Raising a Catholic "Clearly she's going to be an English major" Child

Ramona: "Mom, this prayer card is not correctly punctuated."

Where, oh, where has my little blog gone?

It was a busy week!

I was focused on a couple of big deals this week:

1. Revisions for the book I've been writing.

Mostly done with those. A little more clean-up work, but mostly done. Nose was to grindstone, blog was neglected.

2. Dresses for the Homeschool Winter Ball.

Anne and Betsy went dancing last night, and in preparation this week, we had gowns to hem, straps to sew and adjust, dresses to press, and fingernails to paint. Here's the design we did on Betsy's nails (click the picture for a close-up):

Those are little tuxedos. (!) I credit Ramona, who watches the Cute Polish channel on Youtube. And I credit Betsy, for thinking it would be cool. And I credit me, for actually pulling it off. If it were not for my daughters, however, I would not even know that such things as striper brushes and dotting tools existed. They broaden my horizons.

*****

This final picture is not from this past week, but I have to share Ramona's Valentine's Day hair. In addition to Cute Polish, she likes to check out Cute Girls' Hairstyles, which is where she found this lace braid heart, which I actually accomplished, much to my surprise. Here she is: 

Revisions done, ball gowns retired ... I'll probably be blogging like a madwoman this week, right? Uh, not so fast there Missy Reader. I have a couple of bathrooms crying out to be cleaned .... 

Flannery for Lent

"I feel that if I were not a Catholic I would have no reason to write, no reason to see, no reason ever to feel horrified or even to enjoy anything."

“The truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it.”

"What first stuns the young writer emerging from college is that there is no clear-cut road for him to travel on. He must chop a path in the wilderness of his own soul; a disheartening process, lifelong and lonesome."

I was once, five or six years ago, taken by some friends to have dinner with Mary McCarthy and her husband, Mr. Broadwater. . . . She departed the Church at the age of 15 and is a Big Intellectual. We went at eight and at one, I hadn't opened my mouth once, there being nothing for me in such company to say. The people who took me were Robert Lowell and his now wife, Elizabeth Hardwick. Having me there was like having a dog present who had been trained to say a few words but overcome with inadequacy had forgotten them. Well, toward morning the conversation turned on the Eucharist, which I, being the Catholic, was obviously supposed to defend. Mrs. Broadwater said when she was a child and received the Host, she thought of it as the Holy Ghost, He being the 'most portable' person of the Trinity; now she thought of it as a symbol and implied that it was a pretty good one. I then said, in a very shaky voice, 'Well, if it's a symbol, to hell with it.' That was all the defense I was capable of but I realize now that this is all I will ever be able to say about it, outside of a story, except that it is the center of existence for me; all the rest is expendable."

~~ Flannery O'Connor 

It's the anniversary of Michelangelo's death, which brings me to food choices in Lent

Why, you ask?

Before Lent began, Atticus mentioned (can't remember where he heard it -- something on NPR the other day?) that perhaps for all of Lent we should adopt Michelangelo Buonarotti's diet of choice. Supposedly, it consisted of cheese, pears, bread, olive oil, and wine.

That sounds heavenly.

Too heavenly for Lenten eating.

We adopted some other dietary changes.

Alas.

Quote for the first Monday in Lent:

"Birds have nests in trees and stags have thickets where they can find shelter when the need arises. Deer know where to take cover, either to hide or to enjoy some cool shade during the summer. So also our hearts should each day choose some place, either on Mount Calvary or within Our Lord's wounds, or in some other place near Him, as a retreat where they can retire at various times to refresh and restore themselves during their exterior occupations.

There, as in a stronghold, they can defend themselves against temptation. Blessed will be the soul that can truly say to Our Lord, 'You are my place of strength and my stronghold to give me safety, my roof against the rain, my shade against the heat.'"   

~~ St. Francis de Sales 

"Here comes everybody."

I love the way James Joyce summed up the Catholic Church: "Here comes everybody."

At Ash Wednesday Mass last night, the church was packed. It was the bilingual Mass, and that means that I didn't understand half of what was said. The songs were in Spanish, and so were some of the responses. And I love that. I love being reminded of the universality of the church. The homily was delivered in English, and then in Spanish, requiring patience from the entire assembly. I love that, too, being reminded of the ways we're called to care for and about each other. I love that last night it felt as if we were one, enormous conglomeration of messed up humanity.

Let's go to Mass. Here comes everybody.

*****

Fortunately, Jesus Christ isn't just anybody. He came for the conglomeration and mess, to help us sort it out. Having ashes on your forehead, having little bits of ash drop onto your nose, smudging ash on your hand as you bury your face in prayer ... all good reminders that we're not the ones in charge, we don't always look so great as we go about our business. We're messy.

Here comes everybody.

*****

Working class, wealthy, teachers, bankers, plumbers, writers, waitresses, students, dog lovers, cat lovers, animal haters, hamster people, jeans, suits, dresses, pants, elderly, shrieking babies, sleeping babies, computer programmers, poets, sad faces, lonely ones, beaming faces, contentment .... Here comes everybody.

*****

Lent has arrived. Some of us are excited, ready to dig in, ready to grow, ready to ask the Holy Spirit to strengthen us. Some of us are feeling exhausted, or resentful, wondering why, when every single day already feels like the desert, the Lord is asking us to give even more. Some of us aren't sure what to expect from Lent 2013, but we're willing to pause, to listen, to wonder, to act. To obey, and see what surprises God has in store for us. Here comes everybody.

*****

My faith life is imperfect, shifting, mountaintop high, ocean-depth low, the center of my being, and the source of frustrations. It is beautiful and hard, strengthening and challenging, every moment present, and sometimes so far from my heart I want to cry. But my faith is what makes me who I am.

