Poetry Friday: "Looking at the Sky" by Anne Porter

I missed Poetry Friday last week. If you did too, check it out at Tanita Davis's {fiction, instead of lies}. The Poetry Pals used Jane Hirshfield's "Two Versions" as a mentor poem and crafted their own takes (inspired by Hirshfield's theme, structure, or lines). They created some stunners, so do hop over and read your way through those beauties. 

This week, Carol at The Apples in My Orchard is hosting. Carol has been caring for her aging father, spending 16½ hours on the road (in one day!) and dealing with a lot (I see you, Carol!) Send her some virtual hugs and love today and enjoy all the poetry she's rounded up for us here. 

~~~~~~~~~~

I missed PF last week because we spent Thursday and Friday out of town. My daughter and her husband hosted Thanksgiving. My middle daughter, whom I blog-named "Betsy Ray" (after our beloved Betsy in Maud Hart Lovelace's Betsy-Tacy books) was nine years old when I started this blog in late 2005. She was NINE. And now she and her husband are killing it as Thanksgiving hosts. We had a marvelous day and a marvelous meal. (I told her to marry a man who cooks, and she did. Yay!) The only parts of the meal we provided were the pumpkin pie (my mom's extra-spice recipe), gluten-free/dairy-free biscuits, and gf/df chocolate chip cookies. Anne-with-an-e (who was twelve when I started the blog — TWELVE!) and her fiance brought the dairy-free mashed potatoes, which Ramona (who was THREE when I started the blog) pronounced the best ever. When she was three, she didn't like "mashed-potatoes-with-the-skin-on, eww" but her culinary palate expanded over the years. Sadly for her, a few years back, just as she was perfecting the ultimate pepperjack grilled cheese sandwich with marinara dipping sauce, she needed to go gf/df, as Betsy had to a few years before. We're still working on perfecting the gf/df diet but overall we've made huge progress.

Aaaaaanyway...that's where I was last week. Enjoying the many pleasures of spending time with all my favorite people. Counting gifts and blessings. Giving thanks for beauty seen and unseen. "Looking at the Sky" and getting my thirst for a touch of heaven quenched. (Stealing the imagery of a thirst quenched from the last line of the poem. It's a short and perfect piece.) 

Looking at the Sky
by Anne Porter

I never will have time
I never will have time enough
To say
How beautiful it is
The way the moon
Floats in the air
As easily
And lightly as a bird
Although she is a world
Made all of stone.
....
(Read the second part here.) 

Photo courtesy of AdamNir, Pixabay.

Poetry Friday: Spotted in the backyard

Our ever-charming Poetry Friday host, Laura Purdie Salas, is thinking and talking about anxiety today. I'm right there with you, Laura. With a teacher-husband and a teacher-daughter returning to work next week and a governor who not only refuses to mandate masks but actually threatens legal action against leaders who want to protect the public with said mandated mask-wearing (I'm stupefied by this), well, I'm ... distracting myself.

So.

Spotted in the backyard yesterday, thanks to Anne-with-an-e (who, in her 20s, still stops what she's doing to notice an astonishing little bit of beauty, and then share it with others):

Munching monarch,

overlord of the milkweed,

unstoppable force.

~ Karen Edmisten

~~~~~~~~

The round-up is at Laura Purdie Salas: Small Reads for Brighter Days.

Poetry Friday: Reader, She Finished It

Sharing a rough draft this week. (Pardon us while we're under construction.) :) 

The Poetry Friday round-up is being hosted this week by the ever-wonderful Elizabeth Steinglass. 

Reader, She Finished It 
by Karen Edmisten

Reader,
she finished it.

Seventeen years old,
Ramona
read Jane Eyre.
And, oh,
the talk, the
talk,
the talk.
Bookish talk
that began
before they could talk.
My daughters
and I whispering
goodnight to the moon,
giggling over Clifford,
silly Amelia. Demanding
justice with Fern,
weeping with Wilbur.
Wandering
into wardrobes,
in search of kindred spirits.
The talk, the
talk. Little
women, a little prince.
Little talks, looming talks.
Atticus, Scout, back again?
Come in, please,
come in.
Who is proud, who
is prejudiced?
Let's talk of what
has passed
and what's to come.

Reader, she finished it.
But, oh, reader,
we are never done.

Bits and Pieces of Our Days: The Catch-up Edition

The last couple of weeks have been over-the-top busy, and this past week was jam-packed, featuring four consecutive days of four hours on the road each day. But this week will be less travel-laden, and, at the moment, I have a little time to reflect on what we've been doing around here when we're not on the road.


Besty graduated from college! 

The graduation ceremony was held outdoors, on a gorgeous day and we were glowing with pride over our Summa Cum Laude graduate. All would have been well if I had remembered the sunblock, but alas, I did not, and we were all glowing in a different way later (though "blazing" might be a more accurate word.) But the important thing is that Betsy is done and is in the midst of a job hunt. Whichever elementary school snatches her up will gain a treasure. 

Atticus Ran Another Half-Marathon! 

Here he is, crossing the finish line. Betsy and I were watching his time on the tracking app, and saw him hit 13.1 miles at 1:54:50, but his officially clocked "cross the finish line" time was an hour and 56 minutes. He felt pretty good about that time, and felt even better when he saw his cancer surgeon last week (just a follow-up, no worries!) and found out that he beat his surgeon's son's time. 

