She gets that "blessing" concept

Recently, just before bedtime prayers, we had the following conversation.

Anne-with-an-e talked about staying home from trick-or-treating this year, so she could help me pass out candy to all the cute visitors. "Besides," she said, "with these braces, I can't eat half the candy that people pass out."

"Okay," I said. "But, every couple of minutes, I'll toss a piece of candy into a bag for you anyway. That way, you can stay home, but you'll still get a haul. But," I added, "I'll expect a 'God bless you' every time I toss." (In keeping with our family's tradition of thanking each benefactor with a "Thank you! God bless you!")

"You'll get a lot of blessings!" Betsy told me.

"You might get a kid!" added Ramona.

She's got that blessing definition down pat.

Vocation, surrender and writing

Jennifer at Conversion Diary had a great post about discovering and embracing one's vocation and specifically, about her own acceptance of her vocation to marriage and motherhood, and its relationship to writing. Jen wrote:

I found that when I was finally willing to admit that my personal goals like writing or getting published were a lower priority than my call to marriage and motherhood (not unimportant, just a lower priority), that's actually when God really began to bless my efforts in those departments. Though I had less time for it, the time I did spend on it bore fruit like never before.

And it's this particular aspect I want to explore just a little bit more, because this could have been me talking.

When I first began looking into Christianity (because I wasn't actually converting, you know ... I was just investigating), one of the things I had the greatest aversion to was this odd, Christian idea of self-surrender. It was antithetical to my independent ideals, and I feared "losing myself" if I embraced religion. Surrendering my self sounded suspiciously like losing everything that was important to me, everything that was me -- the belief system I'd carefully crafted over the years, my tastes and opinions, my very personality. My core. How do you give that up and not feel like a pod person or a Stepford wife?

I could not see, in any way, that "losing myself" could be a blessing. I thought of that as Christian-ese for "Take what we dish up and like it." Of course, now I know that it's been an enormous blessing to let go of the self-centered nature of my old life, but I couldn't fathom that at the time.

I could not see, as C.S. Lewis said in The Problem of Pain:

"We are not merely imperfect creatures who must be improved: we are... rebels who must lay down their arms."

I didn't want to lay down my arms. But, clearly, at some point, my arms slipped or were wrenched from me (a bit of each, at various stages) because here I am. I surrendered, first of all, to a "mere Christianity," and later to the Catholic Church. And in laying down my arms and waving those white flags, in asking God to let me die so that I might rise again, in accepting that I might become a new creation in Him, I have found a peace the depth of which I couldn't have conceived in my atheist days.

In the midst of that peace is the knowledge that while I did " lose" myself I have paradoxically also become a truer version of myself. In surrendering everything (from my time, my marriage, my fertility, my writing, and my cherished sleep, oh, sleep) to God, He has shown me that He will lead me, wisely and well, in all things and that I will inch closer to becoming the person He intends me to be. He's proven to me that He knows better than my best-laid plans.

In striving to practice obedience and self-surrender, I've been granted the greatest freedom I've ever known.

There are dozens of stories in my life (literally dozens -- His fingerprints are all over the meandering paths of our lives) that illustrate that point, but Jennifer reminded me that I've wanted to post about how my writing "career" (such as it is) developed. I still don't think of it as a career, but rather as something that happens.

When I was young, I imagined that someday I would be a writer. I wrote stories, poems and essays and dutifully sent them off to magazines. They returned with rejection slips. Occasionally, I'd find a handwritten note, encouraging me to persevere. An editor at "Seventeen" magazine (a glossy which I haven't seen for twenty years, and fear I wouldn't even let my daughters peek into these days, sigh ....) said she loved a couple of my descriptions, but, "sorry, this isn't quite right for us." Another editor at a small literary quarterly was my personal hero for a long time, because he wrote me an entire letter with his rejection. I loved him.

But, still, nothing was published.

So, somewhere along the way, I gave up on writing because I'd begun to follow my real dream, which was to find out the meaning of life, and specifically the meaning of my life. That dream led me to surrender many things: where we lived, what jobs I took, old prejudices, my personal ideas about having children, misconceptions about what it meant to be a wife and mother, and the idea that I would always work outside the home and take my children to daycare. Somehow, I had become everything I'd previously mocked in life: a Catholic stay-at-home mom.

