth. Then make old standbys some weeks, especially when things are busy, and try something new (or a variation, like making your own spaghetti sauce) when you have a little more breathing room. And if you and your family are happy with pasta and jarred sauce every week, don't feel like you have to insert variety all the time!
I have a hard deadline for doing something else now, so I'm going to go ahead and post this even though I could say much more. But if you have any questions, leave them in the comments and I'll try to answer.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Whatcha Readin' Wednesday #1 -- Foreigner
Last week I mentioned that I had gotten Silks from the library. It is pretty much what I expected: classic Dick Francis, first-person, fairly suspenseful, with a steeplechase tie-in. What I didn't know is that "silks", as well as referring to the colors worn by a jockey, is also a slang term for Queen's Counselors, the specially qualified barristers (lawyers) who plead high-profile cases in British court. Read it and find out the connection!
What I really want to talk about today, though, is the sci-fi series I've been working through, the Foreigner books by C.J. Cherryh. This is my second time through, and I liked them enough the first time to buy a few of them in hardback as they came out, rather than waiting for the paperback or the library copy (although I now have a great system with the library that I'll talk about another time.) Each book has a single word title, beginning with #1 Foreigner and ending with #9 Deliverer. They are sort of a trilogy of trilogies, though I think you could read them out of order and still enjoy them.
The books center around the planet of the atevi, an alien race much taller than humans, with black* skin and golden cat-like eyes. A human colony ship, due to a computer error, lost its way and has no idea how to return to Earth. The nearest hospitable planet belongs to the atevi.
You may think you know where this is going, but that's all really just back story. The main character in all the books is Bren Cameron, the paidhi-aiji, that is, the official human translator from and to the atevi. After some years of peaceful-seeming cooperation, it became clear that humans and atevi were hard-wired to think in vastly different ways, so in order to keep peace and prevent serious and deadly misunderstandings, both races agreed to live separately and have only one very specially educated paidhi. Bren lives several hundred years into that system.
Roger and I both love these books, and in a discussion not long after I restarted the series, we decided that that is mostly because the books deal with true communication. A great many events happen throughout these books, but the whole point of the series is the work required to make sure that all parties understand them in the same way. Highly recommended!
* That's black like coal or asphalt, not the African "black". The books have human characters of all races and ethnicities. Unfortunately, nobody told the cover illustrator for books 7 and 8. Definitely don't judge these books by their covers!
What I really want to talk about today, though, is the sci-fi series I've been working through, the Foreigner books by C.J. Cherryh. This is my second time through, and I liked them enough the first time to buy a few of them in hardback as they came out, rather than waiting for the paperback or the library copy (although I now have a great system with the library that I'll talk about another time.) Each book has a single word title, beginning with #1 Foreigner and ending with #9 Deliverer. They are sort of a trilogy of trilogies, though I think you could read them out of order and still enjoy them.
The books center around the planet of the atevi, an alien race much taller than humans, with black* skin and golden cat-like eyes. A human colony ship, due to a computer error, lost its way and has no idea how to return to Earth. The nearest hospitable planet belongs to the atevi.
You may think you know where this is going, but that's all really just back story. The main character in all the books is Bren Cameron, the paidhi-aiji, that is, the official human translator from and to the atevi. After some years of peaceful-seeming cooperation, it became clear that humans and atevi were hard-wired to think in vastly different ways, so in order to keep peace and prevent serious and deadly misunderstandings, both races agreed to live separately and have only one very specially educated paidhi. Bren lives several hundred years into that system.
Roger and I both love these books, and in a discussion not long after I restarted the series, we decided that that is mostly because the books deal with true communication. A great many events happen throughout these books, but the whole point of the series is the work required to make sure that all parties understand them in the same way. Highly recommended!
* That's black like coal or asphalt, not the African "black". The books have human characters of all races and ethnicities. Unfortunately, nobody told the cover illustrator for books 7 and 8. Definitely don't judge these books by their covers!
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
Tasty Tuesday #1 -- Election Day Comfort Food
As I mentioned in this post, what I believe in causes me to be politically active. Today I'm out working the polls. The weather report predicts dry and unseasonably warm, for which I am grateful. But when my shifts are done, I'm going to come home tired and hungry, to an equally tired and hungry family. And ordering pizza is not in the budget. (Or that's what I tell them; I just don't like pizza that much.)
So what's to eat?
Creamed Chicken and Biscuits!
In a large saucepan, melt 1/4 c butter or margarine. Add 1 onion, chopped, and saute until tender and translucent. Stir in 1/2 c. flour*. Add 2c. chicken broth and 1c. milk. Stir until thickened. Add 1-2 cups chopped chicken. Heat through, season to taste, and serve with biscuits.
*This makes a medium thick sauce; you can adjust up or down to suit your tastes.
I intend to have the onion and butter waiting in the covered pan when I get home. The broth and milk will be in a glass measuring cup, ready to pop in the microwave. Did you know that sauces thicken almost instantly if you heat the liquid before adding it? And the meat will actually be turkey, left over from our last roasted one. I freeze it in quantities for this recipe, but you can even use canned. The biscuits? Well, I prefer homemade, but tonight they'll be from a can. (Some people are happy about that.)
The whole thing will be on the table in the time it takes the biscuits to bake. And however the election turns out, at least dinner will be something to be happy about.
( If you ready this post already, the butter amount has been updated. I typed from memory, and I'm not perfect ;-D )
So what's to eat?
Creamed Chicken and Biscuits!
In a large saucepan, melt 1/4 c butter or margarine. Add 1 onion, chopped, and saute until tender and translucent. Stir in 1/2 c. flour*. Add 2c. chicken broth and 1c. milk. Stir until thickened. Add 1-2 cups chopped chicken. Heat through, season to taste, and serve with biscuits.
*This makes a medium thick sauce; you can adjust up or down to suit your tastes.
I intend to have the onion and butter waiting in the covered pan when I get home. The broth and milk will be in a glass measuring cup, ready to pop in the microwave. Did you know that sauces thicken almost instantly if you heat the liquid before adding it? And the meat will actually be turkey, left over from our last roasted one. I freeze it in quantities for this recipe, but you can even use canned. The biscuits? Well, I prefer homemade, but tonight they'll be from a can. (Some people are happy about that.)
The whole thing will be on the table in the time it takes the biscuits to bake. And however the election turns out, at least dinner will be something to be happy about.
( If you ready this post already, the butter amount has been updated. I typed from memory, and I'm not perfect ;-D )
Monday, November 03, 2008
Musical Monday #1 -- Songs in His Presence
Years ago (and for you young things, I'm talking about the late '70's here) I bought a set of paperback books of "praise and worship music" published by Servant Ministries in Ann Arbor Michigan. Collectively, they were known as the "Songs of Praise" series, and were the outgrowth of the music ministry of the then-extant Word of God ecumenical community. I eventually also bought a couple of copies of the hardbound composite edition, and the cassette tape-recordings of most of the songs. (I tried to find some kind of a link, but they are so thoroughly out of print that even the used book sellers don't have them.) I loved that music. I wore out the tapes. I tried everything on my guitar. I figured out flute parts for a lot of them. And then, well, life intervened.
I had six kids. We left the independent, evangelical congregation where we met and married. Roger returned to the Catholic church, and our kids grew up there. I joined the choir, and learned that some Marty Haugen music is not too bad. (I also learned that if your director loves Marty Haugen, don't rock the boat if you want to sing.) And then...
Actually, I can't remember exactly when or where or how I found out. But I did find out that in the Diocese of Lansing there was a Catholic Christian group of musicians called "Songs in His Presence". Furthermore, they were the "descendants" of the "Songs of Praise" people. Some of them were even the same people.
Last Christmas Roger bought me the first three CD's. For my birthday in February, I got the matching songbooks. Glorious! I love pretty much everything on them, but one of my favorites is Hymn of Heaven. The words are by St. Bernard of Morlaix (Cluny), translated by John Mason Neale, and the wonderful new tune is by Sr. Sarah Burdick. If you follow this link, you can hear a little bit of it (you need RealPlayer installed.)
Hymn of Heaven
Brief life is here our portion;
Brief sorrow, short-lived care;
The life that knows no ending,
The endless life is there.
O happy retribution!
Short toil, eternal rest;
For mortals and for sinners
A mansion with the blest.
And now we fight the battle
But then shall wear the crown
Of full and everlasting
And passionless renown;
And now we watch and struggle,
And now we live in hope,
And Zion in her anguish
With Babylon must cope;
But He, whom now we trust in
Shall then be seen and known;
And they that know and see Him
Shall have Him for their own.
The morning shall awaken,
The shadows shall decay,
And each true-hearted servant
Shall shine as doth the day;
There God our King and Portion
In fullness of His grace
Shall we behold forever
And worship face to face.
Jesus in Thy mercy bring us
To that dear land of rest;
Who art with God the Father
And Spirit ever blest.
(If you're like me the first time I heard this, and those last lines tickle your memory, it's because they're also used in Jerusalem the Golden, which I sang as a kid. CyberHymnal has all the verses -- as usual it plays quite loudly.)
I had six kids. We left the independent, evangelical congregation where we met and married. Roger returned to the Catholic church, and our kids grew up there. I joined the choir, and learned that some Marty Haugen music is not too bad. (I also learned that if your director loves Marty Haugen, don't rock the boat if you want to sing.) And then...
Actually, I can't remember exactly when or where or how I found out. But I did find out that in the Diocese of Lansing there was a Catholic Christian group of musicians called "Songs in His Presence". Furthermore, they were the "descendants" of the "Songs of Praise" people. Some of them were even the same people.
Last Christmas Roger bought me the first three CD's. For my birthday in February, I got the matching songbooks. Glorious! I love pretty much everything on them, but one of my favorites is Hymn of Heaven. The words are by St. Bernard of Morlaix (Cluny), translated by John Mason Neale, and the wonderful new tune is by Sr. Sarah Burdick. If you follow this link, you can hear a little bit of it (you need RealPlayer installed.)
Hymn of Heaven
Brief life is here our portion;
Brief sorrow, short-lived care;
The life that knows no ending,
The endless life is there.