Endgame!

No spoilers, in case you care and/or haven't seen it yet, but Anne-with-an-e and I had fun creating this manicure for her. I think there's a nail for every Avenger, but I won't say which nails did or didn't survive. 

Gluten-free baking! 

Paleo bread, which was a bigger hit with me than it was with Betsy. Still on the hunt for a better recipe. 

Gluten-free chocolate cake (thank you, Pamela's Products!) and homemade, dairy-free frosting. What was the occasion? It was called, "Look! We can make a gluten-free, dairy-free chocolate cake that tastes delicious!" The other occasion was: 

My birthday! 

And now we are 59. 

Well, Gumby's actually 66, but Ramona chose him as the bearer of greetings that day. We have a ritual of taking turns hiding Gumby where the other will find him. It was her turn, so she enlisted his help in wishing me a happy birthday and it was indeed a happy one! 

This is fuzzy because we took it with my phone (bleh, not a great camera), and then I cropped it (bleh, further worsening the quality), but I'm thinking of chopping off all my hair. What say you? 

Our School Year is Almost Over! 

No more math with candlelight (it does help, a little) and just a bit more of Hamlet to read and discuss, and then ... we're done! A sweet, math-free summer awaits. We. Are. Ready. 

And Finally, Happy Day, Whether You are a Mother or Not....

It's Mother's Day, and if you're a mom, I celebrate you. If you act as a Second Mom/Beloved Aunt/All-Around Awesome Woman to someone in your life, I celebrate you. If you desperately want to be a mom, but it hasn't happened yet, I've been there, and I understand. If you've never wanted to be a mom, I've been there, too, and I understand. If you are a mom to children lost through early or late miscarriage, stillbirth, abortion, infant death, or at any stage in life, I grieve with you, and I understand. 

Let's all support one another on this day that celebrates mothers, even as we acknowledge that motherhood (and womanhood) has a million faces. 

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

Whew, it's been so long since I've posted an actual update that I may have forgotten everything we've been doing for the last four months.

Let's see what I can recall.

Much of 16-year-old Ramona's fall semester was consumed by community theater. (Did I just say she's 16? I did. People, I started blogging when she was three. Yikes. May I stop time, please?)

She auditioned for Peter and the Starcatcher and (dramatic drumroll....) got the lead. She adored playing the Starcatcher, Molly, and her British accent was, if I do say so myself, spot on. (Not that I can actually judge, not being British, but trust me. It was perfect. This is not a mother talking. Well, it is. But. Whatever.) There were six performances over two weekends (would have been seven, but one was canceled due to snow), plenty of family made it into town to see her, and overall, the entire experience delighted all involved.

As homeschoolers in a small town, theater opportunities can be a little hard to come by, so I'd been hoping something would work out soon for Ramona. Community theater to the rescue, and long live Molly -- the Starcatcher and the rising star. So happy for her.


                                                             

~~~~~~~~~~

Have I mentioned how much I love having a daughter who's a librarian? It's not only that Anne-with-an-e will pick up or return books for me (and I admit that I exploit that benefit far too often), but she absolutely loves her job, and knowing that I played a part in matchmaking the Anne-with-an-e/Library relationship brings me extensive happiness. 

~~~~~~~~~~

I spent much of the fall semester learning how to shop for and cook meals that are AIP (Autoimmune Protocol) compliant. Betsy's Crohn's disease, as I mentioned last September, was not responding to the drug she was on. She switched to a new one that she has to inject at home (and I learned that I can actually give someone a shot. Who knew? Nurse Karen, here). Then she tackled the daunting challenge of the AIP elimination diet. When people asked what she had to give up and I named all the foods -- grains, nuts, corn, legumes, beans, eggs, spices, dairy -- that aren't allowed during the elimination phase, they asked, "What's left?" Well, mainly vegetables (but no potatoes -- who knew they were a nighshade?), fruit, and meat.

Sourcing can be a challenge, but we've been getting it figured out. I've learned so much in the last few months about how to cook this way. There are loads of gluten-free flours that I'd never used or even heard of (tigernut, cassava.) I learned that you can actually make a pretty tasty orange-cranberry scone without flour, eggs, or sugar, and that you can create a "chili" without tomatoes (which are also a nightshade and therefore off-limits) by creating a stew base with pumpkin. I've been introduced to roughly a gajillion coconut products that I didn't know existed and I learned that everyone actually likes beef liver when it's hidden in a stew created by McAngie at Autoimmune Wellness.