And, I still wasn't thinking, "Get published," when my priest suggested to me that I send my conversion story to one of his favorite magazines. I did it only because he thought I should. Left to my own devices, I was afraid that seeking publication at that point in my life would be "all about me." I feared it would appear I was seeking some glory, when I knew all the glory of my story belonged to God. But, in the spirit of surrender and obedience to my confessor, I sent the article off. It became my first published piece.

God was just waiting for me to write about Him, I think. He's tricky that way.

But this is not my cue to say, "And it all took off from there!" Yes and no. I was still learning what it meant to be a fully committed, homeschooling, stay-at-home mom, what sacrifices were necessary, where my focus needed to be. But, the more that fell into place, the more fully I surrendered to and embraced my true vocation, the more the writing fell into place, too.

Since then, other writing opportunities have come my way. I haven't usually been able to predict them (though some of them were again at the suggestion of that same priest -- perhaps I should call him my agent .... ) and most of them have greatly surprised me. On top of that, when I've planned or tried to predict too much, God has dismantled my plan and all but said, "No ... try this instead." When I surrender control of the craft, He proves Himself the best of all possible navigators.

Not that I've sat passively doing nothing. Having a "navigator" implies that He's mapping the course, but I still have to do the driving. After all, someone has to sit at the keyboard and compose the stuff. But, publication has happened on God's terms, not mine.

Last summer (the summer of 2007, that is ... I just realized that Summer '08 can now also be called "last" summer), it happened again.

Though I'd been thinking I'd like to try writing some kind of book, and had even promised myself to set aside writing time that summer, I could not have predicted that a review I wrote of Mike Aquilina's Love in the Little Things would lead to conversations with his editor, which would lead to my writing a book, for Servant Books, about praying the Rosary. (It's on track to be published in the spring of 2009.)

But, back to the point. (Hopefully my book does not wander as much as my blog posts do.)

This is all in God's hands. We've come full circle, back to that surrender business.

If, in the future, God wants me to write more books, I will. If he wants me to do an article here and there, I'll do it. If my writing negatively affects my family and He wants me to turn my back on it all, I will. If he wants me, instead of writing about spirituality, to craft instruction manuals for that assemble-it-yourself furniture (because, really now, couldn't anyone do that better than the people who do it?) then I'll earn a little paycheck for our family in that way rather than in Catholic publishing. And, if He wants me to quit writing altogether and learn to be a better cook, I'm in (though I don't really see that that's where He deposited "natural talent and desire" in me.)

You get the picture. Where He leads, I will follow.

I pray for the grace to hear His voice, accept and follow His lead, and to keep myself out of the way. My fear of "losing myself" is gone, for I know that in surrendering "me" I haven't lost my core. I've found it. I have gained life with Him.

God, who doesn't send rejection slips, is my real personal hero. And life is so much better with His deft editing Hand at work.

"Strive to be content ...."

"Strive to live content in the midst of those things that cause your discontent. Free your mind from all that troubles you, God will take care of things. You will be unable to make haste in this [choice] without, so to speak, grieving the heart of God, because he sees that you do not honor him sufficiently with holy trust. Trust in him, I beg you, and you will have the fulfillment of what your heart desires."

---St. Vincent de Paul, Letters

with thanks to Debra Murphy and her "Quotes for Catholic Writers" mailing list

Poetry Friday

Several articles on my mind of late, having to do with losing a child.



This exquisite poem touches on what it is to grieve (Wordsworth wrote it after losing a very young child), what a long, slow process it is, full of surprising turns that can induce guilt (and ultimately, of course, healing), but only after a long, exhausting slog.



Surprised by Joy
by William Wordsworth

Surprised by joy--impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport--Oh! with whom
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--
But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss?--That thought's return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.



Tricia, at The Miss Rumphius Effect, is hosting the Poetry Friday round-up today.

A Read-aloud, and we can't stop giggling

I'm reading Journey to the Center of the Earthto the girls, and it reminded us of this video (with an appreciative, still-laughing hat tip to Scott.)

