I'm at CatholicMom.com today!

Visit the wonderful Lisa Hendey and her Catholic Book Spotlight today for an interview about The Rosary: Keeping Company with Jesus and Mary.

We talk about the book, my conversion, and about prayer and busy lives.

Thank you, Lisa, for a great discussion and for your kind words about the book!

All Hallow's Eve Approacheth!

Sunday is All Saints Day!  I love the feast of All Saints, because it fills me with hope.

On All Saints, we feel the power of inclusion in this great cloud of witnesses ... we experience the hope and anticipation of one day joining them in God's presence.

And about All Hallow's Eve?

Well, for the record, we're a family that does Halloween.

It's become quite the Daddy-daughter thing over the years. Atticus and the girls plot out the best candy routes (amidst much giggling.) I emphasize the Catholic roots and connections (we also read about "souling" or "soul caking") and we often refer to the day as "All Hallow's Eve" rather than "Halloween" to reinforce what it really is.

We talk about both All Saints and All Souls Day as they approach, and we discuss why we don't want to do evil-looking costumes. We plan our evening around Mass, first and foremost.

And then we have the chocolate-related fun.

Post-Mass, the kids don their costumes. And yes, I'll go in my usual costume: I dress up as a homeschooling mom, but no one ever guesses what I am.  We often trick-or-treat at the local convent -- the sisters love to have visitors, and it's especially fun to see the elderly sisters take such joy in children.

Then, we execute The Plan:  Candy Galore. Door to door, neighbors we know, family fun.  For several years now (thanks for the idea, Fr. Dunne) the kids have said,  "Thank you! God bless you!" to everyone and the reactions range from delight or surprise to odd looks. Anne-with-an-e, of course, has gotten too old for trick-or-treating, so she helps me hand out candy while Atticus leads the Chocolate Brigade down the street.

And, yes, we eat lots of candy. I let them eat it for breakfast the next day and I rarely give any of it away or complain that it causes cavities. We just enjoy it. That's what feast days are for, as noted in this fun article by Jeffrey Tucker.

One year, Ramona observed, "You can never have too much candy."

I replied, "Well, sometimes you can have too much at a time, but ...."

"But," Ramona said solemnly, "you can never own too much candy."

Not on All Saints Day anyway. It is indeed a day to celebrate.

And, just for fun, here's a virtual pumpkin to carve  (h/t, from a couple years ago, to Danielle Bean.)

Poetry Friday

Months and months (or was it years? After 2,000 posts, one forgets ....) ago, a little writing exercise called "I Am From" circulated through certain circles of the blogosphere.

It was a fill-in-the-blank affair ("Name a place here ...") and though I no longer have the original form on which this was based, I have here my version of "I Am From." I should admit that I remember taking liberties with the form -- my apologies to the form police if they should happen by. 

And, does anyone know whence "I Am From" came? If you do, please leave a comment and I'll add a link crediting the originator.  I'd like to do something similar with the girls in our writing group, and I want to find the "fill in the blank" form that was originally used. 

 I Am From

I am from knee socks,
Hostess cupcakes
and black patent leather shoes
worn home from the store.

I am from coast to coast,
from everywhere
and nowhere,
the child of a pilot and his bride.
I am from base housing,
plain vanilla walls
and Barbie clothes sewn from Thailand’s silk.

I am from hollyhock dolls and walking to school,
from dandelion bouquets,
from Alaskan glaciers
and from the sun rising on a Florida coast.

I am from summer car trips
to Grandma and Grandpa's,
with stops at Lookout Mountain
and the Truman Museum.
I am from staid New England stock,
from Indiana folks,
from John and Norma,
Madeline and Jim.
I am from lightning bugs in the backyard
and the sleepy scent of Noxzema.

I am from “Be polite” and
“Do your best,”
and “Goodnight, John-boy”
at bedtime,
from “I’m rubber, you’re glue,”
and from “Nuh-uh is not a word.”

I am from a squishy pillow at the drive-in,
and a six-year-old’s delight in the
dark, safe cocoon of the car.

I am from Santa Claus
and Easter eggs,
dinnertime grace,
and prayers
that faded away.