Here I come, Lent. Here comes everybody.

"How To Be a Poet"

I've run this poem before, but it's been more than two years, and, after all, one can never have too much Wendell Berry.

I feel a wee bit bad posting this poem on a screen (you'll see why when you read the second stanza) but I'm going to do it anyway. Because sometimes the first place you meet a poet is on a screen, like this one, and I'd hate to think there's someone out there who hasn't met Berry's poetry, even on a screen.


How To Be a Poet
by Wendell Berry

(to remind myself)

i
Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill—more of each
than you have—inspiration,
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity. Any readers
who like your poems,
doubt their judgment.

(Read the rest here, at the Poetry Foundation.)

The round-up today is at A Teaching Life.

"Hey, there's pepper all over my notebook!" (Or, Schoolish and Unschoolish Things)

Anne-with-an-e was studying for a zoology test.

Ramona had been on my laptop, watching a science video. I can't remember what Betsy was doing (I'm sorry, Middle Child! I feel your Middle Child pain!)

Ramona had been performing her scientific inquiry, that of sorting salt and pepper with a static-charged balloon, at the kitchen table, which was also Anne's workspace of choice. So, naturally, a bit of overlap occurred between animal and mineral.

Then, Ramona decided that her experiment might one day be the basis of a homeschool pick-up line. She did her best imitation of a suave homeschool guy purring, "Hey, there ... I can separate salt and pepper."

This led me to ask her what, exactly, she knew about pick-up lines. Then I remembered that I had, at some point, shared this little gem with the girls, and I wondered if Ramona had remembered or read over someone's shoulder. She said, "No. I've just heard the girls talk about pick-up lines."

I made a note to myself to ask the girls more about this.

It's possible that while the separation of salt and pepper was occurring, Betsy was reading Brain Rules, which is a pretty fun and fascinating little book. Or she could have been playing Dragon Box, which my kids surprisingly love. I say "surprisingly" because it's an app based on algebra and my daughters swear on a stack of slide rules that they hate math. Or she may have been furthering her love of all things Jane Austen by rereading Pride and Prejudice for the -- how many times is it now? Do I need a slide rule to figure this out?

And now I'm back to the homeschool pick-up line. Any guy with half a brain, trying to impress a homeschooled girl, need only say something like this: "If I can ever be even a tenth of the romantic that Fitzwilliam Darcy turned out to be, I'll die a happy man."

Don't fall for it, girls.

And that's a recent day in the life.

Homeschool High School Carnival: The Science Edition

It's hosted this month by Theresa, at LaPaz Home Learning.

I didn't have time to get a science post written, but there's some good stuff at La Paz, including Theresa's take on science, here.

Lent is 10 Days Away ... Do You Know Where Your Penance Is?

A few Lenten links:

My monstrously long post on striving for a meaningful Lent.

General posts on Lent.

Lent in 2012.

Lent in 2011.

The Annual Groundhog Day Shrinklit

I rerun it (almost) every year, in honor of the movie, Bill Murray, and groundhogs everywhere.

I wrote this shrinklit about five years ago. Remember Shrinklits? They were funny, succinct little retellings of classic works. Here's my version.

And, best wishes for either six more weeks of winter, or perhaps only a month and a half.



Karen's Groundhog Day Shrinklit

Phil: at first, a selfish jerk
Focused on his fun and work
Women were a toy or game
Till every day became the same.

Quite suddenly, no rules apply
Steal some money, tell a lie
Nihilism's worth a spin
until despair comes crashing in

Suicide just didn't take
Surely something is at stake
Could it be that it is worth
Striving for a true rebirth?

Self improvement: worth a try?
Though all past ways it does defy?
Selflessness for its own sake?
Letting go of all that's fake?

Helping, saving, giving, tears
Authentic feelings, first in years
Letting go of all that's old
Lets in truth, releases cold

Something genuine and kind
Allows this man his best to find
Is this conversion? God at work?
Or one colossal cosmic quirk?

My Current Desktop Quote

I see it every day when I open my laptop:

"All you have to do 

is write one true sentence. 

Write the truest sentence 

that you know." 

~~ Ernest Hemingway 

Poetry Friday: A Murmuration of Starlings, and Mary Oliver, and Updike

This is a murmuration of starlings. 

I need say nothing about it. 

Just watch. 

This is from Mary Oliver's "Starlings in Winter":

... Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,

even in the leafless winter,
even in the ashy city.
I am thinking now
of grief, and of getting past it;

I feel my boots
trying to leave the ground,
I feel my heart
pumping hard, I want

to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.

(Read the whole poem here.)

~~~~~~~

And this is from John Updike's "The Great Scarf of Birds":

...And as
I watched, one bird,
prompted by accident or will to lead,
ceased resting; and, lifting in a casual billow,
the flock ascended as a lady’s scarf,
transparent, of gray, might be twitched
by one corner, drawn upward and then,
decided against, negligently tossed toward a chair:
the southward cloud withdrew into the air.

Long had it been since my heart
had been lifted as it was by the lifting of that great
scarf.

(See the whole poem here, in The New Yorker archives.)

~~~~~

And, simply because I love them, here's a list of collective names for animal groups.

I like to make up new ones, too. Let's see ...

A collective name for poets? I suggest a pentameter of poets.

For bloggers ... hmmm. I think I'll call us a blather of bloggers.

For readers, a rondeau of readers.

Other ideas?

~~~~~

The Poetry Friday round up is at Teaching Authors.

~~~~~

Updated to note:
The above link to The New Yorker shows a different version of the poem -- an earlier one, I assume. The version with the final stanza I included can be found in Updike's Collected Poems, 1953-1993.

~~~~~

Updated again to add Tanita Davis's link to this Youtube video of Elbow performing Starlings.