If you give a mom a question ...

(The following is a dramatization. Names, toys, or situations may have been changed to protect the attention-deficit levels of mothers, or to make you laugh. You decide.)

If you give a mom a question, she's going to want to answer it.

If you ask her where the Magnetix are, even though she was about to go exercise, she will stop what she's doing and tear apart your older sisters' closet looking for those blasted Magnetix, not because she's that good a mommy, but because it's driving her crazy that they aren't in there. Soon, she will realize that not only did she forget to start exercising, but she is halfway through cleaning the closet, which was not on today's schedule. And she still has not found the Magnetix.

She will leave the semi-tidied closet in your sisters' room and try another closet. With a triumphant, "Ah-HA!" she will pull the Magnetix from the second closet, hand them to you, bid you adieu and race off to squeeze in a now-abbreviated workout session.

While she's exercising, she'll think about how she has no idea what she's going to make for dinner. This will not please her. She will finish the workout and then wonder, "Now what was I going to do next?" You will ask her, "Mommy, have you showered yet?" Her face will light up, and she will race off to shower.

When she's finished showering, and looking over your sisters' math stuff, you will ask her what's for lunch.

"Lunch?" she'll say, as if you'd just asked her to explain the intricacies of molecular physics. "I don't know. We'll have something. Soon."

Soon, she will go make something, and you'll eat it for lunch. This will get her wondering what's for dinner again. She'll ask everyone what sounds good and then will announce that hamburgers are on the menu.

Then, you'll ask her if you can have a turn on the computer, and she'll say, "Yes, you can, just as soon as I finish checking this one thing." She'll sit down at the computer, and one click will lead to another, and before she knows it, she's read four blogs and she forgot what the one thing was. This will remind her that her youngest child is waiting for the computer, and that all the hamburger is frozen.

She will send your big sister to get hamburger out of the freezer. She will stop at her planner to make a note on her shopping list, and will suddenly notice a blank thank-you note, prompting her to announce that no one has written a thank you note to Grandma and Grandpa yet. "We are writing a thank you note, now!" she says in her I'm not kidding voice. "Where's Anne?"

"She's getting hamburger out of the freezer," someone will say.

"Oh," says your mother. "I forgot."

Hamburger now thawing, she sits everyone down at the table, commanding that they be grateful. Your sister asks, "Are we sending Grandpa's sunglasses back, too?" Your mother jumps, and she exits the scene to go find a box in the garage. While she's rummaging through things in the garage, she notices that it needs a bit of tidying up ... but her plans are interrupted by a call from the kitchen:

"Mom? How do you spell fabulous?"

"Fabulous? Well, you should look it up! Let me go find the dictionary."

And she'll be off to find the dictionary, which is on a shelf that needs to be tidied, and ...

Do you ever have this kind of day?

If you want one, just ask a mom a question.

Bookish meandering

Melissa Wiley is taking you on a virtual tour of her bookshelves. The Bookworm is following suit.

Me?

I'm lamenting the fact that we don't have enough bookshelves. I desperately need to buy some more. I shopped a little the other day for some, but what I really want is for St. Joseph to miraculously appear on my doorstep and construct entire walls of built-ins for me. I don't really think my shelf dilemma qualifies for a miracle on the level of the staircase of Loretto, but I can dream, can't I?

I mean, things are starting to pile up.

(Starting to? Oh, who am I kidding? Books have always lived in piles in this home.)

The latest additions to arrive (oh, how I love to get new books!):

Mike Venezia's Bach(we lurve Mike Venezia in this under-shelved house.)

Janice Van Cleave's Chemistry for Every Kid

And now, Ramona has requested her own grammar book. Yesterday, when I called Anne and Betsy to the kitchen table with, "C'mon, girls, we have some grammar stuff I want to talk to you about," Ramona came running, too.

"Oh, Mommy," she said, "can I do grammar? I was going to play Webkinz, but can I do grammar instead?"

This 6-year-old is horrifying her unschoolish mother with her love of workbooks. I ought to deliver a stern lecture about how most children would beg to be excused from grammar, and that she should go turn her brain to mush on the computer. But, nooooo. I promised her that she could have her very own grammar workbook if that's what she really wanted.