I am from Germany,
Scotland,
from home cooked meals,
doll-cakes on my birthday,
and home-sewn clothes
that made me proud of my mother’s skill.

From Grandma, who thought I loved peas
because I gobbled them up
(to get rid of them),
and from Grandpa, who convinced me
that a signal tower
was his own private Christmas tree.
I am from my grandmother’s way
of smearing butter on a scraped knee,
and taking me to “the groc'ry”
no matter what store it was.

I am from Mom, who decorated
the house for every holiday,
and took us blueberry hunting by the creek;
from Dad, who told me that thunder
was giants bowling in the sky,
and whose hand holding mine
was all I saw of him at the airport
when he came home from a year in Korea.

I am from Air Force brats
bonding
through a shared, strange life,
from a 1960s family who taught me
without words
that “skin color” meant nothing
and “human being” meant everything.

I am from nomads,
from possibilities, and from imagination.

I am from a longing for roots, found finally, and only, in God.

*****

Jennie at Biblio File has the round up today.

Well, I knew THAT

Ramona: That was hysterical!

Me: What's hysterical?

Ramona: It means really funny, Mommy.

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

Last week we visited the local pumpkin patch. It was bittersweet for me. When we first discovered this place, it made for a very sweet family outing. Yes, other people knew about it, but the place wasn't overly commericalized. Visiting meant leisurely strolls, participating in a few simple activities, and buying our pumpkins for jack-o-lanterns. It was pastoral. Over the years, the place has grown up and become more commercially savvy and as "attractions" have increased, my enjoyment has decreased. It doesn't feel quite like the same place for Ramona as it was for Anne and Betsy. We still had a fun day, but overall, the experience made me want to escape to the woods we visited last summer:
















*****

My friend, J., who would deny the label "Super Mom" but who will be thus labeled by me anyway, has started a new 4-H group for us.

Yes, yes, I know. Last summer, I was prepared to bribe my children to keep them away from the (as another friend calls it) cult of 4-H. But this year will be different.

You may now imagine that my eyes are glazed over, in perfect Stepford Wife Style, and that I'm chanting, "This year will be different ... this year will be different ... this year will be different ...."

But, it will. Really. Uh-huh.

Because we're focusing on food, and I can do food. I'm no Next Food Network Star, but I have faith that my deep and lasting interest in food will carry me through this cult year. Hey, I even have a food label on this blog, proving that I know how to eat. Plenty, mister.

And some things, I actually do pretty well (which continues to surprise me to this day) and sometimes my passion in the kitchen even results in poetry.  Not that I'll be serving an addictive substance to the 4-H group, but I'll definitely have a few cups before we meet. And that always helps.

*****

I was sick yesterday. Down-for-the-count-couldn't-go-to-Mass-stayed-in-pajamas-didn't-go-to-the-free-dinner-at-church sick. But, I feel amazingly better today.

And the Yankees won. So, Atticus is a very happy man.

A dip into the archives: "When They're Older ...."

I wrote this about three years ago and I was reminded of it when a blog friend recently asked about it. It seems fitting to run it again, with my oldest child poised to turn 16 within a week. When I first reran this post, I said:

"I thought of how the last thirteen [now sixteen -- yikes] years have raced past us, so full and so rich. And I thought of the times I have squandered 'this moment' ..." 

I think we moms need to regularly remind ourselves to hang on to "this moment."

So, today, enjoy the moment. Every moment. Even the less than perfect ones. They won't be back, y'know.

*****

I got to thinking about something last night, just after I settled a dispute between Anne-with-an-e and Betsy (or was it between Betsy and Ramona? Or had Ramona been annoying Anne? Ahem. You get the picture.) I was tired, and when one is tired, even the littlest irritations loom large. A few tiny disagreements suddenly feel like near-constant bickering, picking-on, finger-pointing and tattling. Oh, my, the behavior of children. I mean, it's so ... immature.