O happy retribution!
Short toil, eternal rest;
For mortals and for sinners
A mansion with the blest.
And now we fight the battle
But then shall wear the crown
Of full and everlasting
And passionless renown;
And now we watch and struggle,
And now we live in hope,
And Zion in her anguish
With Babylon must cope;
But He, whom now we trust in
Shall then be seen and known;
And they that know and see Him
Shall have Him for their own.
The morning shall awaken,
The shadows shall decay,
And each true-hearted servant
Shall shine as doth the day;
There God our King and Portion
In fullness of His grace
Shall we behold forever
And worship face to face.
Jesus in Thy mercy bring us
To that dear land of rest;
Who art with God the Father
And Spirit ever blest.
(If you're like me the first time I heard this, and those last lines tickle your memory, it's because they're also used in Jerusalem the Golden, which I sang as a kid. CyberHymnal has all the verses -- as usual it plays quite loudly.)
Sunday, November 02, 2008
"Spiritual Sunday "#1 -- All Souls' Day
Yesterday was for All Saints (and that includes a great many who have not been proclaimed as such by any religious authority.) Today (as opposed to yesterday's ringing "Alleluia!") is more solemn. Today, we remember, with the prayers for the dead, all souls, even those for whom on the human scale we see little or no chance of redemption in the age to come. Hitler. Nero. Crabby Uncle Henry who scoffed when Aunt Marta took the kids to church, because "that's jest a buncha stupid stuff fer dang fool wimmen."
And yet -- God is love. His love surpasses ours so greatly that we really can't understand it. And He "takes no pleasure in the death of the wicked". (ref Ezekiel 18:23) Certainly some are condemned, or rather condemn themselves by their choices and actions. But since God is infinitely merciful and wise, we who are finite must leave such judgments to Him. And since He is outside time, our prayers for those who have gone ahead of us are never wasted, as we ask His mercy in the eternal NOW. And we pray for ourselves, that we may be numbered among the saints at His right hand, our faults and failings notwithstanding. Lord, show us Your mercy! Amen.
And yet -- God is love. His love surpasses ours so greatly that we really can't understand it. And He "takes no pleasure in the death of the wicked". (ref Ezekiel 18:23) Certainly some are condemned, or rather condemn themselves by their choices and actions. But since God is infinitely merciful and wise, we who are finite must leave such judgments to Him. And since He is outside time, our prayers for those who have gone ahead of us are never wasted, as we ask His mercy in the eternal NOW. And we pray for ourselves, that we may be numbered among the saints at His right hand, our faults and failings notwithstanding. Lord, show us Your mercy! Amen.
Saturday, November 01, 2008
NaBloPoMo Begins!
Technically this should be a "Sloppy Saturday" post, but since November first is All Saints' Day, I'm going to talk about that instead. If you don't come from a liturgical church background, you may not realize that there's a day set aside to honor all those who have gone before us in faith. But it's been around a long time, and last night you probably handed out treats in celebration of its vigil (definition 1b in the link.) Last night was Hallowe'en, and yes, the apostrophe belongs in there. Hallowe'en = halloweven = All Hallows' Eve = All Saints' Eve -- the night before All Saints' Day. I won't get into a discussion of how our current Hallowe'en customs were derived, because I want to talk about my favorite part of All Saints' Day, the hymn For All the Saints. The link is to CyberHymnal, and be warned, it starts to play the MIDI rather loudly if you click on it.
I wanted to be part of that!
The next time I heard it, I had tears streaming down my face. "Bill", two years older than I, the pianist for the above HS choir, had been killed in a freak auto accident. His grieving parents, yet in "sure and certain hope of the resurrection", chose this as the final hymn for his funeral service.
I have heard and sung it a lot since then. I learned more verses (the eight above I have memorized), and sang it often as part of the "Mom sings a lot of songs and hopes that these kids will settle down and go to sleep" phase of my life. I just discovered while writing this that CyberHymnal has three more verses that I don't know. Lovely! But my goal is still the same as it was in HS (41 years ago!) -- be part of that streaming, praising throng. Alleluia!
For all the saints, who from their labors rest,
Who Thee by faith before the world confessed,
Thy Name, O Jesus, be forever blessed.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
Thou wast their Rock, their Fortress and their Might;
Thou, Lord, their Captain in the well fought fight;
Thou, in the darkness drear, their one true Light.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
O blest communion, fellowship divine!
We feebly struggle, they in glory shine;
All are one in Thee, for all are Thine.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
O may Thy soldiers, faithful, true and bold,
Fight as the saints who nobly fought of old,
And win with them the victor’s crown of gold.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,
Steals on the ear the distant triumph song,
And hearts are brave, again, and arms are strong.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
The golden evening brightens in the west;
Soon, soon to faithful warriors comes their rest;
Sweet is the calm of paradise the blessed.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day;
The saints triumphant rise in bright array;
The King of glory passes on His way.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
From earth’s wide bounds, from ocean’s farthest coast,
Through gates of pearl streams in the countless host,
Singing to Father, Son and Holy Ghost:
Alleluia, Alleluia!
I wanted to be part of that!
The next time I heard it, I had tears streaming down my face. "Bill", two years older than I, the pianist for the above HS choir, had been killed in a freak auto accident. His grieving parents, yet in "sure and certain hope of the resurrection", chose this as the final hymn for his funeral service.
I have heard and sung it a lot since then. I learned more verses (the eight above I have memorized), and sang it often as part of the "Mom sings a lot of songs and hopes that these kids will settle down and go to sleep" phase of my life. I just discovered while writing this that CyberHymnal has three more verses that I don't know. Lovely! But my goal is still the same as it was in HS (41 years ago!) -- be part of that streaming, praising throng. Alleluia!
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Whatcha Readin' Wednesday
I'm in the middle of a series of fiction books, which I intend to talk about next week, but I was at the library today returning some non-fiction (Temples,Tombs, and Hieroglyphs by Elizabeth Peters/ Barbara Mertz) and I just couldn't help myself -- I checked out Silks by Dick Francis and his son Felix Francis. I haven't actually started it yet, but I've been enjoying Dick Francis (who is a steeplechase jockey turned racing mystery writer) since Nerve and Dead Cert in the late 60's, so it should be a good, fun, and also quick read. I'll let you know!
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Tasty Tuesday -- week zero
Tommy has a band concert tonight, and because he's in the jazz band as well as the drum line as well as the regular band ..... well, anyway, supper had to be early so he could be back at the school by 5:15 for a 7PM concert. Fortunately, I've had years of experience with band concert nights, so I planned ahead for a quick and easy meal (which also happens to be one Tommy likes): Chicken Quesadillas.
All you really need are some flour tortillas (I buy mine in bulk at Sam's Club and freeze), leftover chicken (all leftover grilled chicken at our house is automatically sliced and frozen for quesadillas, but any kind will do), and shredded cheese ( I prefer to freshly shred equal parts extra-sharp cheddar and Monterey jack, but bagged works, although it doesn't melt as well.) Place a tortilla on a griddle (mine's electric) or frying pan, add chicken and cheese, top with another tortilla, and grill dry -- no oil needed) on medium-high heat until the cheese is melted and both sides are slightly golden. That's it!
You can, of course, make them fancier. Some of us like minced jalapenos added with the chicken, others don't. I serve them with salsa, sour cream, shredded lettuce, diced tomatoes and guacamole, but Tommy uses just salsa, and thinks they're perfect. A pizza cutter wheel is nice for slicing them into quarters, but a knife is fine.
Best part? Other than a minute to pull some things out of the freezer this morning, it only took me 15 minutes to put dinner on the table. Awesome!
All you really need are some flour tortillas (I buy mine in bulk at Sam's Club and freeze), leftover chicken (all leftover grilled chicken at our house is automatically sliced and frozen for quesadillas, but any kind will do), and shredded cheese ( I prefer to freshly shred equal parts extra-sharp cheddar and Monterey jack, but bagged works, although it doesn't melt as well.) Place a tortilla on a griddle (mine's electric) or frying pan, add chicken and cheese, top with another tortilla, and grill dry -- no oil needed) on medium-high heat until the cheese is melted and both sides are slightly golden. That's it!
You can, of course, make them fancier. Some of us like minced jalapenos added with the chicken, others don't. I serve them with salsa, sour cream, shredded lettuce, diced tomatoes and guacamole, but Tommy uses just salsa, and thinks they're perfect. A pizza cutter wheel is nice for slicing them into quarters, but a knife is fine.
Best part? Other than a minute to pull some things out of the freezer this morning, it only took me 15 minutes to put dinner on the table. Awesome!
Monday, October 27, 2008
Musical Monday - trial run
Since starting on Saturday I'm going to be posting every day, I've decided to use this week to work into things. And Musical Monday is a good place to start, since last Saturday night Roger and I attended a concert. Arwen and Bryan were also there, but our seats weren't together because they bought their tickets months ago, and we got ours more recently, as a belated anniversary gift from our kids. They had planned to send us to a baseball game, but by the time of our anniversary, there were no home games left that fit our schedule. That was fine with me, because I'd wanted to go to this particular concert since I'd heard it was happening.
The concert featured Fernando Ortega and Phil Keaggy. I thought that was an odd combination when I first heard about it, but.... Yeah, it was odd, but it brought together two whole eras of my life. I first heard of Phil Keaggy when I was still in college, and when I was working in a Christian restaurant/bookstore in the late 1970's, he was part of the background music of my days. Fernando, on the other hand, was opening for Michael Card on one of the many occasions our family has attended his concerts, and we became instant fans.
Fernando, for those who don't know, is a classically trained pianist who specializes in new arrangements of old hymns, and mellow slice-of-life songs. Phil Keaggy is an awe-inspiring guitarist who does old-fashioned rock and "Jesus music." And you know what? The concert was odd, and it was wonderful. And I hope I get a chance to hear either and/or both of them again soon!
The concert featured Fernando Ortega and Phil Keaggy. I thought that was an odd combination when I first heard about it, but.... Yeah, it was odd, but it brought together two whole eras of my life. I first heard of Phil Keaggy when I was still in college, and when I was working in a Christian restaurant/bookstore in the late 1970's, he was part of the background music of my days. Fernando, on the other hand, was opening for Michael Card on one of the many occasions our family has attended his concerts, and we became instant fans.