In the meantime, our Mad Libscollection will have to do.

Our Coats of Many Colors

One of the lovely things about blogging is the opportunity to share reviews. I was recently asked by a longtime online pal if I'd be interested in taking a look at some of the costumes designed and sold by Our Coats of Many Colors.

Let's see ... I have girls.
They love beautiful dress-up clothes.
They love stories of the saints.

Check.

We said yes.

And we're glad we did!

It was hard for the girls to narrow their choices down, as there are so many fun costumes available. But, Betsy finally decided she wanted to try the Elizabeth of Hungary costume, and Ramona chose St. Rose of Lima. The dresses arrived quickly, and they are gorgeous! I am not known as a seamstress, so I am truly in awe of these lovely creations. St. Rose of Lima's pretty blue dress is accompanied by a shawl and lace headcovering:


And the St. Elizabeth costume includes a dress, belt, and a beautiful hooded cloak that Betsy adores:

The girls are thoroughly enjoying these costumes which, I must say, are even more impressive in person than they are on the website. They are truly lovely.

I think we're ready for All Saints Day!

Homeschool ViewTube

A couple days ago I received an email from our regional homeschooling group about a new site for homeschoolers that is similar to YouTube, but focuses on homeschoolers. I haven't really had time to check it out, but you can find it here.

Poetry Friday: Silence

I read a Billy Collins poem about silence last night, and it made me think about the kinds of silence in a mother's life, too:

The silence of an angel, breathing rhythmically next to me in bed.

The mischievous silence: "They're too quiet."

The silence of fierce concentration; the silence of shyness.

There is the delicious semi-silence of secrets whispered and giggled over. And the booming silence of secrets kept that break mothers' hearts.

There's the silence of kinship, of knowing just how she feels. And the silence of not knowing what she's feeling at all.

There is the silence of listening to a heartbeat within. And the silence of comforting a heartbreak without.

There is silent counting -- the weeks and months until they arrive. And then, the quiet calculation of how long they've been with us. The panicked accounting of how short the time until they leave. There is the silence of a breath caught. And there is the silence of an embrace that encompasses all of time.



Billy Collins gazes on silence in his aptly titled poem:


Silence
by Billy Collins

There is the sudden silence of the crowd
above a player not moving on the field,
and the silence of the orchid.

(Read the rest of the poem here.)

The Poetry Friday round-up today can be found at author amok.

So glad my efforts paid off

Ramona was sipping from a cup of water when she spilled a wee bit of it. She ran to get a towel, and started dabbing at the wet spot.

"Thank you, honey," I said. "You knew just what to do. Good job!"

"You raised me well," she said, nodding sagely.

Summer Trip '08, Part VI: Scenes from a Conference

Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
**********
Ridiculously, I'm still planning to finish recounting this trip. I have to, you see. Since I started this blog, I don't keep journals as well as I used to (I used to fill warehouses with my journals) and so I. Must. Blog. It.

We last left a dear old man in a souvenir shop. Bonnets and broken shot glass in hand, we headed to our van and began the long, winding trip from Gettysburg to Lancaster. We didn't realize it would be quite so long and quite so winding. Pennsylvania is lovely traveling indeed. But, it's also long and winding. Everything was looooong and
w
i n
d
in
g

and took longer than we thought it would. Still, we arrived at our hotel in Lancaster by about 4 or 4:30, and I thought we'd be able to zip over to the Family Centered Picnic and still have plenty of time to meet, greet and socialize.

Well, that was in my dreams.

My reality involved things such as:

*forgetting that I needed to stop and buy food to take to the potluck
*kicking myself for not getting proper directions to the park
*getting lost three times
*stopping twice for directions to the park
*finally arriving at the park at 7 pm only to see a van pulling away as Atticus said, "That van has New York plates ... do you think that could be the Gunthers?"

My children let out a variety of groans, as they were quite eager to meet their longtime penpals.

There were, however, loads of people I was eager to meet, and the first among them was our gracious hostess, the amazing Michele Quigley, who came running to greet me, making me feel like a welcome guest and a dear, old friend at the same time. Michele, who runs Family- Centered Press (and wasn't I blessed to win one of her terrific planners in a drawing at the conference?) not only planned and pulled off this conference, but the very next weekend, her son got married. I am a sad, pale imitation of a multitasker compared to this woman.