I felt a little overwhelmed (did I mention I was tired? So much depends on a good night's sleep ....) Yes, I thought, this is the stage of life at which I'm currently parked:

My children are walking, talking, reasoning (mostly), sharp little tacks who constantly delight me but are also capable of draining my mental energy. They're all quite verbose (wonderfully, exquisitely so on the good days and "Do-you-ever-stop-talking?!" on the bad) and that's what can get me. It's not a physical exhaustion, but it can feel so. It's mental fatigue: the dragging of a mind forced to think of 17 different ways to say, "Be kinder," the sluggish tongue that must -- one more time -- wrap itself around the words, "Go tell your sister you're sorry. And please don't ever do that to her again when she's in the shower." It's the ambushed brain that can't take one more joke that involves body parts or functions.

This is where we are, I thought. But when they're older ....

"Uh-oh, stop right there, missy," I told myself. "Don't start playing, 'When they're older,' because it's a lose-lose proposition."

"When they're older" is the trap that entices you to long for a different stage of life. I've sometimes fallen into it, but it's not a good place to live. Because, you see, if I live my entire life in the "When They're Older" trap, before I know it, they'll be older. And they'll be gone.

It goes something like this, looking back to infancy:

When she's older, she won't wake me up every night.

(But she also won't coo and gurgle in that delicious way. She won't linger at nursing and enclose me in her eyes, telling me I'm her reason for being.)

When she's older, I won't need to carry her everywhere and then my back won't ache all the time.

(She also won't be portable enough to be cuddled, held and snuggled no matter where we are or what we're doing. She won't fit neatly into one arm and I won't be able to scoop her up to celebrate that she just mastered skipping.)

When she's older, I won't have to listen to "Why? Why? Why?" all the time.

(She also won't have that same awed look on her face that she got when she saw her first penguin at the zoo. She won't study caterpillars and ants for extended periods and she won't be delighted by pointing out water towers, having just learned what they are. She won't have that squeaky voice that personifies "ironic" when she says "Awwwww, look at that babeeee! He's so cuuuuute!")

When she's older, I won't have to listen to body function humor.

(Well, I can just keep hoping on this one.)

When she's older, she won't pick on her sister. She'll be too mature for that.

(And she'll be too mature to sit on my lap, play hide-n-seek, wear her hair in ponytails, jump rope, get that incredible shine in her eyes when she kicks a soccer ball and she'll no longer be more delighted by my company than anyone else's in the world. She'll have discovered there are other things and other people who are important to her.)

When she's older, she won't be so moody.

(Oh, wait. That's a woman-thing. That'll continue. That's okay.)

I've always found "When They're Older" to be counter-productive. Oh, sure, it might seem to comfort me at the time (and don't get me wrong, there's a place for the "This too shall pass" philosophy) but most of the time, "When They're Older" is the opposite of comforting -- it's agitating. It forces us to live in and for the future. And when we do that, we miss so much of today. This Moment.

Rather, I must embrace that my children are just that. Children. They're going to be childish. And my sometimes-ambushed brain has to shore up to take one more joke, one more poor choice, one more tattle. I have to remind myself that bad days make it feel as if this happens all the time, but I know that it doesn't. Because on the same day there's been tattling, a poor choice and a joke that only a daddy can appreciate, there have also been cuddles and hugs and beaming looks of love. There have been discussions that run deeper than I thought a ten-year-old could handle and insights so moving that I've gotten a glimpse at the woman my daughter will become. There have been tea parties and read-alouds, girl-talk and cookies in the oven.

There has been the delight of "I'm so glad they're this age. I'm so glad for now. I'm so blessed by today. I'm so in love with this moment."

Today, I won't fall into the "When They're Older" trap. When they're older, they'll certainly be more mature.

But they won't be here.

And I'll miss them. So very, very much.

Poetry Friday: In which Atticus discusses his recent encounter with a rabid skunk

Atticus recently sent me this email, summarizing his morning at work.  This is an exact reproduction of his note, other than the fact that I'm presenting it in free verse form.


Subject: Can't You Smell That Smell?

Teach long enough and you will see everything.

This morning there was a rabid skunk

outside the door

just outside my room.

It was walking around in a tight circle,

occasionally falling over,

and just, in general,

stumbling along in a daze.

Eventually, the police came up

and shot the deranged rodent.

It had already filled the halls

with that peculiar rural piquance

that is so utterly charming.

The entire school, thereby, is redolent

with a certain bucolic "freshness."