Fernando, for those who don't know, is a classically trained pianist who specializes in new arrangements of old hymns, and mellow slice-of-life songs. Phil Keaggy is an awe-inspiring guitarist who does old-fashioned rock and "Jesus music." And you know what? The concert was odd, and it was wonderful. And I hope I get a chance to hear either and/or both of them again soon!
Friday, October 24, 2008
Thursdays
Since 50% of the input I've gotten on my NaBloPoMo plans -- some in the comments, some elsewhere -- has suggested "household tips" for Thursdays, I hereby declare "Tip-line Thursdays" for the month of November. I'll even take requests! Current ideas include menu planning, weekly scheduling, stain removal ideas, and holiday tips, but I'm open to most anything I actually know anything about!
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
NaBloPoMo Approaches!
In a fit of enthusiasm (madness??) I went and signed myself up for NaBloPoMo for November. And I suspect that if I’m going to have any success at this at all, I will need more of a structure than I had last year, which was “Uh, family biographies if I can’t think of anything else?? ‘K, bye!” SO I have decided to choose a theme for each day of the week, which may also help me for the rest of the year!
Musical Monday – what I like or hate, what new artists I’ve found
Tasty Tuesday (inspired by Taco Tuesday at a local Mexican place) -- recipes and such
What’cha Readin’ Wednesday (via The Summa Mamas) -- what I’m reading, maybe old favorites
??? Thursday – I need some help here! It doesn’t have to start with T!!
Family Friday – finishing Katie and Tommy’s bios, and maybe some grandkid pictures
Sloppy Saturday – this is where I may even just post links!
Spiritual Sunday – some kind of reflection suitable to the day
So, what do you think? All suggestions are welcome!
Friday, October 17, 2008
Quick Political Giggle
I've never actually mentioned here who I favor for president in this upcoming election, and I'm not going to do so now.* But let it be said that there is a sign in my front yard, and signs in other yards along my street. There is one sign with which I vehemently disagree. But I smile every time I go past that house anyway, because the house is also decorated for Hallowe'en. There is a great big black and silver sign saying "Beware!" And I guess they weren't paying attention, because the arrangement is such that the signs say "Beware [insert candidate's name here]." And with that, I heartily agree!
*If you read this post, you should be able to figure it out. You're all smart and logical, or you wouldn't be here reading my blog. ;-D
Just to clarify: I don't care if my regular readers know who I favor in the elections. I consider you my friends, and this is only one of the many things friends can talk about. I just don't want somebody to be able to randomly Google a candidate's name, and then come here expressly to heckle me.
*If you read this post, you should be able to figure it out. You're all smart and logical, or you wouldn't be here reading my blog. ;-D
Just to clarify: I don't care if my regular readers know who I favor in the elections. I consider you my friends, and this is only one of the many things friends can talk about. I just don't want somebody to be able to randomly Google a candidate's name, and then come here expressly to heckle me.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Wings, Fluttering above the Nest
Tommy went to his first semi-formal dance last night. He and some friends met at one of their houses for pictures,went out to dinner, and then to the dance. Although Tommy is only 15, he skipped a year in school, so most of his friends can drive. We would have gone out to take pictures, but he insisted we not waste the gas. Translation --"Hey folks, I really don't want you there." But his sisters had insisted on seeing pictures, so we compromised on his taking the camera and letting some other parent use it.
The pictures are pretty standard: three girls and three guys lined up alternately. Most of them are grinning, because these are long-term friends. The exception is Tommy's date "Kathy". (Actually, he informed us a couple of weeks ago that she's his "girlfriend", although as far as I know this is the first time they've actually gone anywhere together.) Kathy, while smiling, looks a little tentative. This is new territory for her; she's a freshman, and the others are two juniors, a senior, and two grads.
Tommy is perhaps the brightest of our children (possibly outdone by Maggie, and all of them are way bright), and as the youngest has constantly been exposed to his older siblings' friends. Kathy is the younger of just two (perfectly nice and certainly bright) sisters, and I hope she gets comfortable with this group of kids, because they're great! But spending time with Tommy means you will be challenged to justify everything you think and believe. I wonder if she had a good time last night?
But she's not my concern, and actually, neither is Tommy. It's me. My BABY is dating. My BABY is a junior. My BABY will be gone in less than two years!
In truth, I'm probably going to love having an empty nest. No nagging about laundry or trash. No shoes or drum sticks in the middle of the living room floor. No waking up in the middle of the night and realizing he's fallen asleep on the couch again. (That seems to be a family trait -- my brother did it so often my dad dubbed them "camper nights.") But the transition; well, he's my BABY. God grant me the grace to let him become a man!
The pictures are pretty standard: three girls and three guys lined up alternately. Most of them are grinning, because these are long-term friends. The exception is Tommy's date "Kathy". (Actually, he informed us a couple of weeks ago that she's his "girlfriend", although as far as I know this is the first time they've actually gone anywhere together.) Kathy, while smiling, looks a little tentative. This is new territory for her; she's a freshman, and the others are two juniors, a senior, and two grads.
Tommy is perhaps the brightest of our children (possibly outdone by Maggie, and all of them are way bright), and as the youngest has constantly been exposed to his older siblings' friends. Kathy is the younger of just two (perfectly nice and certainly bright) sisters, and I hope she gets comfortable with this group of kids, because they're great! But spending time with Tommy means you will be challenged to justify everything you think and believe. I wonder if she had a good time last night?
But she's not my concern, and actually, neither is Tommy. It's me. My BABY is dating. My BABY is a junior. My BABY will be gone in less than two years!
In truth, I'm probably going to love having an empty nest. No nagging about laundry or trash. No shoes or drum sticks in the middle of the living room floor. No waking up in the middle of the night and realizing he's fallen asleep on the couch again. (That seems to be a family trait -- my brother did it so often my dad dubbed them "camper nights.") But the transition; well, he's my BABY. God grant me the grace to let him become a man!
Friday, October 03, 2008
Range Rant
Today I'm doing having a very domestic day, which includes a lot of cooking. I have a post percolating about it, but I thought that first I'd let you see what I wrote to the manufacturer of my stove yesterday.
Dear Jenn-Air people:
(OK, yeah, I'm trolling for a little sympathy from you guys. What else is the internet for?)
Dear Jenn-Air people:
My husband has already written the logical, masculine letter regarding the failure of our stove. This is the other side.
When my mother died in 2004, I came into a modest inheritance. My parents were simple people, a teacher and a pattern-maker, and frankly, my brother and I were surprised that they had managed to save so much. We used the money to pay for our daughter's wedding, and paid off our credit cards. And I had some left, and since our stove was old and worn out, I decided to replace it.
Our local, trusted appliance shop had lots of choices in stock, but the owner recommended that I consider spending a little more than I had planned. He knew that we are the type of people who use appliances until they are worn out, and suggested that this Jenn-Air stove would serve us better and longer than some of the other models I was considering. Boy was he wrong!
In the last four years our stove has needed repair THREE times. The first time was under warranty, and that was fine, but last year the same part (the right front burner thermostat) failed. That repair cost us almost 20% of what we paid for the stove. This summer, the same part failed. My husband , knowing that the stove was no longer under warranty, contacted you and asked if there was anything your company could do on this obviously defective product. You DID pay for the visit of the same repairman, who confirmed that it was indeed the same part. His comment was “Yeah, they fail all the time.”
Since we bought the stove with inheritance money, there are now no spare funds to pay for repairing it AGAIN, and likely again in another year or two. Why bother? I will limp along, using that burner for things like boiling water for pasta, where the temperature doesn't matter. And I won't ever buy a Jenn-Air product again. (The representative on the phone offered us 25% off on another stove. Why would you think we'd throw more money away?)
Sincerely,
(OK, yeah, I'm trolling for a little sympathy from you guys. What else is the internet for?)
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Fluff and Nonsense
Since that last post was so heavy, I thought that this one should be just what the title says. I was going to talk about "The Lotion Song", but Arwen pretty well covered it in her post. (But read the footnote* here after you've read the backstory.)
George has returned "home" to his apartment in Duluth after the big cruise. I would post a picture of him passing by upstream, but it happened at 9:15 at night in a rainstorm. We went down and waved (we could barely see him; he could see us because of streetlights), but we left the camera at home.
The other big event of last weekend was the great-crosstown-rivalry football game. Our team (the blue) was defeated by the red team 20-14, in a downpour. Roger and I were there, sitting in light rain, for the pre-game show --which included our band's halftime show, since we were "away" this year (our schools share a stadium)-- and the first half. But we skipped out at the start of halftime, because it had started to POUR, and Tommy assured us he could get rides, first to Pizza Hut, which is the band's after-game hangout, and then home. Unfortunately, he doffed his uniform in the car of the friend who gave him the first ride, and came home with someone else, so we didn't get the uniform back until Tuesday. Phew! It's going to the cleaners after this week's game, but I would have had to pay extra for rush service -- only one cleaner in town can safely do the uniforms -- and Tommy can live with it for this week. It looks OK (I pressed it) but smells musty.
I just realized that since I haven't finished Tommy's or Katie's stories yet (NaBloPoMo here it comes!) most of you may not know that Tommy is a drummer, or that Katie was Drum Major these last two years. Obviously I need to get my act together. (I just tried to post band pictures, but no luck.)
I have been sewing madly on a wedding present (personalized aprons, place mats, napkins) for a long-time friend of my daughter Maggie's, and also altering her mom's mother of the bride dress. As another friend who knew us all way-back-when, and with whom I recently reconnected on Facebook, says "What! 'Joyce' getting married?? Isn't she only 10 years old???" But the bitter truth is -- nope, they grow up. Both Rosie and Arwen were married younger than Joyce is now.