I was also blessed to meet (some at the picnic that night, some the next day at the conference) : Margaret of Minnesota Mom, Meredith of Sweetness and Light, Diane of Journey of a Mother's Heart, Kimberlee of Pondered in My Heart, Mary Ellen Barrett from Tales from the Bonny Blue House, Margot Davidson of Hillside Education, Michelle of Rosetta Stone, Heather from Doodle Acres, Michelle of Living Waters, and wonderful (non-blogging) friends Erica and Irene. Irene's daughters and mine have been penpals for some time, too, and my girls had a fabulous time Saturday, spending time with Atticus, both sets of penpals and a couple of other terrific dads.

This entire weekend was a joy. If Gettysburg was "Daddy's gift" then Lancaster and the time spent with these gentle, beautiful, funny, gracious, wise, generous and fascinating women was mine. I had a wonderful time, and I am so grateful that the conference (which was originally scheduled for a week later) was rescheduled for late July, or we would never have been able to make it.

On Sunday, after Mass, we left Lancaster and headed for Washington, D.C., where we all received the next gift of the trip -- a reunion with old friends. But, that's another post.

I'll leave you with a few pictures of my treasured Lancaster gifts:

Margaret, me, Meredith, Diane (picture shamelessly stolen from Heather, because I didn't take a single picture at the picnic):
















Alice, Meredith, and Kimberlee:
















Cute Baby, Erica, me, Kimberlee, Diane:












with Michele Quigley:












With Mary Ellen and Small, Extremely Cute Person:











With Alice and another small, extremely cute person:

Fish and more

The lovely and funny Beck is quite lovely and funny here.

Who would you be in 1400 A.D.

Personally, I'd add a couple more options to the marriage question ....


You scored 5% Cardinal, 77% Monk, 59% Lady, and 32% Knight!

The Prioress

You are a moral person and are also highly intellectual. You like your solitude but are also kind and helpful to those around you. Guided by a belief in the goodness of mankind you will likely be christened a saint after your life is over.

You scored high as both the Lady and the Monk. You can try again to get a more precise description of either the Monk or the lady, or you can be happy that you're an individual.

Take The Who Would You Be in 1400 AD Test at HelloQuizzy

h/t to my fellow prioresses, The Bookworm and Studeo

Jean Louise Finch and reading instruction

I'm rereading To Kill a Mockingbird before handing it over to Anne-with-an-e this year, and just had to share a couple of delicious passages on learning to read:

... after making me read most of My First Reader and the stock-market quotations from The Mobile Register aloud, she discovered that I was literate and looked at me with more than faint distaste. Miss Caroline told me to tell my father not to teach me any more, it would interfere with my reading.

"Teach me?" I said in surprise. "He hasn't taught me anything, Miss Caroline. Atticus ain't got time to teach me anything," I added, when Miss Caroline smiled and shook her head. "Why, he's so tired at night he just sits in the living room and reads."

... I mumbled that I was sorry and retired meditating upon my crime. I never deliberately learned to read, but somehow I had been wallowing illicitly in the daily papers. In the long hours of church, was it then that I learned? I could not remember not being able to read hymns. Now that I was compelled to think about it, reading was something that just came to me, as learning to fasten the seat of my union suit without looking around, or achieving two bows from a snarl of shoelaces. I could not remember when the lines above Atticus's moving finger separated into words, but I had stared at them all the evenings in my memory, listening to the news of the day, Bills To Be Enacted Into Laws, the diaries of Lorenzo Dow -- anything Atticus happened to be reading when I crawled into his lap every night. Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing.

***

... Bit by bit, I told him the day's misfortunes. " -- and she said you taught me all wrong, so we can't ever read any more, ever. Please don't send me back, please sir."

...(Atticus) said, "If you'll concede the necessity of going to school, we'll go on reading every night just as we always have. Is it a bargain?"

"Yes, sir!"

"We'll consider it sealed without the usual formality," Atticus said, when he saw me preparing to spit.