It's still a challenge to balance all the AIP stuff with my vegan-ish leanings and some restrictions that Atticus adheres to, but I'm no longer pulling my hair out. I've been making peace with the kitchen, something I thought I'd never do, and that's been a lovely surprise.

~~~~~~~~~~

Latest reading:

I just finished How to Stop Time, by Matt Haig, and I absolutely loved it. It was so much more than I expected, and now I want to read everything Matt Haig has ever written.

Meeting Ally Carter

About eight years ago (Seven? Nine? Something like that -- whenever she was at that junior high-ish age), Betsy started reading Ally Carter's Gallagher Girls series. Then she went through the Heist Society books, devoured all of Embassy Row, and somewhere along the way, introduced her little sister to Ally Carter too. Ramona promptly inhaled every Ally Carter book she could get her hands on (which wasn't too hard -- Betsy owned most of them.)

Fast forward to a few weeks ago. The girls discovered they could get their hands on a signed copy of Carter's brand new book, Not If I Save You First from an indie bookseller in another state. They promptly ordered it, and just a day or two after it arrived, Ramona spotted big news on Twitter: Ally Carter was coming to an indie bookstore just a short distance from us. (Ahem ... when you live in a small town in the midwest, everything worth doing that is under 2-3 hours away is "a short distance.")

So it went on the calendar!
We counted down!
Monday, April 9th arrived!

Ramona was sickish, but it would've taken a coma to keep her away from this book signing. Anne-with-an-e had never gotten in on the CarterMania, but she came along just because, hey, it's a bookstore, and hey, the rest of us are sparkling company.

Betsy and Ramona talked about what to say to Ally Carter when they met her. They speculated that the fangirling could spiral out of control -- what if they sputtered, spewed, misspoke, and embarrassed themselves with things like, "We loved the Grungy Goblin series ... umm, I mean Gallagher Girls! And Horse Solemnity -- No! Heist Society! And of course we loved Eatery Rowboat. Doh! Embassy Row!"

In the end, they slaughtered nary a title, remained composed while asking questions ("What book or writer inspired you to want to be a writer?" and "What advice do you have for someone who loves writing and would like to get her writing published?"), we bought a couple more books, and we all survived the long book-signing line. When it was our turn, we all fangirled, truth be told. And Ally Carter could not have been kinder or more gracious. She was truly lovely, and gave so much of her self and her time to each and every girl (and mom) there.

The next day we had a fun little exchange with her on Twitter and today Ramona said, "Do people still say 'shook'? Because I'm still shook."

Some of my fondest mom/daughter/road trip memories involve book signings and being shook in the company of my daughters. (Remember Ramona and Jim Arnosky? Sigh.) And sometimes, writers you originally met online become the dearest of friends.

Finally, it just has to be said: indie bookstores are the best. Thanks, Bookworm.

Happy Christmas Eve and a Happy Update!

I'm about to go hide in my room and write my annual Christmas-themed Harry Potter fan fic (a tradition started by Anne-with-an-e in 2008 -- so this is our 10th year! -- wherein we each write a Harry Potter story sometime during Advent, then read them to each other over Christmas Eve dinner.) But, before I do that, I wanted to share a giddy update:

Betsy started a new treatment a couple of weeks ago, and it is working. We have seen an incredible change in her, especially in the last week/ten days. (I could almost say that the last four months seem like a bad dream, but the dream is still too vivid, so... nope ... not there yet.) She is actually starting to feel relatively normal again. We're getting our girl back, and we couldn't be happier.

I'm not feeling very articulate about all of this -- all I can say is, "Happy! We're happy! We're so happy!"  😃

Poetry Friday: Nature Walk, by Gillian Wegener

Ah, this is a lovely poem. Gillian Wegener's "Nature Walk" conjures memories of nature walks with my girls -- part of our homeschool, part of our history, bits of our family lore. Some walks were laden with wonder, some were a push-me-pull-you of competing mindsets.

Nature Walk
by Gillian Wegener

The fern fronds glow with a clean, green light,
and I lift one and point out the spores, curled
like sleep on the back, the rows so straight,
so even, that I might be convinced of Providence
at this moment. My daughter is seven.

(Read the rest here, at The Writer's Almanac.)

~~~~~

Daughters do keep moving toward "whatever's beyond" but sometimes you still get to sneak in a nature walk with them. This is from ours, yesterday:

So many painted ladies! So much delight in watching them with my daughters. Laden with wonder. They flitted, they fluttered, they drank sweet nectar. And then they were gone. 

~~~~~

Matt Forrest Esenwine has the round up at Radio, Rhythm and Rhyme.

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

Whoosh! Where does the time go?

I've been AWOL for a number of reasons, most of which have to do with simply being busy, busy, busy. Some of the busyness was dull and dreadful. (Taxes are done! And I cooked dinner on the same day I finished the taxes! I feel like a superhero!) Some of the busyness was welcome brain exercise, such as an online class of sorts, which kept me busy for a couple of weeks. One other new thing I'm doing is handling the monthly "Celebrate" column for Catholic Digest. It involves the delight of some quote-gathering, and I'm all about that.

~~~~~

Ramona and I are reading L.M. Montgomery's Emily of New Moon and we are loving it. I'm annoyed with myself that I've lived this long without having read this book. At least Ramona won't have to say the same. 