Upon being shot, the animal

delivered a benedictory blast,

and we shall,

therefore,

have to live with the memory

of the beast

for some time to come.

Ah, wilderness.

I think it sounds a little like Billy Collins, don't you? Is it any wonder I love Billy? He reminds me of my husband.

Poetry Friday can be found today at Big A little a.

Books for sensitive girls

A friend and I recently talked about finding books for sensitive young girls (ages 7-10) that aren't scary, creepy, sad, prematurely mature, or too simple. 

It's hard to be a technically skilled reader who loves nothing more than to settle in with a good chapter book but to also be a sensitive soul who knows that the joys of footie pajamas and snuggling with Fluffy Bunny are not to be missed.

We  talked about Beverly Cleary,  Eleanor Estes, and Paddington Bear.  

Chapter books with heart and innocence.

More suggestions, anyone?

Quote for a Wednesday

I know I said I have no time for reading, but honestly, that's like saying I don't have time to breathe or drink coffee.

So.

I'm reading Mark Shea's Mary, Mother of the Son, and oh, how I love that man's writing.

Such as:

Thinking about Mary's referred life also started me thinking about how many other people in my life Jesus came through to get to me. He came to me, for instance, through my Evangelical friend, Sandy, who brought me Pepto-Bismol when I was desperately sick with flu in college, thereby making this unbeliever first notice the love of Jesus working through one of his saints.

He goes on to list the many people who had an effect on his conversion, and adds:

In fact, the more I looked at it, the more it seemed to me that God virtually always comes to us through some creature. And when he does that, some glow of his glory is left on the creature, like the radiance on Moses' face (cf. Ex. 34:29-35). But at the same time it remains clear the glory is God's, not something the creature could claim for himself.

Beautiful. I just bought this trilogy last month, and I hope to get a real review/reaction written up when I finish it, but for now I'll just say that I've always thought that reading Shea is a lot like reading C.S. Lewis for me -- he's accessible and funny, and honest and a true lover of God whose conversion was hard won.

Excuse me now while I go breathe and drink coffee.

She's So Sane

Don't you love the Love2Learn Mom?

Check out this post: "How Do You Do It All?" for a little bit of quick wisdom.

And that one reminded me of this very quick, very wise little Latin reminder from Alicia, too, to "do what you're doing."

Now, I'm off to do what I'm doing today, and to stick to it.

Well, that's very different

Betsy: I saw a show -- Dad was watching it -- where a boa constrictor ate an alligator whole.


Ramona: No! I don't believe it!


Betsy: Yes! It's true. Ask Dad. I saw it.

Ramona: Nuh-uh! No way!

Betsy: Yes! Tell her, Mom. A boa constrictor can eat a --

Ramona: O-o-oh! A boa constrictor! I thought you said a construction worker. 



(photo thanks to stock.xchng)

Don't Be Afraid of the Cayenne

In the hot cocoa mix, that is.

We approve.

As a matter of fact, Ramona said this morning, "Alton should start another new show: 'Good Drinks.'"






(photo courtesy of Stock.xchng)

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

Recent Reading: 
I got half way through Michael Pollan's  The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals before I had to return it to the library, so I'll reserve lengthy comments until I pick it up again and finish it. My impressions so far?  a.) It's fascinating, and b.) I'm completely unqualified to comment on the intricacies of our food systems.

Ultimately, most things in my life keep coming back to a comment I once made at Jennifer's blog: I want Walden Pond and a laptop.  Can you say cognitive dissonance? 

The older girls and I read The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Lee Stewart, and we loved it. Lots of fun, surprises, suspense, silliness, and heart.  Highly recommended.

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins -- I have to say that my first reaction to the premise was very much like Lissa's.  I plucked this book off the shelf at the library, read the jacket flap, shuddered, thought, "No, thank you," and put it back.  Then I read Lissa's post (linked above) and saw that her first reaction was also surprise (that something so dark was classified as YA literature) but that in the end, she loved it. I decided to give it a chance. I raced through the book in a day or two (and, mind you, I have no time to read right now) and loved it. Powerful. Well written and executed. The girls haven't read it yet -- we're still deciding if my sensitive daughters even want to read this one right now. Lots of fodder for great discussion, though -- terrific social and cultural commentary.