Incidentally, if those (few) of you readers who I "know" fairly well here online would like to connect on Facebook as well, email me, and I will let you in on my "real" identity. And I'll probably do something dumb like send you "rolled heel marching shoes" with the "Marching Band Geek" application. ;-D Or if you like word games, challenge you in "Ladder Mode" on Word Twist. (What, you think it's odd that a grandmother is on Facebook? My mother-in-law, a GREAT-grandmother, is on Facebook!! We are up-to-date old codgers!!)
My (three) typing fingers are getting tired, so I will end this post. And I hope to be back sooner, even if it's just more fluff.
*I personally think "My bottom is over the lotion.." fits the melody better. But then I've had more than twice as much lifetime to practice parody as Bryan has. :-D
George has returned "home" to his apartment in Duluth after the big cruise. I would post a picture of him passing by upstream, but it happened at 9:15 at night in a rainstorm. We went down and waved (we could barely see him; he could see us because of streetlights), but we left the camera at home.
The other big event of last weekend was the great-crosstown-rivalry football game. Our team (the blue) was defeated by the red team 20-14, in a downpour. Roger and I were there, sitting in light rain, for the pre-game show --which included our band's halftime show, since we were "away" this year (our schools share a stadium)-- and the first half. But we skipped out at the start of halftime, because it had started to POUR, and Tommy assured us he could get rides, first to Pizza Hut, which is the band's after-game hangout, and then home. Unfortunately, he doffed his uniform in the car of the friend who gave him the first ride, and came home with someone else, so we didn't get the uniform back until Tuesday. Phew! It's going to the cleaners after this week's game, but I would have had to pay extra for rush service -- only one cleaner in town can safely do the uniforms -- and Tommy can live with it for this week. It looks OK (I pressed it) but smells musty.
I just realized that since I haven't finished Tommy's or Katie's stories yet (NaBloPoMo here it comes!) most of you may not know that Tommy is a drummer, or that Katie was Drum Major these last two years. Obviously I need to get my act together. (I just tried to post band pictures, but no luck.)
I have been sewing madly on a wedding present (personalized aprons, place mats, napkins) for a long-time friend of my daughter Maggie's, and also altering her mom's mother of the bride dress. As another friend who knew us all way-back-when, and with whom I recently reconnected on Facebook, says "What! 'Joyce' getting married?? Isn't she only 10 years old???" But the bitter truth is -- nope, they grow up. Both Rosie and Arwen were married younger than Joyce is now.
Incidentally, if those (few) of you readers who I "know" fairly well here online would like to connect on Facebook as well, email me, and I will let you in on my "real" identity. And I'll probably do something dumb like send you "rolled heel marching shoes" with the "Marching Band Geek" application. ;-D Or if you like word games, challenge you in "Ladder Mode" on Word Twist. (What, you think it's odd that a grandmother is on Facebook? My mother-in-law, a GREAT-grandmother, is on Facebook!! We are up-to-date old codgers!!)
My (three) typing fingers are getting tired, so I will end this post. And I hope to be back sooner, even if it's just more fluff.
*I personally think "My bottom is over the lotion.." fits the melody better. But then I've had more than twice as much lifetime to practice parody as Bryan has. :-D
Sunday, September 07, 2008
It's Not Really about Politics
As my sidebar "About Me" section says, I live in Michigan. We're the 11th largest state, and the eighth most populated. (If our largely-unoccupied Upper Peninsula was as densely populated as the rest of the state, we'd be fifth.) Unfortunately, we are also the state with the highest unemployment rate, which means that many people are moving elsewhere to find work.
The "Big Three" automakers are responsible for much of the employment slump here. But some people also place blame on the state government, which is currently run by Democrats. Of course, when we had a Republican governor, people blamed things on him. I'm not a student of economics; I even avoided taking a class in it in college, which was unusual for math majors. And I have never liked dealing with the political process -- in fact I was over thirty when I voted in my first presidential election. But over the last twenty-odd years I have become very well informed on Michigan (and national) politics for a very simple reason: I'm pro-life.
My husband, who grew up in Michigan, remembers his parents working hard to defeat a ballot proposal which would have overturned Michigan's laws against abortion. That proposal went down to defeat by a two-to-one margin. Unfortunately, that was in November of 1972, and the following January the US Supreme Court handed down Roe v. Wade and Doe v. Bolton, which overrode the abortion laws of all fifty states. Since we have been married, Michigan has dealt with votes on taxpayer funding of abortion (not anymore!), informed consent (yes!), parental consent (with the mandated judicial bypass), assisted suicide (NO --70 to 30%), partial birth abortion (still being fiddled with), and more.
I know some people for whom working on these campaigns is a challenge but a joy, because all this political stuff is right up their alley. Me, I do it because it's right, not because I like it. And this year I get to do it again.
In all the election years when Michigan didn't have some kind of a specific vote going, I still worked hard for the election of candidates at all levels who believe that life and death should be in the hands of God, not a doctor or any other individual. And this has been on both sides of the political aisle; my current state representative is from the "other" party. And he knows me by name and face, even though we disagree on just about every issue but this.
But this year Michigan pro-lifers have a bigger challenge. Yes, we will work to get candidates elected. Our main focus, though, is on the innocuously-named Proposition 2. Prop2, for short, has an attractive website called "CureMichigan". You can go there if you want (it's dot com), but I won't link there because I refuse to inflict the half-truths you'll find there on anybody without a warning. The crux of the matter is that the proponents of Prop2 are claiming that if only Michigan would relax its archaic (passed in 1978) law banning research on embryos which is not for the therapeutic benefit of the embryo, lots of other non-embryonic people would be cured of everything from diabetes to Parkinson's disease.
The facts don't bear this out. This site shows the large number of cures achieved with non-embryonic stem cells, while so far embryonic stem cell (ESC) research has come up empty. But leaving that aside, (and also, if you like, the morality of ESC research), the most dangerous part of Prop2 is "in the fine print."
Prop2, which is a proposal to amend the Michigan constitution, says in part :
All stem cell research and all stem cell therapies and cures must be conducted and provided in accordance with state and local laws of general applicability, including but not limited to laws concerning scientific and medical practices and patient safety and privacy, to the extent that any such laws do not:
The "Big Three" automakers are responsible for much of the employment slump here. But some people also place blame on the state government, which is currently run by Democrats. Of course, when we had a Republican governor, people blamed things on him. I'm not a student of economics; I even avoided taking a class in it in college, which was unusual for math majors. And I have never liked dealing with the political process -- in fact I was over thirty when I voted in my first presidential election. But over the last twenty-odd years I have become very well informed on Michigan (and national) politics for a very simple reason: I'm pro-life.
My husband, who grew up in Michigan, remembers his parents working hard to defeat a ballot proposal which would have overturned Michigan's laws against abortion. That proposal went down to defeat by a two-to-one margin. Unfortunately, that was in November of 1972, and the following January the US Supreme Court handed down Roe v. Wade and Doe v. Bolton, which overrode the abortion laws of all fifty states. Since we have been married, Michigan has dealt with votes on taxpayer funding of abortion (not anymore!), informed consent (yes!), parental consent (with the mandated judicial bypass), assisted suicide (NO --70 to 30%), partial birth abortion (still being fiddled with), and more.
I know some people for whom working on these campaigns is a challenge but a joy, because all this political stuff is right up their alley. Me, I do it because it's right, not because I like it. And this year I get to do it again.
In all the election years when Michigan didn't have some kind of a specific vote going, I still worked hard for the election of candidates at all levels who believe that life and death should be in the hands of God, not a doctor or any other individual. And this has been on both sides of the political aisle; my current state representative is from the "other" party. And he knows me by name and face, even though we disagree on just about every issue but this.
But this year Michigan pro-lifers have a bigger challenge. Yes, we will work to get candidates elected. Our main focus, though, is on the innocuously-named Proposition 2. Prop2, for short, has an attractive website called "CureMichigan". You can go there if you want (it's dot com), but I won't link there because I refuse to inflict the half-truths you'll find there on anybody without a warning. The crux of the matter is that the proponents of Prop2 are claiming that if only Michigan would relax its archaic (passed in 1978) law banning research on embryos which is not for the therapeutic benefit of the embryo, lots of other non-embryonic people would be cured of everything from diabetes to Parkinson's disease.
The facts don't bear this out. This site shows the large number of cures achieved with non-embryonic stem cells, while so far embryonic stem cell (ESC) research has come up empty. But leaving that aside, (and also, if you like, the morality of ESC research), the most dangerous part of Prop2 is "in the fine print."
Prop2, which is a proposal to amend the Michigan constitution, says in part :
All stem cell research and all stem cell therapies and cures must be conducted and provided in accordance with state and local laws of general applicability, including but not limited to laws concerning scientific and medical practices and patient safety and privacy, to the extent that any such laws do not:
(i) prevent, restrict, obstruct, or discourage any stem cell research or stem cell therapies and cures that are permitted by the provisions of this section; or
(ii) create disincentives for any person to engage in or otherwise associate with such research or therapies or cures.
That's a bunch of legal language which boils down to "and nobody's allowed to make any new laws which might stop us from doing any of this, or even make us fell bad about it." So this would be a constitutional amendment that could never be changed. Even scientists found out we didn't need to do any of this stuff. Even if the culture changed, and most people agreed it was wrong.
History shows that at least some laws always need to be amended. As far back as Biblical times, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednigo wound up in the fiery furnace, and Daniel in the lion's den, because the king couldn't change the laws that put them there. And the American constitution has needed to be changed. When my mother was born, my grandmother had no legal right to vote. When my grandmother's mother was born [she's the one for whom I'm named] African-Americans weren't even citizens. Those things needed to be changed, even though they were "sensible" at the time when they were enacted. But Prop2's framers figure they're wiser and more enlightened than America's founding fathers.
So this election season I'll be out there dealing with yard signs and get-out-the-vote phone calls and fund-raising and all the other stuff of a political campaign, and hating it. But I'll be doing it anyway, because it's not really about politics -- it's about Life.
If you live in Michigan and are interested in helping -- or even if you think I'm off-the-wall --log on to MiCause.com and see where you fit in. And for those of you who live somewhere else, all prayers are appreciated!
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
Down the River We Go. . . .