Can I love a heroine as much as I love Anne-with-an-e? An emphatic yes. Ramona agrees. 

~~~~~

Instagram snaps: 

Ramona is still helpless for Hamilton. (So am I.) 

When a future Kindergarten teacher lives at your house, you find things like Origami Yoda on your dining room table. 

When your other daughter works at the library, and said library is weeding its collection and selling off old books to get ready for the library renovation, you find things like bunches of new, old books in your living room. 

I'm not complaining. 

Lights, Camera, Corky...and an Ode to Karl

Last night was the youth choir play at our parish. I've written loads about our youth choir plays; it has such a fun and varied history. It was born on Christmas Eve, 2007, when our liturgy director approached me after Mass and said, "Hey, Karen, when I worked at another church, we did this little play called The Three Trees. I was thinking it would be fun to do it here, with our youth choir."

I said, "Yeah, you have fun with that, Karl. That's a great idea."

Karl said, "I was wondering if you'd like to help direct it."

I said, "Yeah, you have fun with that, Karl."

But I relented and gave it a try, because I really do have an inner Corky St. Clair. (I was not a theater major for nothing, people.) Because I had daughters in the youth choir, I helped Karl with The Three Trees, then the next year we did a play called A Technicolor Promise. (That was the year that Anne-with-an-e's Confirmation led me to buy Zoo Pal paper plates as part of the costumes. Yeah. Go read that link.)

Then I took a year off (I think I was writing a book? Or I was just tired and grumpy?) and then directed another play called Joseph: From the Pit to the Palace. I went full-on Corky with that one. I remember Karl having to pull me back from the edge when I was trying to choreograph a group of 30 kids, ages 8-13, as if they were in Hamilton. "This is getting a little too complicated," Karl gently told me as I wiped my fevered brow and said, "No, it could work. It could work!" I'm certain I then laughed maniacally and I'm equally certain that Karl considered having me hospitalized. Instead, I think he sent me home, I had a glass of wine, showed Atticus my sketches for the dream choreography, and then he wiped my fevered brow and put me to bed.

We simplified the choreography, though I might have been shaky as I made concessions.

The next year, with Karl's enthusiastic encouragement, Anne-with-an-e (who was a senior in high school) and Betsy (who was a sophomore), and two of their friends took a stab at writing a play themselves. They were also eager to try the job of directing (and Karl never once had to consider having them committed. Their inner Corkies were a bit more controlled.) The play was a big hit that year, and I was over-the-moon-proud of my girls. And Betsy was hooked on the directing job. (Directing the musical was one of the things that helped her realize she wanted to be a teacher.) She continued to work with the kids until this year (through her first two years of college.) This was the first year for her to sit in the audience for a choir play, and she didn't like it one bit. It killed her that she was too busy this year to direct. (Maybe next year?)

And the last few years have also been Ramona's time to rise through the ranks. She's had speaking roles, singing duos/trios, adores performing, and I was over-the-moon-proud of her last night as I watched her perform for the last time in this annual musical. She's 9th grade-ish this year, and will age out of the choir as a singer/performer,  but she has her eye on some writing and directing in the future. She may have to elbow her way in, as the young man who wrote the musical the last two years has done a terrific job -- he may not be ready to pass the baton. Karl's wife, Danae, directed this year, and she did an incredible job. But all work out and be well. The Edmisten stake in this choir* has been claimed, and we may never fully let go.

Thank you, Karl, for the vision that was born in 2007, and for asking a lazy, former theater major to lend a hand. I told you to have fun with that, and not only did you have fun with it, you gave my family the gift of a lifetime of treasured memories.

*Adding this footnote after Danae's comment: I forgot to mention that even Atticus had a role one year, as the off-stage voice of God. So fun.


Photo credit: FreeImages.com

How to Play TelePictionary

Yesterday I mentioned TelePictionary. It's a cross between Telephone and Pictionary, and if you don't know how to play it, I'm here to remedy that for you.

What you need:

Paper
Pens or pencils
Complete disregard for your drawing skills

Directions:

1.) You just need a few players. We've played with three or four or more. Everyone gets a stack of blank papers equal to the number of people in the game. Five of us played, so we each started with five pieces of paper in front of us. (We cut printer paper into fourths, or we just use scrap paper.)

2.) On the first sheet, each person draws a picture of something. It can be anything -- an illustration of a common saying, a movie title, or just whatever occurs to you. Don't look at each other's drawings.

3.) Everyone passes their stack to the person on their right. When you get the stack, interpret the drawing you're looking at, move it to the back of the stack, and on the next piece of paper, write down your interpretation. Pass the stack again.

4. Read the previous person's interpretation, move that paper to the back, then draw your version of what was said.

5. Continue the steps until you've gone through all of the pieces of paper in the stack, and after the final passing, you should have your own drawing back, and it will be on top of the stack.

6. Now you can show everyone your original drawing, tell them what it was, and see how close everyone came to drawing/interpreting it.

7. Laugh until you gasp or pass out.

Here's an example from one of our rounds:

Ramona* drew this:

Anne-with-an-wrote this: 

The Niffler has stolen money and jewels. Eddie Redmayne is very concerned.

Atticus then drew this: 

I interpreted his drawing this way: 

A man is shocked that a blind pig has SWAG. 

In response, Betsy drew this: 

~~~~~

And that is how you play TelePictionary. 