*****

Recent Talking: 

I gave a little witness talk about Mary at an RCIA session yesterday. I rambled too much, but hopefully something somewhere was what someone needed. You never really know, and just have to trust God to help you hit the mark.

*****

Recent Writing: 

I started a writing group for the girls and a couple of their friends, and we're really enjoying it. We get together here and they share their latest pieces. They read them aloud and then we take time for comments and discussion. We're planning a coffeehouse outing soon, combining writing group with a birthday celebration. I love homeschooling.

I'm at work on a project and am under a deadline, so my next Bits and Pieces post may be only Bits.

She's So Accommodating

Ramona: Mommy! Ask why I'm running! 
Me: Why are you running? 
Ramona (points to mail from Nebraska Public Radio): It says Immediate Action Requested!

Poetry Friday: Let Evening Come

The older I get, the more acutely I am aware of the passing of the seasons,
the passing of time,
and the passing of all things.

And so, I was moved by this short poem by Jane Kenyon who, it seems, never fails to move me.



Let Evening Come

by Jane Kenyon

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear

(read the rest of the poem here.)

Laura Salas has the Poetry Friday round up today.

Blunt Talk to God

Teresa of Avila is credited with having said the following to the Lord, during a particularly trying experience:

"If this is how You treat Your friends, it is not surprising that You have so few of them."

I love her.

Other favorites from St. Teresa: 

"Remember that you have only one soul; that you have only one death to die; that you have only one life ... If you do this, there will be many things about which you care nothing." (Emphasis mine.)

*****
"Do not be dismayed daughters, at the number of things which you have to consider before setting out on this divine journey, which is the royal road to heaven. By taking this road we gain such precious treasures that it is no wonder if the cost seems to us a high one. The time will come when we shall realize that all we have paid has been nothing at all by comparison with the greatness of our prizes."
 
*****

"Oh my Lord! How true it is that whoever works for you is paid in troubles! And what a precious price to those who love you if we understand its value."

*****

"God, deliver me from sullen saints."

*****


Let nothing trouble you
Let nothing frighten you
Everything passes
God never changes
Patience obtains all
Whoever has God wants for nothing
God alone is enough

*****

Great books:
Interior Castle
The Way of Perfection
Fr. Thomas Dubay's Fire Within

Have a blessed feast day!

The Ecstasy of St. Teresa, Gian Lorenzo Bernini

Today's Spiritual Wisdom Brought to You by Ramona

The other day we were looking for something in Ramona's room. I can't even remember what it was, but I remember feeling quite frustrated because, "It was right here a minute ago!"

As we searched and my frustration mounted, Ramona had this little gem to contribute to the moment:

"Well, Mommy," she said, "sometimes God just has to confinscate something."

I stopped and looked at her. "You're right," I said, laughing. "Sometimes He does. And sometimes we have no idea why.  But He always has His reasons, doesn't He?"

"Yes," she said, as she calmly returned to the hunt for the missing thing.

And so, today's takeaway thought is that: 

Whether it makes sense or seems absurd, God always has His reasons when He chooses to confiscate something. 

Whether you can pronounce it or not.

Ramona employs Food Network-Speak

While dining on graham crackers with peanut butter and honey, Ramona observed:

"I love the way the tastes of the peanut butter and the honey linger together for awhile ...."

And, by the way, I've ruined her for the store brand hot chocolate mix. "It just doesn't taste right," she said the other day. It's Alton's recipe or nothing for this girl.

Two Things that Always Help Me

A long time ago, my spiritual director suggested that I ask myself a question any time I'm feeling distant from God, or anxious about something, or adrift in any way in my faith. The simple question is:

"What am I doing differently?"

In other words, I stop and assess what was going on, what I was doing, and what shape my prayer life was in when I felt peaceful and close to God. And, what am I doing differently now?

At various times, since becoming a Catholic, the answers have been things like this:

"I'm not reading Scripture and I used to do it every day."
"I haven't been praying the Rosary."
"I stopped praying the Liturgy of the Hours."
"I'm not starting my day with prayer."
"I'm watching too much HGTV."

Anyway.