The title of this post is from a song that was in one of the music books my elementary school used. I don't remember which grade, but the series was published by Silver Burdett, before they merged with Ginn. If anybody half-remembers it, the lyrics are here. I can remember singing this song with great verve, which is rather funny considering that the largest bodies of water I had seen at that point were some creeks (pronounced "cricks"), a couple of ponds, and the murky, muddy, "lake" in which I learned to swim, more or less... Roger would say less.
But then I married my man from Michigan, and now live in a town on the shore of a Great Lake. And although it's not the O-hi-o river from the song, we also have a river.
It's a big enough river that our town hosts its own tall ship. And we have lots of sidewalks right at the river's edge, from which this picture was taken. And this morning, Roger and I were down there with our camera.
George was on board this cutter, headed down the river. He's the tiny little dot about halfway up the superstructure, directly above the G in Coast Guard. He waved, we waved, and then down the river he went. And I, of course, went on my morning errands with a little bit of a tear in my eye. (In a week or two they'll be coming back up!)
But then I married my man from Michigan, and now live in a town on the shore of a Great Lake. And although it's not the O-hi-o river from the song, we also have a river.
It's a big enough river that our town hosts its own tall ship. And we have lots of sidewalks right at the river's edge, from which this picture was taken. And this morning, Roger and I were down there with our camera.
George was on board this cutter, headed down the river. He's the tiny little dot about halfway up the superstructure, directly above the G in Coast Guard. He waved, we waved, and then down the river he went. And I, of course, went on my morning errands with a little bit of a tear in my eye. (In a week or two they'll be coming back up!)
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Cop-Out Photo Post
I think I've had a post like this already, but somebody did ask for pictures, and it's been another crazy week, so here you go, Lindsay! This is Matthew the day of his baptism. He looks very much like Daniel at his baptism, but Daniel was several weeks older. Rosie and Anthony and the boys flew to Idaho yesterday for Anthony's parents' 40th wedding anniversary celebration, so they had the baptism earlier than they would have otherwise. But since Daniel came early and Matthew was overdue, both boys were about the same size. And in ten or fifteen years, nobody will be able to tell the pictures apart. Already we are doing it by what background and which outfit!
This next one is Matthew on Thursday the 14th. I think his new nickname should be "Chubster." He was 8# 1oz. at birth, 8# 3oz. at his four day checkup, and 9# 10 oz. at two weeks. This is a day short of three weeks. Ten and a half pounds, anybody??
This is Rosie with Matthew, at Arwen's house. Although I came home on Friday, (the day Matthew was two weeks old) it was only to help Maggie and Katie pack up their stuff to fly off to college in Florida tomorrow. Since Maggie was scheduled to take the GRE on Friday (yesterday), we drove both girls and a LOT of stuff to Arwen's on Thursday. Arwen and Bryan will take them to the airport tomorrow, after they have (we hope!) consolidated their stuff into two suitcases and a carry-on each. And since due to the rising cost of flying, we won't see them again until Christmas, the whole family except George/Brandon came over for dinner.
There's nothing like a couple of nephews to take your mind off the GRE!!
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
I Should Have Known Better...
Somehow I believed that even though I am spending the week at Rosie's house helping her with Daniel and Matthew since Anthony is done with paternity leave, I would be able to post. I am typing this with one hand standing up holding Matthew while Rosie is in the shower. See you next week!
Monday, July 28, 2008
Welcome, Matthew Benedict!
Rosie had her baby Friday evening. She had, slow, boring, not-quite-labor all day, and then a very lively time from about 6PM onward until Matthew was born about 10:15. I drove down to be with her in labor, but this is the last grandchild birth I'll try to attend. Sad-but-true fact -- I'm just getting too old. She and Anthony sent me away just about the time things picked up, because it was obvious that I was approaching "basket case" from fatigue. But they did superbly on their own, and Matthew is a sweetie!!
And there is something I'm not too old for -- holding the baby!
And there is something I'm not too old for -- holding the baby!
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
Response to "George"
As some of you may have seen in the comments, my older son "George" chose to take issue with how I named the pets in the previous post. He said:
"I find it somewhat ridiculous, mother, that you have no problem openly naming Lucas, or putting quotation marks around "Joe", as some sort of pseudo-pseudonym, yet feel the need to fake the nickname of our first dog, Callebaut, aka Cal. Not "Bo", Cal. And while I'm not sure what Uncle Bo called his childhood pet, I'm betting it wasn't "Cal". This internet anonymity stuff is a bit odd, I know, but the 35,600 Google results for "callebaut dog" aren't likely to lead anyone to find out who were really are."
So, for clarity --
Dear Only-slightly-pseudonymous George,
You are absolutely right! I should have just used the real names. But I wanted to avoid explaining how each animal was named, so I started with a never-used call name, and went downhill from there. I was just too lazy to fix it.
So the real names, in order, are:
Calico Snifter Boogie -- a beagle of high lineage but unfortunate "printed' pattern on his nose.
Callebaut -- a half-Aussie shepherd/ half chocolate Lab who was too classy to be called Hershey or Nestle
Aborigine Joe -- never called anything but "Joe" (or "Joe-dog" by Daniel and Camilla), half Aussie shepherd, half black Lab (we think)
Lucas -- a cute little black and white no-breed kitten
And by the way, son, if you don't stop picking on me (and your sister), I will tell the whole world that you don't have a weird name like your siblings, but are actually something totally commonplace and boring, like "Brandon". ;-D
Love you!
Mom
Dear Only-slightly-pseudonymous George,
You are absolutely right! I should have just used the real names. But I wanted to avoid explaining how each animal was named, so I started with a never-used call name, and went downhill from there. I was just too lazy to fix it.
So the real names, in order, are:
Calico Snifter Boogie -- a beagle of high lineage but unfortunate "printed' pattern on his nose.
Callebaut -- a half-Aussie shepherd/ half chocolate Lab who was too classy to be called Hershey or Nestle
Aborigine Joe -- never called anything but "Joe" (or "Joe-dog" by Daniel and Camilla), half Aussie shepherd, half black Lab (we think)
Lucas -- a cute little black and white no-breed kitten
And by the way, son, if you don't stop picking on me (and your sister), I will tell the whole world that you don't have a weird name like your siblings, but are actually something totally commonplace and boring, like "Brandon". ;-D
Love you!
Mom
Sunday, July 20, 2008
The Tail of a Cat
I have never wanted a cat. Or a dog, either. Or a gerbil or a bird or any other kind of a pet, for that matter. I had one week's custody of the class hamster in third grade. He bit me! And I had one or two ill-fated turtles, before they stopped selling them in every dime store for fear of salmonella, and once an Easter chick that everybody knew from the start was destined to wind up in my grandparents' chicken yard, to provide eggs or meat depending on its gender.
But I didn't mind. My friends read dog stories, or horse stories, or both. I read mysteries, or ballet stories. And anyway, I was "allergic to animal dander." My brother, however, minded a lot. He NEEDED a dog. And so my parents got him a beagle puppy, who lived strictly outdoors, in respect for my allergies. When "Cal" died when my brother was in high school, he was never replaced.
Many years later (he was forty-two), my brother married a lovely lady who was a cat person. It was understood that if he wanted her, Gypsy was part of the deal. And as Gypsy moved on to cat heaven, she was replaced by Samantha and Thomasina. One of them (I can only tell which under direct coaching) has adopted my brother. And the other one (I think) usually deigns to jump on me a couple of times whenever I visit. I have always considered that cat exposure enough for me. I choose not to remember that my allergies have departed along with my NOT LAMENTED allergy to chocolate.
However. . . . I also married, a man whose family had a succession of both cats and dogs all through his childhood, and even after he left home. And he is observant enough to know that I don't have my chocolate allergy any more. So ten or so years ago, when our children begged for a dog, I was outvoted seven to one. I could have cast a veto, but I was assured that they were old enough to take care of a dog, and I wouldn't have to do anything. That was as true as most such promises are. But I kind of got used to "Bo", and when he had to be put down because of lymphoma after only four years, I sent a baggie of cheese and chocolate -- his favorites -- along with the brave souls who were taking him to the vet.
We were pet-free for about a year after that, but I, at least, am incapable of telling a group of wistful children "Nope, no dog again ever." We eventually adopted "Joe", who has been a member of our family ever since. He is definitely Roger's dog, which is good because walking him makes my sedentary computer guru get some exercise. But not so good is the fact that when we want to make a weekend trip out of town to visit the grandchildren we have to find someone to take care of him. We have some awesome friends and neighbors who are willing to do this, but as the kids leave home and the grandchildren multiply we'll want to be gone more often, so we had determined -- no more pets.
Allow me to backtrack a little . I have not yet finished writing the Mom's-eye-view of Katie, our fifth. And I haven't begun at all on Tommy, our youngest. This has partly been because I've realized that they are still living through the parts of life I've described for the others. But I need to give Tommy a couple of sentences here.
Tommy is smart, articulate, computer-savvy, and self-confident. He gets his good looks from his dad, and his pig-headed stubbornness from me. He is wonderful with Daniel and Camilla; patient, kind and willing to have their kind of fun. And a couple of months ago, he got himself into hot water. It wasn't a big deal, really. I almost had a sense of relief that now we knew what the "wrinkle" in raising this one was, since each of the other five had had one. (Some of them I've mentioned here, some not.) But the result was that he wasn't too happy with us for while.
But ten days ago Tommy came into the room where I was ironing with an interesting smile on his face. "Hello, dear beautiful sweet intelligent mother.." Can you tell where this is going? He wanted to know if he could adopt a kitten! He and Katie assured me that the kitten was free (true), that it had had all its shots (not true), and that they would do all the work and pay all the expenses (true so far, except that sometimes I have to open a door that we keep closed in the summer for cooling so that Lucas can reach his litter box.) Obviously, I eventually I said yes.
And I'm very glad I did. Tommy, who begged us for a little brother or sister until it became obvious that it wasn't going to happen, now has something younger and smaller to care for. He spent his entire last paycheck on Lucas' vet visit. He wakes up reasonably cheerful in the morning to the sound of a bell on a collar. He cleans the litter box without being reminded.