You're welcome. 

~~~~~

* She asks you to please not judge her on her New Year's Eve scribble methods for TelePictionary. 

I'm So Predictable

I wrote this in 2005, my first year of blogging, and have rerun it a number of times since then. My girls were then ages 12, 9, and 3.

I'm posting it again, because that's part of what makes me so predictable. 

It's all still true, except it's been a long time since we needed a babysitter, ages since Ramona squirmed through Mass, and over the years our Christmas traditions have grown up along with our children. 

But the ending?

Predictable.

********

I'm So Predictable 

My husband and I have a holiday tradition. Every year, close to Christmas, we get a babysitter, go out for Chinese food, and buy all the last-minute stocking stuffers. In the process, we generally fall in love all over again -- with each other, with our children, and with the magic of Christmas. We talk about our days, about holiday travel plans, and about how we'll keep the youngest child happy and calm during the long Christmas Eve Mass. And we talk about how we can't believe how drastically our Christmases have changed over the years.

You see, when we married, we didn't want children. Children were nice enough for other people, but not for us. We didn't want the mess, the commitment, the responsibility. We were happy to be "child free" as opposed to "childless."

Then something happened. I became a Christian.

Oops. Short-circuit in the selfishness department. I began to long for a child. Soon, Atticus's heart caught up with mine in the procreation debate, and we set forth to create a family. After some heartbreaking miscarriages, we had Anne. But only one child, Atticus said. One child is enough.

Then I became a Catholic.

Oops. Short-circuit in the "openness to life" department. We had Betsy. Then several more heartbreaking miscarriages later, God awarded us with Ramona, and here we are. Falling in love again at Christmas time, and crazy, head-over-heels in love with our children.

And all because of of a Child born in Bethlehem two thousand years ago.

Had Mary said, "No, thank you," to that child, I would be childless. There would have been no short-circuit, no conversion, and most certainly, no child-fueled joy. How do I thank God for that?

I always seem to do it in the same old, tired way.

I cry.

May you, too, shed some tears of ineffable gratitude this Christmas.

Bits and Pieces of Our Days: What We've Been Reading

Ramona and I just finished The Curious World of Calpurnia Tate, Jacqueline Kelly's delightful* sequel to The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate. We did it together as a read-aloud and were both sad to reach the end of our time with the Tate clan. And who needs a science curriculum with books such as these? Love them.

* ETA: Just fyi: It does tackle some serious themes, too, so some of you might want to preview it and/or be ready to discuss those. 

~~~~~

While we're on the subject of science, though, we're working our way through Fruitless Fall together. If you've never fallen hard for honeybees, you need to pick up this book. 

~~~~~

Betsy is doing some reading aloud with Ramona, too. Last night they finished The Son of Neptune, from Rick Riordan's Heroes of Olympus series. 

~~~~~

Her own stuff: Ramona recently finished Andrew Clements' Things Not Seen, which she said was "fun, and interesting, and there was more to it" than she thought there would be. She recommends it. 

Then she moved on to Tanita Davis's A La Carte, which she desperately loved. It left her with a book hangover, drifting and unsure of what she wanted to pick up next. She just wanted more time with Lainey. 

She eventually moved on, though, and is currently reading The Importance of Being Earnest. 

~~~~~

Last month I read The One-in-a-Million Boy, by Monica Wood, and it was lovely and sad and uplifting. Recommend, recommend, recommend. 

I just finished Connie Willis's newest book, Crosstalk. It's basically a romantic comedy, lightweight fun. I think the story could have been told in a shorter book, but I still enjoyed it. I've been told I need to read To Say Nothing of the Dog, so that's on the TBR list for lightweight Willis. I think Doomsday Book (not lightweight) is still my favorite of hers. 

Right now? I'm rereading Madeleine L'Engle's A Circle of Quiet. I adore her Crosswicks journals. 

~~~~~

Final book note: 

Did you know that yesterday was, as my friend Beth at Endless Books calls it, the Literary Day of Days? November 29th is the birthday of Madeleine L'Engle, Louisa May Alcott, and C.S. Lewis. 

Why did I not have this day highlighted on my calendar? Why are there not banners and fireworks? I assure you, next year the Literary Day of Days will be celebrated to the fullest extent allowed by law and bloggery. 

For this year, I will simply rerun this picture of a note I received from Madeleine L'Engle many years ago. (The story behind it is here.) Happy Belated Literary Day of Days! 

Ask for Chesteron on Dickens, and You Shall Receive

On Wednesday, I mentioned shopping my bookshelves for Ramona's upcoming school year reading list. Then, my friend Liz (over on Facebook) said I "should definitely read Chesterton's book on Dickens." I made a mental note and had another cup of coffee.

This morning, my girls and I were at a used book sale. You know that's always dangerous, but I promised myself that this time, I'd buy only books I truly love or truly needed, because otherwise, what was all that summer book decluttering for?

I was doing quite well. I had in my hand a Beverly Cleary that we've never read. (I didn't know such a creature existed! But it does! Muggie Maggie!) We'd also grabbed an Andrew Clements book that has long been a favorite of Ramona's. Anne-with-an-e found some Ray Bradbury, and Ramona and I thought that a science book that explained why penguins feet don't freeze was probably within our guidelines of "need." And since we don't own a copy of the Cary Grant/Audrey Hepburn movie Charade, I told Ramona she should definitely grab it. It was only 50 cents, after all, and Grant and Hepburn fall into the "truly love" category.

And then what to my discerning eye should appear?