I can always pinpoint something.  And it always comes back to my prayer life, in some form.  If I'm not communicating with God, how can I be close to Him? How can I trust Someone I never talk to?

Which brings me to the second thing.

Trusting in the following phrase is one of the most important things I can do in my faith life:

"The Lord will provide."

Another long time ago, the same spiritual director was around when I had a miscarriage. I'd had miscarriages before, but this was the first time I was going through it with Anne and Betsy around.  I was falling apart, and although I was trying to hide it from my girls, my poor Anne, at age five, was too smart for her own good. She connected a lot of dots and in no time she was grieving, too, because she's not only smart, she's a very sensitive soul.

I thought I'd reached my breaking point that week when my priest emailed four simple words: "The Lord will provide."

I stared at the screen.

The Lord will provide.

The Lord.

He will provide.

I didn't know how, I didn't know what His provision would look like, and on a rational level I didn't see how anything was going to change any time soon. But, on a deeper level, at the level of my soul and in the core of my being, I knew that my priest was right. The Lord will provide.

I return to those words again and again. They're so simple but they pack a powerful punch. They help me to take a deep breath, step back from whatever stress or difficulty is pulling me away from God, and then remind myself that I am loved with a providential love that is beyond my ability to fathom.

Two things I make myself live by:

Regularly ask, "What am I doing differently?"  Answer that question, and make the necessary adjustments.

Remember, always remember: "The Lord will provide."

Margaret is Giving Away Five Copies of my Rosary Book

Thanks to someone who is quite kind and very generous, Minnesota Margaret is now giving away five copies of my Rosary book.

You can leave a comment at Margaret's original post to enter the contest.

Thanks to Margaret, to the anonymous donor of books, and to everyone who has shown interest in and support for this book! May the Rosary, and all the prayers of our Blessed Mother, enrich your lives in every way.

*****

Updated to add:

Even if you don't care to enter the contest, you should go read all the comments on this post.  Beautiful, inspiring stories from so many different people, sharing their experiences or struggles with the Rosary.  Worth your reading time, I promise.

Poetry Friday: Poetry for Teens

No, not poetry that's written especially for teens.

And not poetry that's about teens.

Poetry resources for teens. Because we all need solid resources in order to dive into something new, and isn't it lovely when someone collects those resources and puts them all in one place?

Poets.org tells us, in this introduction to their "Poetry Resources for Teens" page, that:

The Academy of American Poets developed the teen homepage in response to a recent survey they conducted, which showed that over 75% of the people who use Poets.org share one characteristic: that they first developed an interest in poetry before their eighteenth birthday.

Poets.org has given us a treasure chest to crack open with our teenagers.

"Poetry 101" covers basics with a surprising and satisfying amount of depth: ideas about how to read a poem, lists of recommendations and influential books, various forms and techniques. There are pages for "Poems Teens Like" and "Writing Help."

Poetry on the page (like poetry in the world) ranges from light and funny, to serious, introspective and disturbing. Classic and contemporary both make an appearance. It's a rich mix.

Better start sifting through the jewels in that chest -- so many gems to hold up to the light, to turn and examine, to assess.

We could spend an entire school year on these pages, digging into the details of these poems, poets and forms. And we might.

Because, really, isn't that what poetry is?

Digging in to the details of life. 

Today's Poetry Friday round up is at Anastasia Suen's Picture Book of the Day.

Win a copy of The Rosary book

The ever lovely Margaret at Minnesota Mom was far too kind to me today in her post about my Rosary book.

Now, she is kindly giving away a copy of the book. Go to Margaret's place and leave a comment before Saturday, the 10th to be entered in the drawing. 

And thank you, Margaret, for such a lovely and touching post! 

Our Lady of the Rosary

"Christ is the supreme Teacher, the revealer and the one revealed. It is not just a question of learning what he taught but of 'learning him'. 

In this regard could we have any better teacher than Mary? From the divine standpoint, the Spirit is the interior teacher who leads us to the full truth of Christ (cf. Jn 14:26; 15:26; 16:13). But among creatures no one knows Christ better than Mary; no one can introduce us to a profound knowledge of his mystery better than his Mother."