Of course, right now, Tommy, like all red-blooded American boys, is taking a Sunday afternoon nap. And Lucas, who seems to have an insatiable urge to be "UP" as high as possible, has made his way onto my desk and is blocking my view of the monitor as has chases his tail. I still don't have any desire for a pet. But I guess I don't mind being entertained by somebody else's!
But I didn't mind. My friends read dog stories, or horse stories, or both. I read mysteries, or ballet stories. And anyway, I was "allergic to animal dander." My brother, however, minded a lot. He NEEDED a dog. And so my parents got him a beagle puppy, who lived strictly outdoors, in respect for my allergies. When "Cal" died when my brother was in high school, he was never replaced.
Many years later (he was forty-two), my brother married a lovely lady who was a cat person. It was understood that if he wanted her, Gypsy was part of the deal. And as Gypsy moved on to cat heaven, she was replaced by Samantha and Thomasina. One of them (I can only tell which under direct coaching) has adopted my brother. And the other one (I think) usually deigns to jump on me a couple of times whenever I visit. I have always considered that cat exposure enough for me. I choose not to remember that my allergies have departed along with my NOT LAMENTED allergy to chocolate.
However. . . . I also married, a man whose family had a succession of both cats and dogs all through his childhood, and even after he left home. And he is observant enough to know that I don't have my chocolate allergy any more. So ten or so years ago, when our children begged for a dog, I was outvoted seven to one. I could have cast a veto, but I was assured that they were old enough to take care of a dog, and I wouldn't have to do anything. That was as true as most such promises are. But I kind of got used to "Bo", and when he had to be put down because of lymphoma after only four years, I sent a baggie of cheese and chocolate -- his favorites -- along with the brave souls who were taking him to the vet.
We were pet-free for about a year after that, but I, at least, am incapable of telling a group of wistful children "Nope, no dog again ever." We eventually adopted "Joe", who has been a member of our family ever since. He is definitely Roger's dog, which is good because walking him makes my sedentary computer guru get some exercise. But not so good is the fact that when we want to make a weekend trip out of town to visit the grandchildren we have to find someone to take care of him. We have some awesome friends and neighbors who are willing to do this, but as the kids leave home and the grandchildren multiply we'll want to be gone more often, so we had determined -- no more pets.
Allow me to backtrack a little . I have not yet finished writing the Mom's-eye-view of Katie, our fifth. And I haven't begun at all on Tommy, our youngest. This has partly been because I've realized that they are still living through the parts of life I've described for the others. But I need to give Tommy a couple of sentences here.
Tommy is smart, articulate, computer-savvy, and self-confident. He gets his good looks from his dad, and his pig-headed stubbornness from me. He is wonderful with Daniel and Camilla; patient, kind and willing to have their kind of fun. And a couple of months ago, he got himself into hot water. It wasn't a big deal, really. I almost had a sense of relief that now we knew what the "wrinkle" in raising this one was, since each of the other five had had one. (Some of them I've mentioned here, some not.) But the result was that he wasn't too happy with us for while.
But ten days ago Tommy came into the room where I was ironing with an interesting smile on his face. "Hello, dear beautiful sweet intelligent mother.." Can you tell where this is going? He wanted to know if he could adopt a kitten! He and Katie assured me that the kitten was free (true), that it had had all its shots (not true), and that they would do all the work and pay all the expenses (true so far, except that sometimes I have to open a door that we keep closed in the summer for cooling so that Lucas can reach his litter box.) Obviously, I eventually I said yes.
And I'm very glad I did. Tommy, who begged us for a little brother or sister until it became obvious that it wasn't going to happen, now has something younger and smaller to care for. He spent his entire last paycheck on Lucas' vet visit. He wakes up reasonably cheerful in the morning to the sound of a bell on a collar. He cleans the litter box without being reminded.
Of course, right now, Tommy, like all red-blooded American boys, is taking a Sunday afternoon nap. And Lucas, who seems to have an insatiable urge to be "UP" as high as possible, has made his way onto my desk and is blocking my view of the monitor as has chases his tail. I still don't have any desire for a pet. But I guess I don't mind being entertained by somebody else's!
Monday, July 14, 2008
Wednesday Afternoons
(This is the post that was percolating when I pinched my finger into a giant blood-blister trying to remodel a lampshade. All better now. AND the lampshade works just fine.)
I am a creature of habit. My kids would probably tell you that I am rigid and stuck in a rut, and Roger will politely say that I'm "not as spontaneous" as he is, but the truth is that I am just more comfortable when I have a general idea of what's coming on any given day. For the next year! We have a giant wall calendar in our kitchen that literally has "Major Grocery Shopping" written on every other Thursday from here through December -- which is when it ends -- with deviations for things like Thanksgiving. Somewhere on September is written "buy new planning calendar", because I need a while to get all the birthdays and regular monthly meetings and grocery days and suchlike transferred before November, so that I can start writing in things for January as soon as I find out about them. I prefer to believe I am organized! ;-D
So it should be no surprise to you that I have a regular weekly "plan of action". Sundays are big family breakfast, mass (unless choir sings on Saturday night), dinner, and our couples' group once a month. Monday is music planning stuff, or sewing, or nasty big jobs like cleaning out the basement. (The rationale is that I'll be well rested after the weekend.) Tuesday is laundry, ironing, and menu planning and grocery list. Wednesday is changing beds, sheet and towel laundry, and bathroom cleaning. Thursday is grocery shopping (and maybe some random stuff like mending on non-major shopping weeks), and choir practice in the evening. Friday is more laundry and ironing, plus going over the schedule for the upcoming week. And I usually cook an extra-nice dinner because some of the family fasts breakfast and lunch most Fridays. Saturday is mopping, vacuuming, housecleaning. Lather, rinse, repeat.
To be perfectly honest, most weeks are not that cut-and-dried. This week, for example, I did grocery planning on Monday because we have a funeral to attend on Tuesday. And in the summer, the kids do more of the work than during the school year. And when that next grandbaby arrives, I'm out of here no matter what day of the week it is.... But getting back to what I was saying, I like knowing what's on my agenda for any given day.
Those of you who work outside the home probably are thinking "That's all she does?!! I do all that stuff in my evenings!" But I promise you I don't sit around and eat bonbons and watch soap operas. For one thing, we don't have a television. For another thing, I need to be frugal with my grocery money, so I cook mostly from scratch and spend several hours with the weekly ads figuring out which of the things I need are cheapest where this week. (I have a regular route that includes five to eight stores on one loop with no gas wasted. When we had six kids at home "major shopping" took about five hours, with another two or so for putting things away.) But I spend $160 a week for our current family of four, including all paper, cleaning, and hygiene supplies, which is only $16 more than the government's "Thrifty" plan for just food. And we eat VERY well. I could probably cut back to below the thrifty level, and we'd still be healthy and happy. I'd just have to bake cookies more often instead of buying them!
When I had six kids at home, especially when all of them were under twelve, the weekly schedule listed above took ALL my time. In fact, at that point I didn't have time for choir. The kids started helping as soon as they were able, but some things (changing the sheets on top bunks for example) were just not in their ability range. And that Wednesday list of beds, bathrooms, laundry took the whole day.
Somewhere along the line, though, it got easier. Even when a kid can't make a top bunk, he can strip it. And when older siblings can entertain younger ones, you stand a chance of getting a bathroom cleaned all in one shot, instead of stopping several times for childcare responsibilities. About the time Tommy started kindergarten, I discovered that I could (usually) get out of the house for a Wednesday mid-morning Eucharist. I would then grab a Coke or a mocha at the Tim Hortons' drive-thru, pick up Tommy, and finish my work. Later, when he was gone all day (waaah, all of my kids are gone!), I had a mental breakthrough. If I worked REALLY hard I could finish all the work (except maybe folding that last load of towels) before time to leave for the noon service. And then I'd be free until school was out. To go to the library. To go sit by the river and watch the freighters go by. To hit Barnes and Noble, make a list of new books to look for at the library (frugal? me??), and get a real mocha in the cafe. Heaven!!
Tommy will be a junior next year. He's the only kid without a driver's license. It's been years since I needed to be home by the time school let out. I can go places any day of the week, and I often do. But I still clean bathrooms like a dervish on Wednesday mornings, because Wednesday afternoons?? They're all mine!
I am a creature of habit. My kids would probably tell you that I am rigid and stuck in a rut, and Roger will politely say that I'm "not as spontaneous" as he is, but the truth is that I am just more comfortable when I have a general idea of what's coming on any given day. For the next year! We have a giant wall calendar in our kitchen that literally has "Major Grocery Shopping" written on every other Thursday from here through December -- which is when it ends -- with deviations for things like Thanksgiving. Somewhere on September is written "buy new planning calendar", because I need a while to get all the birthdays and regular monthly meetings and grocery days and suchlike transferred before November, so that I can start writing in things for January as soon as I find out about them. I prefer to believe I am organized! ;-D
So it should be no surprise to you that I have a regular weekly "plan of action". Sundays are big family breakfast, mass (unless choir sings on Saturday night), dinner, and our couples' group once a month. Monday is music planning stuff, or sewing, or nasty big jobs like cleaning out the basement. (The rationale is that I'll be well rested after the weekend.) Tuesday is laundry, ironing, and menu planning and grocery list. Wednesday is changing beds, sheet and towel laundry, and bathroom cleaning. Thursday is grocery shopping (and maybe some random stuff like mending on non-major shopping weeks), and choir practice in the evening. Friday is more laundry and ironing, plus going over the schedule for the upcoming week. And I usually cook an extra-nice dinner because some of the family fasts breakfast and lunch most Fridays. Saturday is mopping, vacuuming, housecleaning. Lather, rinse, repeat.
To be perfectly honest, most weeks are not that cut-and-dried. This week, for example, I did grocery planning on Monday because we have a funeral to attend on Tuesday. And in the summer, the kids do more of the work than during the school year. And when that next grandbaby arrives, I'm out of here no matter what day of the week it is.... But getting back to what I was saying, I like knowing what's on my agenda for any given day.