Mission complete. 

We paid for our reasonable handful of books, escaped without spending the month's food budget, and we are all happy. No teetering, homeless piles of books this time. 

(Remember the last used book sale foray? Our spoil looked like this and my shelves were already overflowing:) 

Of course, the absence of teetering stacks after hitting a book sale also makes me a little sad, as it should any true book lover. 

Sorry, Marie Kondo, but that's a fact of bibliophilic life.

School Supplies, Serendipity, Ice Cream, and Tears

Last night I told my sister a story she'd never heard before. We were talking about the ways God sometimes seems to drop someone into your life at the right time, and about how beautiful and surreal it can feel, how it often leaves us speechless.

The following story is from ten years ago this week. Anne-with-an-e was 12, Betsy was 10, and Ramona was 4.

Enjoy ... and cry ... and hold on tight to someone you love:

~~~~~

Yesterday we went shopping for school supplies. After picking up a few essentials, and because we were celebrating the fact that none of us had cavities (this was a known fact, not a guess, as we'd been to the dentist in the morning) I decreed it to be an Ice Cream for Lunch day.

We stopped for our treats, and settled down to enjoy them. As the girls were slurping their way through Oreo and Reese's Peanut Butter Cup-laced concoctions, an elderly man approached our table.

"I just wanted to say," he said rather slowly, "that you just have some very nice girls there, and you all remind me of our family a number of years back. We had three girls, too."

I responded with something like, "Isn't that nice?" and said it was kind of him to compliment the girls. Then he went on to say, "I've got kind of a sad story, though ...."

Oh, no, I thought, who are you, and what's coming next?

"We, um," he said, looking troubled. "We lost our youngest daughter to cancer."

Oh, my. I was jolted but managed to relay my sympathy. I asked when it had happened, thinking it must've been years ago.

"Just last month," he said, tearing up. "She was 41. I was there when she died. And it just ...."

He trailed off, as tears filled his eyes. (Mine too.)

"I'm so sorry," I said feebly. I looked at Anne, who was also tearing up.

He continued. "She had the Lord in her life and she told me that. She said she wasn't afraid ... so, you know, that's my consolation. But," he choked, "it just tears you up inside."

"I can't even imagine," I whispered.

The surrealness of this scene didn't occur to me at the time. Somehow it seemed perfectly right that I was sitting there, listening to this stranger who stood next to my table as he shared his grief with a family who was willing to listen.

He shook his head, as if to collect his thoughts, and said, "I just ... I really wanted to stop and say something to you, because I just saw that you look like such a nice, happy family. I saw your three girls talking and laughing, and I thought, 'Why there's Suzanne and Maureen and Ginger!' Just like my girls ...."

He shook his head again, and since I seemed unable to say anything at that point, he finished up by saying, "I just wanted to say that you all just reminded me of our family, and I could tell that you have somethin' special. You know, not everyone has that these days ... it's a rotten world, and not everyone has what you have ... and so, I just wanted to say that."

Through a few more tears, I thanked him. I told him again how sorry I was that he had lost his daughter, and that I appreciated his kindness in taking the time to stop and talk to us.

"God bless you," I said softly, feeling once again that my words were sorely inadequate.

When he left, Anne-with-an-e was crying. I comforted her and said that although his story was a sad one, and that he missed his daughter very much, it was so comforting that they had their faith, and that we have ours. I told the girls I was glad we were there -- glad we could listen to a man who needed to talk about the daughters he loves so much. But, also, his little visit to our table was a gift to me, I said. I was touched that he could see how much we love one another, and touched that he took the time to say it.

When we got home, I told Atticus about it -- about how it felt as if an angel had stopped to talk to us. This angel reminded me of our abundant blessings, our abundant love for one another ... of all that's really important.

Then, Atticus said, "Do you remember that last phone call we got for the Rosary Crusade? It was about a month ago. They asked us to pray for a couple who had just lost their 40-something daughter to cancer."

I had forgotten, but Atticus was right.

Though I can't know for certain, this stranger who had felt compelled to approach an ice-cream-eating mother and her three daughters was quite possibly the man for whom I had prayed anonymously last month.

And once again, I feel awed by and unworthy of the love and mercy of such a God as we have. He intertwines our lives in ways we cannot predict, often do not see, and most certainly cannot fully comprehend on this side of heaven.

Serendipity? Such a lovely and whimsical word for grace.

Recent Reading: Wendell Berry, Esther Ehrlich, and Another One From My Daughter

I dropped this beautiful book and marred the cover with a pronounced crease.  Somehow, though, that seems more than okay. 

I finished Wendell Berry's Hannah Coulter last week and discovered for myself why my friends, when the title comes up, gasp and seem to rise from the planet for a moment as they relive their own experiences of reading it. When they circle back down to earth and are able to speak again, they always mention underlining and highlighting and the lyrical beauty of the writing. 

They are right. And I have joined their ranks. 

Title character Hannah Coulter, now in her 70s, is looking back over the many years of her life. Hannah shares her history with us in prose that is both simple and reflective. I don't think it's a spoiler to share this passage, which comes very early in the book: 

When you are old you can look back and see yourself when you were young. It is almost like looking down from Heaven. And you see yourself as a young woman, just a big girl really, half awake to the world. You see yourself happy, holding in your arms a good, decent, gentle, beloved young man with the blood keen in his veins, who before long is going to disappear, just disappear, into a storm of hate and flying metal and fire. And you don't know it.

My copy, with its creased but lovely cover, is full of such underlinings. I read with pencil in hand, marking passage after passage, ripe plums that I wanted to preserve and remember forever. I read Hannah quickly and slowly: flying through the pages, but savoring the words of a world that has passed into memory.

