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. 

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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: I'm hosting! (No overthinking allowed.)

I was thinking, overthinking, and waffling about what to post. Then, as I grew tired of waffling, overthinking — and, let's face it, just plain thinking — Atticus suggested that I post "Autumn in New York." One really can't go wrong with Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, can one? No, one cannot. 

Ramona had thoughts too. She suggested the nothing-but-poetic scene from You've Got Mail in which Joe Fox expresses the perfect fall thought.

So, dear reader, if you too do not want to overthink anything but would simply like to bask in the beauty of Ella and Louis, and the joys of a screenplay by Nora Ephron, join me:  

  

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Mr. Linky is helping me round up this week's Poetry Friday posts, 

in his always-helpful, linky way. 

Thanks for joining us! 

Poetry Friday: It's a Party at Ruth's Place!

Ruth, at There is No Such Thing as a God-forsaken Town is hosting the Poetry Friday party today and she's focusing on — you guessed it — parties. 

I miss parties. 

Well, I didn't actually go to a lot of parties pre-COVID. My INFJ/Enneagram 4/Melancholic/Introverted self didn't exactly seek them out on a regular basis. But, hey. I miss having the option to go to a party. I miss having a few people over for dinner. And mostly, I'm sad that we didn't get to throw the big bash we'd planned for Ramona, who graduated from our homeschool this year.

It would have been the kind of party that John Brandi sums up in this haiku. I can imagine our most beloved friends and family: meaning to leave, but lingering, having one more beer, just another glass of wine, a few more minutes of talk and laughter, moments that stretch into a few more hours.

We'll have that party for Ramona someday.

In the meantime, friends, there's poetry.

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.

Poetry Friday: Our *Last* First Day of School

Although Ramona started French class as an early-enrollment student at the college a couple of weeks ago, I have always waited to "officially" start our homeschool after Labor Day and this year is no different.

Well, one thing is different.

Today is the last first-day-of-school for Ramona and me. My last first-day-of-homeschooling forever. She's a senior this year. (Whaaaat?) We have thoughts and plans and aspirations for this year, of course. And we'll tackle them fiercely, knowing all the while that we have no idea what this year actually holds.

Have we ever known what a year holds, before that year takes hold of us? Not really. Life has an annoying funhouse quality, with unexpected twists and surprises around heretofore unseen and unconsidered corners. I love the way this poem by Henrietta Cordelia Ray captures the breathless, naive, but utterly lovable optimism of being human while acknowledging the as-yet unknown shadows and gloom that will inevitably color and shape every life. And yet we soldier on and continue to "climb the slopes of life with throbbing heart."

Here's to a school year propelled by an eager pulse, rich song, and eyes wide-stretched. We cannot repine, Henrietta. No, we cannot repine.