-- Venerable Pope John Paul II, Rosarium Virginis Mariae

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

I can't let autumn go by without running my favorite seasonal quote:

"What'll we do with ourselves this afternoon?" cried Daisy, "and the day after that, and the next thirty years?"

"Don't be morbid," Jordan said. "Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall."

~~ F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby 


And so life is starting over, with fall routines, crisp weather and the realization that we still have too many summer clothes out. And Ramona has outgrown her fall/winter church shoes. Sigh.

"Don't be morbid, Karen ... you know where the nearest Target is."

******

Betsy started violin lessons. The teacher is sweet and wonderful and Betsy loves her already. I'm looking forward to hearing Bach in my living room soon. Or "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."

*****

Anne-with-an-e is having some oral surgery this week. Urgh. Ugh. Arrgh. I'll be glad when it's over. I want life for my children to be perfect, always perfect. But, as they always remind me -- because I taught them so -- nothing on this earth is perfect. And that's why we have prayer and hope. And chocolate. And Bach. To keep pointing us to Perfection.

Poetry Friday: We're all writers here today

I used to post Richard Wilbur's The Writer about every four months. Then it stretched out to eight months.

It's been eight and a half months since the last posting, and today I'm starting a Writers' Group for my daughters and a couple of friends, so clearly, it's time for:

The Writer
by Richard Wilbur

In her room at the prow of the house
Where light breaks, and the windows are tossed with linden,
My daughter is writing a story.

I pause in the stairwell, hearing
From her shut door a commotion of typewriter-keys
Like a chain hauled over a gunwale.

Young as she is, the stuff
Of her life is a great cargo, and some of it heavy:
I wish her a lucky passage.

But now it is she who pauses,
As if to reject my thought and its easy figure.
A stillness greatens, in which

The whole house seems to be thinking,

....

Read the rest of this perfect poem here ... listen to it here. And, for an interview with Richard Wilbur, go here, to the Poetry Foundation.

Find the Poetry Friday round up at Crossover today. 

A Different Kind of Rose from St. Therese?

You tell me.

This morning, I got out an old book, a little novena booklet called Welcome, Jesus: A First Communion Preparation. Ramona, you see, is preparing for her First Holy Communion, and I wanted to use this book with her, just as I'd used it with Betsy. 

This got Betsy reminiscing this morning. "I loved that little book," she said. "I took it with me to Mass  for the longest time. I used it for the 'Prayer Before Holy Communion' and for the 'Prayer After Communion' every week. But, the 'After Communion' page got torn out and lost a long time ago. Where did it ever go, I wonder?"

We all wondered. Was it with our other First Holy Communion materials? No. I looked at them this morning, and it was not there. We talked about the Anima Christi and what a beautiful post-Communion prayer that one is, and then we recited it together.  I also made a mental note to add either the Anima Christi or another suitable prayer for Ramona to the back of this well worn, well loved little booklet.

Then, we left the house and we were gone all day with activities, returning at about 5:15. I unloaded some groceries, and walked over to the computer.  And, do you know what was lying on the floor next to the computer?

The missing page from the book.  Here's a picture I snapped of it:

I assure you I have no idea how it got there, or where it's been for the last several years.

But, I do know that I will be adding it back into the very special, very sweet, and now never-forgotten little book, "Welcome, Jesus."

A quote from St. Therese on her feast day

"The only happiness here below is to strive to be always content with what Jesus gives us."

A St. Therese story from our past:

In the spring of ’98 my spiritual director suggested that he and I both pray to Thérèse of Lisieux for my husband's conversion. "Look for a sign of roses," Fr. Joe told me. About a month later, Atticus and I were sitting in the back yard of our house. We’d bought the house the previous summer, and he was still hard at work getting the yard in shape. That week he’d been cutting and chopping things with a vengeance. As we sat there that evening, he glanced toward a bush close to the house.


"Well, look at that," he said. "It’s a rose bush."


My heart nearly stopped. He continued, "I almost chopped it down the other day. I didn’t know what it was. I don’t know what stopped me, but for some reason, I thought I should leave it there." 

I looked at the pink roses blooming near our house, and said a silent prayer, thanking Thérèse for the bloom of encouragement. When Fr. Joe came to dinner the following week, Thérèse’s roses graced the dinner table.