Those of you who work outside the home probably are thinking "That's all she does?!! I do all that stuff in my evenings!" But I promise you I don't sit around and eat bonbons and watch soap operas. For one thing, we don't have a television. For another thing, I need to be frugal with my grocery money, so I cook mostly from scratch and spend several hours with the weekly ads figuring out which of the things I need are cheapest where this week. (I have a regular route that includes five to eight stores on one loop with no gas wasted. When we had six kids at home "major shopping" took about five hours, with another two or so for putting things away.) But I spend $160 a week for our current family of four, including all paper, cleaning, and hygiene supplies, which is only $16 more than the government's "Thrifty" plan for just food. And we eat VERY well. I could probably cut back to below the thrifty level, and we'd still be healthy and happy. I'd just have to bake cookies more often instead of buying them!
When I had six kids at home, especially when all of them were under twelve, the weekly schedule listed above took ALL my time. In fact, at that point I didn't have time for choir. The kids started helping as soon as they were able, but some things (changing the sheets on top bunks for example) were just not in their ability range. And that Wednesday list of beds, bathrooms, laundry took the whole day.
Somewhere along the line, though, it got easier. Even when a kid can't make a top bunk, he can strip it. And when older siblings can entertain younger ones, you stand a chance of getting a bathroom cleaned all in one shot, instead of stopping several times for childcare responsibilities. About the time Tommy started kindergarten, I discovered that I could (usually) get out of the house for a Wednesday mid-morning Eucharist. I would then grab a Coke or a mocha at the Tim Hortons' drive-thru, pick up Tommy, and finish my work. Later, when he was gone all day (waaah, all of my kids are gone!), I had a mental breakthrough. If I worked REALLY hard I could finish all the work (except maybe folding that last load of towels) before time to leave for the noon service. And then I'd be free until school was out. To go to the library. To go sit by the river and watch the freighters go by. To hit Barnes and Noble, make a list of new books to look for at the library (frugal? me??), and get a real mocha in the cafe. Heaven!!
Tommy will be a junior next year. He's the only kid without a driver's license. It's been years since I needed to be home by the time school let out. I can go places any day of the week, and I often do. But I still clean bathrooms like a dervish on Wednesday mornings, because Wednesday afternoons?? They're all mine!
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Just in Case You Didn't Notice . . . .
When I got home from the weekend, I was too tired out from having fun with Daniel and Camilla to do a proper post. But I did manage to change my blog header. Did you notice?
I am now the grandmother of FOUR! Arwen and Bryan let us know that Camilla will have a sibling, due in February. Hurrah! Rosie and I wouldn't mind at all if we had to share our birthday. Maggie thinks that she should get to share hers, since we already have someone to share with. Actually, any February birthday will be fine! (And as Tommy's birthday is at the end of January, that's a possibility too.)
New grandbaby! Thank You, God!
I am now the grandmother of FOUR! Arwen and Bryan let us know that Camilla will have a sibling, due in February. Hurrah! Rosie and I wouldn't mind at all if we had to share our birthday. Maggie thinks that she should get to share hers, since we already have someone to share with. Actually, any February birthday will be fine! (And as Tommy's birthday is at the end of January, that's a possibility too.)
New grandbaby! Thank You, God!
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Where I'm spending my weekend
I have an actual post percolating, but I hurt my finger while trying to modify a $6 lampshade to fit an antique lamp that only $60 lampshades fit, and I'm typing with three fingers instead of my usual four. But I'm going to have a great weekend hanging out with these folks and their parents, and will be back next week, unless Daniel's baby sister or brother arrives!
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Rain
Right now it is not raining here. I am assured by Roger – and also by weather.com – that this is a temporary condition. It was raining earlier, complete with thunder, lightning, and some substantial hailstones. About ten minutes ago the sun came out. But it is gray again, and the windows which we reopened will need to be closed again.
In C.S. Lewis' That Hideous Strength, which for many reasons is one of my favorite books, the characters Camilla and Arthur Dennison relate that one of the reasons they got married was that they both like weather. Not any special kind of weather, just weather in general. Camilla says that most children like weather, and playing in it, until the adults force them not to. I am not sure that I liked weather as a child, but it is definitely true that one of the reasons I regularly give for liking living in Michigan is the experience of all four seasons. Summer thunderstorms, winter snow, wind, heat, cold; I want them all in my life.
As an adult, rain is the weather I probably appreciate least. It can make grocery shopping a trial. My exercise walk is even less pleasant in the rain. I really hate rain spots on my glasses. And yet ... one of the best memories I have of the camp where I spent parts of twelve summers, first as a camper, then on staff, is a walk in the rain.
That particular summer, my first on staff, the staffers were divided into two groups. For two weeks one group were counselors, spending from Sunday afternoon to Saturday morning riding herd on “cabin groups” of campers. The other group served as support staff, cooking and serving meals, cleaning bathrooms, mowing grass. After two weeks the groups switched.
This particular week I was on kitchen duty, which was the longest working day. In the kitchen by 6AM, breakfast on the table by 7:45. Clean up from breakfast, start lunch – and some of the dinner prep as well. Serve lunch (12 noon sharp), then clean up. And then you were free for a couple of hours, until 4PM for serving dinner at five thirty. (I don't mean to imply that this was drudgery. Actually, we played music, and talked, and had a generally good time. But it was long.)
We were free to do whatever we liked during our off hours, which usually boiled down to sleeping and/or swimming in the pool/lying in the sun. But this particular day it was raining, with enough chance of lightning that the pool was closed. And Anna and I weren't sleepy.
This was before the days of lightweight plastic ponchos and raincoats. Such things were made of treated fabric, even canvas, and they were heavy. Plastic trash bags, however, were new and wonderful and easily available in the kitchen. Anna and I grabbed a couple, poked holes for our heads, and spent our free hours running, laughing, singing and playing in the rain. We got back to the cabin just in time to put on dry sneakers and report for dinner duty. Our hair was wet, but since this was, after all, a (rather rustic) camp, that was fine.
I find it intriguing that of all the many many hours I spent at camp, these two rainy ones come to the top of my mind most often. Maybe I should take off my glasses, grab a trash bag, and go!
(As predicted, it's raining again.)
Monday, June 16, 2008
Take Me Out to the Ballgame!
When I was a kid I loved baseball. My brother and I had our favorite teams, with player pictures hung on our bedroom walls in the shape of ballfields. His teams were the Yankees and Giants, mine were the Dodgers and Mets. We had countless arguments about whose teams were better, but since in those days the only inter-league games were the World Series, and not more than one of our teams -- usually the Yankees* -- ever reached that level at the same time, such disputes were purely theoretical.
We read baseball stories, notably John Tunis' The Kid from Tompkinsville series. My favorite was The Kid Comes Back. We went to occasional Baltimore Orioles games, mostly at the instigation of my Aunt Ethel. Aunt Ethel was my mom's older sister, and I have countless memories of her sitting in front of the TV, watching the Orioles play, knitting away at her current project and keeping score at the same time. I learned a lot of baseball terminology from her. One of the saddest things of her descent in to Alzheimers was when she could no longer follow a baseball game.
And then, well, I grew up. I moved from Oriole territory to the mid-west, and we decided not to have a television in our house. For a few years our congregation had a church-league softball team (for which I was scorekeeper), but that ended when Rosie was a baby. Baseball scores in the newspaper are not the same, and the only MLB [Major League Baseball] team in Michigan is the Detroit Tigers, about whom I care very little, and who play in the middle of a scary city. Since my reading of the sports pages is limited to a glance at the front of the section, I knew two player names, and that's about it. Baseball became a very marginal, almost forgotten part of my life.
Until last Friday night. A friend of the family has occasional access to a set of corporate season tickets, and six weeks or so ago we made plans for him, Roger, me, and Katie to attend the Tigers/Dodgers game at Comerica Park. It sounded like a fun time with a friend, but right up until Thursday I was waffling about actually going, since "I didn't care that much about baseball anymore," it was supposed to rain, and Tommy needed transport to and from an end-of-the-school-year party. Roger finally persuaded me to go, since Tommy had arranged to get a ride from a friend, but I tossed the afghan I'm crocheting for Rosie and Anthony's coming baby into my backpack, figuring I'd have something interesting to do.
We got to Detroit about 30 minutes after stadium opening time, and parked our car in a not-too-near but not-too-far $10 game-night empty lot parking area. I was glad I had packed umbrellas, since it was misting lightly. We walked the several blocks to the stadium, and our friend suggested that we get something to eat at Hockeytown Cafe (warning--link has sound), across the street from the stadium. As usual, I was unimpressed by another sports bar, but the food was acceptable, despite no T in the BLT/Club because of the salmonella scare. By the time we finished, about 40 min before game time, it was raining, hard.
We decided to go over to the stadium and get our tickets scanned so we would be eligible for rain checks. Since we were in, we walked around to our assigned section, and decided to stand by the entry-way to our seats (between two hot dog stands!) to see if the rain would let up. It was actually quite pleasant -- there was a breeze from the field, which can be seen very well from the whole concessions/walkway ring. In the Orioles old park -- since replaced -- you could only see the field from the seats proper. About 10 minutes before scheduled game time, we noticed that the rain had tapered to a mist. Since I had brought rags to dry our seats, we decided to go and sit in them (with our umbrellas) and see what happened.
The seats were amazing! Fourteen rows back, right behind the home dugout. Aunt Ethel always preferred the view over the plate, and our budget was NOT corporate, so I'd never before been in the "good" seats. By the time we'd been in them 15 minutes the rain had totally stopped, and the grounds crew came out to uncover the infield. For about 2 minutes we wondered what they were going to do with all the water standing on the tarp. The answer -- dump it on the outfield! By then the scoreboard showed that the game would begin about one hour late, and it was a good choice; there was no more rain that evening.
I had decided before we took our seats that I wouldn't bother getting out my crocheting, because I didn't want to get it wet. But during the extra time of the delay, I pulled it out. By the time of the National Anthem, I had finished a row and a half. And then the game began. For the first inning, I divided my attention, looking up for the pitch and then down at my afghan. But somewhere along the line -- maybe it was the first line drive third baseman Guillen snared too fast for me to see -- I remembered: THIS is what I love about baseball. Not the team or player stats; not loyalty to any particular team. What I loved , and to my astonishment still love, is the actual game play itself. Long flies caught just short of the fence. The batter acting irate if a pitch comes too close. The tag -- or missed tag -- on the steal to second or third. I just love baseball.