~~~~~

I read Nest, by Esther Ehrlich, in just the last couple of days. 

Nest, deliciously set in 1972, is narrated by eleven-year-old Naomi Orenstein, nicknamed Chirp, after her love of birdwatching.

Chirp has an awful lot going on at the moment. There's something wrong with her beloved mom, but the doctors aren't sure what. Chirp's older sister, Rachel, is going to weird parties ("Something feels funny; like they're all on one team and I'm on the other.") Chirp's next-door-neighbor, Joey, comes from a family that Chirp's psychiatrist dad says has "significant issues," so he might be scary or he might be nice…it's hard to tell, when a boy has a rock in his hand, just what he plans to do with it. Chirp's haven is Heron Pond, where she goes to look for her favorite bird, the elusive red-throated loon, which can be extremely awkward or immensely graceful, depending on where it is and what it's trying to accomplish.

I loved this book so much. Ehrlich's writing is iridescent; it shimmers like the sunlit water that has been part of Chirp's world since she was born. And that gorgeous writing serves well a story that is full and weighty. Sadness, deep pain, grief, and love mingle with insight and hope. Bring the tissues.

My only caveat is that it's billed as middle-grade fiction -- it could be too much for very sensitive children, as it covers extremely serious issues.

Read it for yourself, because it's worth the grown-up read. Then you can decide who you'll share it with.

~~~~~

Finally, I've mentioned NaNoWriMo before, but who knew the craziness was encouraged in July? Camp NaNoWriMo is November madness in the middle of summer. Betsy, who has completed five NaNo novels in the past, did another one last month. She finished 60,000 words before the end of July, let me read her first draft (that almost never happens), and she made my cry with one of her plot developments. Reading doesn't get any better than that. 

Ramona set herself a goal of a 10,000 word story for July and met it. She hasn't let me read her story yet, though -- not sure when she'll release a draft to me. And Anne-with-an-e is trying a longer work for the first time ever, so I'll keep you posted on future Edmisten-Daughter books, and whether or not they make me cry. 

Bits and Pieces of Our Days: The Facebook Edition

Because I know that not everyone is on Facebook:

June 11 at 7:47pm ·
I'm late to every party but I'm glad the Hamilton party's still going on 'cause I just arrived. Hey, Betsy, I'm holding your cd ransom. Are you young, scrappy, and hungry enough to fight me for it?


P.S. This wasn't on the FB post, but Betsy, who got me hooked, directed me to 21 Steps to Becoming Obsessed With Hamilton.  I don't think I'm obsessed, though. It's just a little addiction.

Updated to note: My family corrects me: I am obsessed.

~~~~~

June 3 at 9:18pm ·
People often say things like, "Just you wait," regarding the teen years. Tonight, my 13 yr. old took the dog out, and came in saying, "Mom! You have to come see the sunset! I couldn't stop taking pictures!" Yes...just wait. You, too, will have lovely moments with some of the most wonderful people in your life...your teens.

~~~~~

May 31 at 10:34am ·
Anne-with-an-e: "What are you reading?"
Me: "A blog post about planners, and about how your temperament fits into what kind of planner you are."
Anne-with-an-e (pauses, then laughs): "That's really dorky." **
Me: "I know. That's why I love it."
Anne-with-an-e: "Where'd you find it?"
Me: "Jen sent the link. It's a homeschooling blog."
Anne-with-an-e: "Of course."
Attention, fellow dorky planners: the post is at Wildflowers and Marbles.

** This is a compliment, by the way. :) :)

~~~~~

May 27 at 12:19am ·
We're finally watching Poldark, which Atticus teases should be called, "Poldark and Handsome."

~~~~~

May 20 at 8:39am ·
Watched Ramin Karimloo's Phantom last night w/ my girls. We were a sloppy bunch at the end.

~~~~~

May 15 ·
Intriguing article about Christopher Hitchens, and a mention of my Deathbed Conversions book in this New York Times piece:

Christopher Hitchens Was Shaky in his Atheism, New Book Suggests

A new book says the impious author of “God Is Not Great” might have been exploring faith before he died in 2011. Mr. Hitchens’s secular friends disagree.   NYTimes.com/By Mark Oppenheimer

Catching Up: Moving, and Grads, and Webinars, Oh, My!

I've been absent from the blog for all the usual reasons (life, life, and life), plus a few new ones, just to keep things interesting:

• We've been helping my parents get settled in at a picturesque retirement community. They are now only about two hours away from us (instead of fourteen) and we are thrilled. Over the last week, my sister, her husband, my daughters, and I helped my mother sift through many (not all...we're not done yet) of her hundreds and hundreds of books. My sister and I each hauled three boxes of books home because you know how much empty bookshelf space I have: 

This is what my living room looked like after the last used book sale we hit. Then we went to another used book sale. I didn't take another picture. 