Aspiration
Henrietta Cordelia Ray

We climb the slopes of life with throbbing heart,
And eager pulse, like children toward a star.
Sweet siren music cometh from afar,
To lure us on meanwhile. Responsive start
The nightingales to richer song than Art
Can ever teach. No passing shadows mar
Awhile the dewy skies; no inner jar
Of conflict bids us with our quest to part.
We see adown the distance, rainbow-arched,
What melting aisles of liquid light and bloom!
We hasten, tremulous, with lips all parched,
And eyes wide-stretched, nor dream of coming gloom.
Enough that something held almost divine
Within us ever stirs. Can we repine?

~~~~~~~~~~

Sylvia Vardell has the round-up this week at Poetry for Children.

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(Photo courtesy of Barbara A. Lane at Pixabay.) 

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

June is doing its usual thing, and by "usual thing" I mean, "careening past me at an insane speed that should get it stopped by a state patrolman immediately and, possibly, it should even do some jail time."

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We love our local arts center and last month Ramona got to sing at an arts center fundraiser. Her voice teacher is a dear friend of mine (and an amazing singer) and she had several of her students sing that night, which was lovely. Ramona sang "Stars and the Moon" (which I had never heard until her recital last month and now I'm obsessed with it. Beautiful song.)

When I started this blog, Ramona was three years old, and my reports on her went something like this:

from April, 2006, age 3:

She wanted a brownie last night. It was fine with me, and I started to cut one for her. She looked at the pan and an anguished look overtook her face. She threw herself down on the floor with a groan. 

"What's the matter? I thought you wanted a brownie!"

"I do-o-o-o," she whined from her pitiful spot on the floor. "But I was assuming they were frosted."

... and now she's singing about the men in her life. Well, okay, not actually in her life -- men in the life of the character singing "Stars and the Moon," but you know what I mean. Times have changed. The kid quotes are different these days. They still sometimes make it to Twitter or Instagram (because she's one of the funniest people I know and she can wickedly snark with the best of them), but I mostly try to respect her privacy. But some things never change. I posted this in January of 2006, and it's still true:

"Mommy, you'd be very sad without my fwiendship." 
       ~~ Ramona, age 3 

(Does she know she's providing me with material on a daily basis?)

Here's a recent, 16-yr.-old Ramona story:

Her: Mom, remember when we first watched Mary Poppins? When there was the run on the bank, I said I didn't know what that was, so we stopped the movie and for 15 minutes, you explained it to me, and we talked about the Great Depression, and then we finished watching the movie together. And that, in a nutshell, is my childhood.

Me: Oh! I'm sorry! Did I ruin the movie for you?

Her: No! I loved it. I meant that in a good way!

Indeed, I would be very sad without my daughters' friendship.

~~~~~

Recent reading: 

Oh, so many good books! They need their own post. I've read about 30 books so far this year, but when did I last blog about them? Where shall I start? Oh, dear, this is anguish on the level of a three-year-old who was assuming she'd get a frosted brownie. 

I'll start with a list of what I read in May, and thus far in June: 

Crossing to Safety, by Wallace Stegner (Beautiful.) 

The Silent Patient, by Alex Michaelides (Not what I expected, had hoped for something...different.) 

Macy McMillan and the Rainbow Goddess, by Shari Green (Lovely.) 

Harry's Trees, by Jon Cohen (Also lovely.) 

Introverted Mom, by Jamie Martin (Spot on and a fun read.) 

The River, by Peter Heller (Kind of a gut-wrench, but in a beautiful way.) 

The Plant Paradox, by Steven Gundry (Interesting. My family gets frightened, though, when I read a new book about food. They wonder what I'll be doing to our diet next.) 

I have not been doing justice to books here on the blog. I must remedy that. 

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I'm teaching two classes for Brave Writer in the fall, and registration is already open. I'll be teaching The Writer's Jungle Online in September and Middle School Writing Projects (which is already filling up fast) in October. You can check out all the Brave Writer offerings here. 

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.


                                                             

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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. 

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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.

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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.

Poetry Friday: Birthdays in July

Birthdays in July 

One is sixteen. 

Sixty-one is another. 

One is my daughter. 

My husband's the other. 

© Karen Edmisten 

Ramona was, Atticus always says, his 45th birthday present. 

Happy birthday to my old man and my youngest daughter! 

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The Poetry Friday round-up is at Reading to the Core.

Poetry Friday: A Haiku for the First of June

June. Liquid sunlight. 

Cardinal calls the cat but

he, solemn, is still.
    
© Karen Edmisten 

(Photo credit: Ramona) 

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The Poetry Friday round-up is at Buffy's Blog. 

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.

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. 

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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.

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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. 

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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. 

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

I like ice in my coffee in July, not on my road in January. But on the road is where the ice is today. School and work were canceled for everyone, but Atticus isn't exactly enjoying his day off. He was hit with a stomach bug last night.

Bleh.

And it's only been six days since I last complained that it's not spring yet.