Roger, who has always been little mystified by my baseball knowledge (football is his game), was glad to hear that my rediscovered passion is not for the Tigers, but for baseball. We are already researching going to see the Lansing Lugnuts, where the best (non-suite) seats in the house cost $9. I can't wait!
And, oh yeah, the afghan? Despite getting caught up in the game, I still finished 6 rows. Aunt Ethel would have been proud.
* Although the 1969 Series, where the Mets "lost last place", lives so clearly in my memory that when I saw the movie Frequency, and the date flashed on the screen at the beginning of the movie, I knew exactly what was going on on that day.
We read baseball stories, notably John Tunis' The Kid from Tompkinsville series. My favorite was The Kid Comes Back. We went to occasional Baltimore Orioles games, mostly at the instigation of my Aunt Ethel. Aunt Ethel was my mom's older sister, and I have countless memories of her sitting in front of the TV, watching the Orioles play, knitting away at her current project and keeping score at the same time. I learned a lot of baseball terminology from her. One of the saddest things of her descent in to Alzheimers was when she could no longer follow a baseball game.
And then, well, I grew up. I moved from Oriole territory to the mid-west, and we decided not to have a television in our house. For a few years our congregation had a church-league softball team (for which I was scorekeeper), but that ended when Rosie was a baby. Baseball scores in the newspaper are not the same, and the only MLB [Major League Baseball] team in Michigan is the Detroit Tigers, about whom I care very little, and who play in the middle of a scary city. Since my reading of the sports pages is limited to a glance at the front of the section, I knew two player names, and that's about it. Baseball became a very marginal, almost forgotten part of my life.
Until last Friday night. A friend of the family has occasional access to a set of corporate season tickets, and six weeks or so ago we made plans for him, Roger, me, and Katie to attend the Tigers/Dodgers game at Comerica Park. It sounded like a fun time with a friend, but right up until Thursday I was waffling about actually going, since "I didn't care that much about baseball anymore," it was supposed to rain, and Tommy needed transport to and from an end-of-the-school-year party. Roger finally persuaded me to go, since Tommy had arranged to get a ride from a friend, but I tossed the afghan I'm crocheting for Rosie and Anthony's coming baby into my backpack, figuring I'd have something interesting to do.
We got to Detroit about 30 minutes after stadium opening time, and parked our car in a not-too-near but not-too-far $10 game-night empty lot parking area. I was glad I had packed umbrellas, since it was misting lightly. We walked the several blocks to the stadium, and our friend suggested that we get something to eat at Hockeytown Cafe (warning--link has sound), across the street from the stadium. As usual, I was unimpressed by another sports bar, but the food was acceptable, despite no T in the BLT/Club because of the salmonella scare. By the time we finished, about 40 min before game time, it was raining, hard.
We decided to go over to the stadium and get our tickets scanned so we would be eligible for rain checks. Since we were in, we walked around to our assigned section, and decided to stand by the entry-way to our seats (between two hot dog stands!) to see if the rain would let up. It was actually quite pleasant -- there was a breeze from the field, which can be seen very well from the whole concessions/walkway ring. In the Orioles old park -- since replaced -- you could only see the field from the seats proper. About 10 minutes before scheduled game time, we noticed that the rain had tapered to a mist. Since I had brought rags to dry our seats, we decided to go and sit in them (with our umbrellas) and see what happened.
The seats were amazing! Fourteen rows back, right behind the home dugout. Aunt Ethel always preferred the view over the plate, and our budget was NOT corporate, so I'd never before been in the "good" seats. By the time we'd been in them 15 minutes the rain had totally stopped, and the grounds crew came out to uncover the infield. For about 2 minutes we wondered what they were going to do with all the water standing on the tarp. The answer -- dump it on the outfield! By then the scoreboard showed that the game would begin about one hour late, and it was a good choice; there was no more rain that evening.
I had decided before we took our seats that I wouldn't bother getting out my crocheting, because I didn't want to get it wet. But during the extra time of the delay, I pulled it out. By the time of the National Anthem, I had finished a row and a half. And then the game began. For the first inning, I divided my attention, looking up for the pitch and then down at my afghan. But somewhere along the line -- maybe it was the first line drive third baseman Guillen snared too fast for me to see -- I remembered: THIS is what I love about baseball. Not the team or player stats; not loyalty to any particular team. What I loved , and to my astonishment still love, is the actual game play itself. Long flies caught just short of the fence. The batter acting irate if a pitch comes too close. The tag -- or missed tag -- on the steal to second or third. I just love baseball.
Roger, who has always been little mystified by my baseball knowledge (football is his game), was glad to hear that my rediscovered passion is not for the Tigers, but for baseball. We are already researching going to see the Lansing Lugnuts, where the best (non-suite) seats in the house cost $9. I can't wait!
And, oh yeah, the afghan? Despite getting caught up in the game, I still finished 6 rows. Aunt Ethel would have been proud.
* Although the 1969 Series, where the Mets "lost last place", lives so clearly in my memory that when I saw the movie Frequency, and the date flashed on the screen at the beginning of the movie, I knew exactly what was going on on that day.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Happy Birthday Daniel!
My grandson turned two today! Despite the early morning wake-up call and long drive, being there for Daniel's birth was, as I mentioned here (scroll down), one of the high points of my life. And the two years have simply flown. Then he looked like this; now he looks like this -- all boy and marvelous.
Happy birthday, grandson!
Happy birthday, grandson!
Friday, June 06, 2008
IRL
I'm not sure how many of you are familiar with the acronym that titles this post. Most of you probably do know URL, which stands for "Uniform Resource Locater", and is what any techno-geek you may know will call the address of this blog, or anything else on the internet. (When I asked Roger a little while ago exactly what the letters stood for, so that I could use them in this post, I got a three-minute discussion of why they're called that, and how it's supposed to work but doesn't always. TooMuchInformation, to use another acronym!)
IRL, on the other hand, is a blog and text-message abbreviation which stands for "In Real Life." I know most of the people on my blogroll only from the internet, but obviously I know Arwen IRL, since she's my daughter! One of the benefits of meeting people online, however, is that if you really hit it off and find you have a lot in common, you can meet IRL. This is not without its dangers, of course, since people can lie on the internet, but adults who have a common interest in knitting, or theology, or literature, or whatever, are in my (NSH) opinion less likely to actually meet up with a weirdo than kids who just want to meet a "friend".
Arwen has met several online friends IRL, and a couple of them have become the kind of friends that you take an airplane trip to visit, and stay in their house, and invite to your in-laws condo, and generally do all the things with that you do with any real friend. I, however, (partly since I am newer to blogging) had never done so before yesterday.
But yesterday I hopped in my car and drove the 90 minutes (or two hours home during rush hour :-( ) to Arwen's town to meet up with "Liz." Liz doesn't appear on my blogroll, because hers is password protected. Arwen and I have been reading her for several years, since before her password, and leaving comments of the kind that caused her to deem us nice enough people to be let in to a blog that's now family and IRL friends only. Thanks, Liz, for the compliment! Liz normally lives half a continent away, but is doing a three month training stint in a city only 2 1/2 hours from Arwen. So we decided to meet up in Arwen's town due to the logistics of transporting Camilla, who is an important part of the package. It was wonderful!
Liz is just like her online personality -- I hope I am, too; I know Arwen is! -- and we chatted about this, that, and the other thing for five hours. And then I had to head home for choir practice and Liz had to go in the opposite direction for what I hope was a hot date! Since she returns to her home state in three weeks, I don't know if we'll have another chance to meet her IRL. But I surely am glad we had this one!
Note to all 3 of my readers -- if you ever expect to be in Michigan, email me and we''ll see if we can work something out!
Disclaimer from last post -- It appears that a lot of DaVinci's Notebook's songs are raunchier than I would care to listen to. Rats, and I'm sorry if I steered you in the wrong direction.
IRL, on the other hand, is a blog and text-message abbreviation which stands for "In Real Life." I know most of the people on my blogroll only from the internet, but obviously I know Arwen IRL, since she's my daughter! One of the benefits of meeting people online, however, is that if you really hit it off and find you have a lot in common, you can meet IRL. This is not without its dangers, of course, since people can lie on the internet, but adults who have a common interest in knitting, or theology, or literature, or whatever, are in my (NSH) opinion less likely to actually meet up with a weirdo than kids who just want to meet a "friend".
Arwen has met several online friends IRL, and a couple of them have become the kind of friends that you take an airplane trip to visit, and stay in their house, and invite to your in-laws condo, and generally do all the things with that you do with any real friend. I, however, (partly since I am newer to blogging) had never done so before yesterday.
But yesterday I hopped in my car and drove the 90 minutes (or two hours home during rush hour :-( ) to Arwen's town to meet up with "Liz." Liz doesn't appear on my blogroll, because hers is password protected. Arwen and I have been reading her for several years, since before her password, and leaving comments of the kind that caused her to deem us nice enough people to be let in to a blog that's now family and IRL friends only. Thanks, Liz, for the compliment! Liz normally lives half a continent away, but is doing a three month training stint in a city only 2 1/2 hours from Arwen. So we decided to meet up in Arwen's town due to the logistics of transporting Camilla, who is an important part of the package. It was wonderful!
Liz is just like her online personality -- I hope I am, too; I know Arwen is! -- and we chatted about this, that, and the other thing for five hours. And then I had to head home for choir practice and Liz had to go in the opposite direction for what I hope was a hot date! Since she returns to her home state in three weeks, I don't know if we'll have another chance to meet her IRL. But I surely am glad we had this one!
Note to all 3 of my readers -- if you ever expect to be in Michigan, email me and we''ll see if we can work something out!
Disclaimer from last post -- It appears that a lot of DaVinci's Notebook's songs are raunchier than I would care to listen to. Rats, and I'm sorry if I steered you in the wrong direction.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