• Betsy Ray graduated this weekend from the community college she's been attending. She wants to be an elementary school teacher, so she'll continue next fall at a state college not far from here. College-for-Edmistens, so far, seems to have taken the same shape as Homeschooling-for-Edmistens: piece it together in the way that works best, as economically as possible, keeping goals in mind, while not being afraid to shift gears if something isn't working. Classes in the fall, for both Anne and Betsy, will involve commuting to the state college, taking a class at the community college (Betsy can get one class at a better time/price there), and a couple of online classes at a third college (Anne is dipping into a possible new major, which kind of thrills me because it involves English.) Basically, this means we are dealing with three different schools. The FAFSA is so much fun! 

• I've been doing a lot of interviews for You Can Share the Faith, and tomorrow (May 16, at 11 a.m. central), I'll be doing a webinar with Our Sunday Visitor. They tell me loads of people have signed up, but the great thing about a webinar is that the room is never too crowded. You can find out more about it here, on the registration page. Other recent interviews included Busted Halo and Teresa Tomeo's Catholic Connection. 

• On a completely different note, Ramona's latest favorite website is Creativebug. We sketch, we paint, we play, repeat. 

• To sum up: I'm still alive, in case you wondered. 

Why I Don't Miss Our Old Advents

When I first started blogging, my daughters were 3, 9, and 12, so when I wrote about Advent (as I did in the No-Panic Advent series), I was writing about creating traditions with children. Ten years later, I don't have young children. Two college students and a teenager live at my house.

Advent has changed.

We no longer do the things that were designed to help little ones step outside themselves as they quiver and count down the days to Christmas. Things like daily thank-you notes deposited in the Jesus stocking, or pieces of yarn (for every corporal or spiritual work of mercy) dropped in a manger, to make it soft for Baby Jesus. No one wants to dress up as St. Lucia on her feast day anymore (although, of course we still make that heavenly bread) and there are no fights over who will light the candles on the Advent wreath.

We still have a Jesse Tree, and Atticus still reads accompanying stories aloud to us on the nights when we have dinner together, but schedules are busy, and we inevitably miss days. I don't go back to pick up missed readings anymore. Everyone knows the major stories, the Scriptures that tell the story of salvation history. The Jesse Tree did its job all those years.

Some things, of course, will never change. Chocolate and Advent calendars will always be here, and none of us will ever be too old for our favorite Advent books. But these days, we also talk about who's read the latest installment of Bishop Barron's Advent reflections, about what kind of Advent resolution we've made, about going to confession. The other day we discussed the way Advent Scripture readings focus on the last things, and about whether or not that scares us or reassures us.

Advent with grown (and practically grown) children is Advent with a different flavor.

Advent, a season of watching and waiting -- the season of hope, as a priest in the confessional reminded me in the advent of Advent -- is about pondering what Mary thought and felt as she anticipated the birth of the Christ Child, pondering who Jesus Christ is, and why He came to us.

I've pondered my way through many Advents since I became a Catholic. With the Blessed Mother, I have wondered. I've thought about why God chose me to mother these particular children, and I've asked Him at times whether I am up to the tasks He's assigned me. I've thought about the ways Christ has come to me in the past, the ways He has promised to come to me in the future, the way He always comes.

I'm so grateful for Advent, for the genius of a liturgical cycle that forces me to slow down, think, pray.

Watching my daughters grow into young women who love this time of year, who love God and have claimed their faith as their own, and look forward to creating beautiful Advent celebrations with their own children someday, has confirmed something for me:

I don't miss "our old Advents" because they are still with us. Every Advent we've observed and celebrated is a part of us. All those years of Jesse Trees, Jesus stockings, and yarn in a manger -- the slapdash, stressful years, and the carefully crafted, calmly carried out ones -- shaped us. The Advents of our past gave birth to the Advent we are having right now, this year, this moment.

This season of hope.

God finds new ways every year to help me see that He is nothing but Hope. And that's why I can't miss the Advents of our past. Because Christ -- O come, Emmanuel! -- is always making things new.

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

A snow day! Atticus had a day off this week, the snow just kept coming, and my college girls went out for a snowball fight with Ramona. When I grabbed the camera, for just a moment it felt like so many winter days long ago, when I had three girls who raced out to play in the snow every chance they got.

~~~~~

Ramona does a live, online art class every week with Mark Kistler and I joined in the fun this week. 

~~~~~

I don't think I mentioned it here (on Facebook, maybe? Yes, that's what I did) but we didn't make it out of town for Thanksgiving. We woke up to ice on our travel day, and decided to stay put. We had a quiet dinner at home (made up of various turkey parts -- that's what happens when you don't plan a back-up meal and all the whole turkeys are gone) and though we missed the Ed side of the family, we still had a lovely weekend. So much to be thankful for! 

Ramona made cornstarch clay and crafted a turkey of her own: 

~~~~~

I'm reading The Sea of Monsters to Ramona. We're almost done and then we have plenty of Advent reading to dive in to. 'Tis the season! We already started The Twenty-Four Days Before Christmas and The Best Christmas Pageant Ever is up next.