As I opened the front screen door Atticus said, "By the way, Scout, you'd better not say anything at school about our agreement."

"Why not?"

"I'm afraid our activities would be received with considerable disapprobation by the more learned authorities."

Jem and I were accustomed to our father's last-will-and-testament diction, and we were at all times free to interrupt Atticus for a translation when it was beyond our understanding.

"Huh, sir?"

"I never went to school," he said, "but I have a feeling that if you tell Miss Caroline we read every night she'll get after me, and I wouldn't want her after me."

Shopping with Ramona

As we ran some errands yesterday, Ramona wanted to push the cart in the grocery store without any interference from her pesky mother.

"Please leave me unattended," she said.

(Sadly for her, I didn't follow her instructions.)

I'm working on it

"Some say it is unreasonable to be courteous and gentle with a reckless person who insults you for no reason at all. I have made a pact with my tongue; not to speak when my heart is disturbed."

~~ St. Francis de Sales

(with thanks to MyCatholic.com for their daily quotations from saints)

More fun book arrivals

I've found plenty on our shelves, but I have been busy with some book-orders, too ....

Thanks to the ever-resourceful and helpful Theresa at LaPaz, I found out about these record-keeping notebooks from the Notgrass Company. They could be used as planners, but for us (just as for the LaPaz gang) they'll work beautifully as an "after the fact" record of all that we're doing, reading, studying, and stumbling upon. I love the many categories, which include, as noted on the Notgrass website:

* Spiritual Life: Bible Study, Worship, and Christian Fellowship
* Learning to Work: Chores, Service, and Life Skills
* Relating to Others: Character and Relationships
* Learning About God's Creation: Science and Technology
* Learning About People and Places: Geography, Government, and Foreign Language
* Learning About the Events and People of the Past: History and Biography
* Learning About the Thoughts of Others: Reading and Literature
* Being Creative: Art, Crafts, Music, Drama, and Other Creative Activities
* Learning to Communicate: Letter Writing, Grammar, Handwriting, Creative Writing, and Journaling
* Caring for My Body: Exercise, Sports, and Health
* Learning Math, Problem Solving, and Thinking Skills.

*****
I've always ordered the handy Living is Learning Curriculum Guides from FUN Books each year. Now that Anne-with-an-e is in high school (egads ... can it be true?), my set is complete. The 9th-12th grade edition has lists of and ideas for subjects and projects to cover in high school, suggestions for resources and real life applications, and forms for record keeping.

FUN Books was also my resource for some audio versions of Romeo and Juliet, and Shakespeare for Children by Jim Weiss.

*****

Friends Lissa at Here in the Bonny Glen, and Faith of Two Thirds Unschooling and Dumb Ox Academy, both of whom are logical sorts of women, led me to detect and then order The Fallacy Detective.

*****

Betsy specifically requested that I order D'Aulaire's Book of Greek Myths. I last ordered this book in July of 2004 (I know this because Amazon tracks my every move. Hey, Amazon ... how many chocolate chip cookies did I eat tonight?) We attempted to study Greek mythology that year, but my then-delicate daughters were so thoroughly disgusted, grossed-out, nauseated and otherwise repulsed by the first couple of stories that they couldn't bear to go on.

Clearly, we've grown less delicate in four years' time. The gross-out should arrive via UPS any day now.

Books I've been ordering

Or gathering, since I'm also browsing my own shelves.

Some of what's on our reading lists for this year:

To Kill a Mockingbird
My Antonia
A Tale of Two Cities
The Scarlet Letter
Pride and Prejudice
The Princess and Curdie
The Princess and the Goblin
Sun Slower, Sun Faster
They Loved to Laugh
Romeo and Juliet

I'm out of blogging time already, and am off to bake cookies with Ramona. I'll be back tomorrow with more of our shopping/shelf-browsing results!

A couple of Poetry Friday gems

Books I'll be looking for:

My Letter to the World and Other Poems (thanks to Elizabeth at Fuse #8 for reminding me to get this one on my wish list.)







A Child's Calendar by John Updike, with thanks to Janet at Across the Page.

Poetry Friday: Jane, not John

Happiness is an odd thing. It can be unpredictable, sometimes indescribable, alternately omnipresent and elusive.

"Happiness" seems such a benign word. Like "nice."

"Happiness is a nice word," she said nicely.

If you happened upon a poem called Happiness you might be tempted to happen quickly by, for its bland title would deceive you.

You would not guess that crouching beneath the bland banner is a powerful poem by Jane Kenyon, waiting to spring on you.

Happiness
by Jane Kenyon

There’s just no accounting for happiness,
or the way it turns up like a prodigal
who comes back to the dust at your feet
having squandered a fortune far away.

(Read the rest here. It gets even better and is worth your click.)

A happy coincidence: I was feeling Keatsian last night, but not quite Keatsian. I couldn't think of or find anything that felt quite right to me. I didn't want to post about Keats, either. Though I must confess to being regularly tempted to post this little bit, by J.D. Salinger, which I read years ago:

John Keats,
John Keats,
John.
Please put your scarf on.

But, no, I wasn't feeling that silly last night. I felt, more accurately, grateful that although happiness is often ephemeral, there is a kind of happiness that is underlying, steadfast, and is the only thing that sustains me when the outer coatings of happiness chip off and fall away. There's a happiness (though, like the poem, that word is deceptively benign for the condition of which I speak) found in my faith that cannot be undercut and sometimes can't be defined. It's the stuff that remains even when weariness has overtaken me.

But, back to John. I was randomly (and rather unhappily) searching at The Poetry Foundation for something about autumn ... or education ... or oh, arrghh, I didn't know what. I thought, "I should just go to bed." I was about to, when I decided to click on this bland little title, "Happiness." And when I read more about Jane Kenyon (see her bio page here) I saw this:

Indeed, Kenyon's work has often been compared with that of English Romantic poet John Keats; Roberts dubbed her a "Keatsian poet" and noted that, "like Keats, she attempts to redeem morbidity with a peculiar kind of gusto, one which seeks a quiet annihilation of self-identity through identification with benign things."

I bookmarked the page and went happily to bed, knowing exactly the thing, the poem and the person about which I'd post this morning. Anyone who "attempts to redeem morbidity with a peculiar kind of gusto, one which seeks a quiet annihilation of self-identity through identification with benign things,'" is someone I will seek out with a peculiar kind of gusto.

Wishing you a happy sort of Poetry Friday.

Jennie has the round up this week at Biblio File and you can read more about Poetry Friday here.

It's September WHAT?!

Nah.

It can't be September 10th. That would mean something along the lines of the start of a new school year.

But, but ... we just finished having fun with the grandparents. I'm still busy ordering books. We're busy getting braces on the teeth of Anne-with-an-e, and thinking about when we should go visit Aunt Kathy.

It can't be September already. If it were September, surely I'd have finished recounting Summer Trip '08. Especially now that summer is over.

Just because I've felt a few steps behind since, oh, roughly last December, is no excuse. It's time to catch up.

And I'll do that.

Right after I catch up on some sleep.

Mary Moments

They'll soon be celebrating Mary's birthday over at Behold Your Mother, and there's still time to submit an entry!

Just go here for details. You have until 10 p.m. EST on September 10.



Painting: The Birth of the Virgin, Murillo

Poetry Friday: I forgot!

Grandma and Grandpa
are visiting, so
I've lost track of time.
What's today?
I don't know.



Oh, it's Poetry Friday!
And, yikes, I just missed it.
But please do not think I've ignored
or I've dissed it.

I'm just a bit late,
(clearly I'm not a leader.)
The round-up this week
is at Wild Rose Reader.

Ramona Cooks

We sometimes discuss our "culinary point of view" around here.

Ramona's has to do with refrigeration.

When Atticus sits down on the couch and looks for a coaster on the end table, it's quite likely he won't find one.

Ramona has been busy making "coaster cake."

Sorry, Atticus. It's a sacrifice you'll have to make in the name of culinary genius.

And, to fairly credit the original genius creator of this dish, I must mention my sweet Betsy, who used to make coaster cake when she was little, but has moved on to grand Play-doh creations such as this Volcano Island, which is a model for a cake she'd like to make (she's clearly going to be a better cake decorator than I am.)