Six days closer to spring? Yeah, we'll go with that.

~~~~~

I recently read The Highly Sensitive Person, by Elaine Aron. As Anne Bogel pointed out, the only (and ironic) problem with this book is that some of the case studies mentioned will bother a highly sensitive person. Still, worth the read if you can get through the stories of abuse and are interested in finding out more about yourself, HSPs in general, or your HSP child. 

After reading that, I couldn't decide what I was in the mood to read. I wandered around the house, perused bookshelves, started at least three different books (I'm in the mood for World War II drama! No, wait, I'm not at all. I may never be again. Tiny, Beautiful Things? No. Wait. More abuse. What else? A good bio? No! I don't know! What do I want to read? What do I need to read?) 

Suddenly, I spotted Anne's House of Dreams. 

Bingo. When you need a palate cleanser, run to Prince Edward Island. 

~~~~~

Last week, when I told Ramona that our break was over and it was time to face the resumption of math, all she could summon in response was a Hamilton quote: "I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory." 

(Not sure what I'll do with myself someday when my daughters aren't around to keep me laughing.) 

Some Books We Read in 2016

The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, Rachel Joyce
A Man Called Ove, Fredrik Backman
Betsy was a Junior, Maud Hart Lovelace 
The Pretend Wife, Bridget Asher
Essentialism, Greg McKeown
In This House of Brede, Rumer Godden
Yes, Please, Amy Poehler
Bossy Pants, Tina Fey
Little Men, Louisa May Alcott
Jo's Boys, Louisa May Alcott
Driving Hungry, Layne Mosler 
Between Shades of Gray, Ruta Sepetys
Still Life, Louise Penny
One Plus One, JoJo Moyes
Prisoner B-3087, Alan Gratz
Why Not Me? Mindy Kaling
Betsy and Joe, Maud Hart Lovelace
The Power of Vulnerability,  Brene Brown (Audible)
What Alice Forgot, Liane Moriarty
A Canticle for Leibowitz, Walter Miller, Jr.
Hannah Coulter, Wendell Berry
Nest, Esther Erhlich
The Madwoman Upstairs, Catherine Lowell
Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, Jack Thorne
The Awakening of Miss Prim, Natalia San Martin Fenollera
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, J.K. Rowling
Betsy and the Great World, Maud Hart Lovelace
The Light Between Oceans, M.L. Stedman
Far From the Madding Crowd, Thomas Hardy
My Name is Lucy Barton, Elizabeth Strout
Betsy's Wedding, Maud Hart Lovelace
The One in a Million Boy, Monica Wood
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, Annie Barrows and Mary Ann Shaffer 
Crosstalk, Connie Willis
Lab Girl, Hope Jahren
A Circle of Quiet, Madeleine L'Engle
84 Charing Cross Road, Helene Hanff 
The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper, Phaedra Patrick

Two NaNoWriMo novels -- Betsy wrote one in July and one in November

Books I read with Ramona:

The Titan's Curse
Battle of the Labyrinth
The Last Olympian (all three are part of Rick Riordan's Percy Jackson series)
The Pushcart War, Jean Merrill
The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupery
The Mysterious Benedict Society and the Perilous Journey, Trenton Lee Stewart
Return to Gone Away, Elizabeth Enright 
The Candymakers and the Great Chocolate Chase, Wendy Mass
Jane of Lantern Hill, L.M. Montgomery
The Rise and Fall of Mount Majestic, Jennifer Trafton
The Curious World of Calpurnia Tate, Jacqueline Kelly
From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, E.L. Konigsburg
The Shadow of the Bear, Regina Doman
Black as Night, Regina Doman

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Top three picks? (No, don't make me pick! Okay, I will): 

In This House of Brede
Hannah Coulter
Far From the Madding Crowd

Book I'm really glad I read but will probably never read again?

A Canticle for Leibowitz

Books that filled me with happiness when I needed it: 

All things Maud Hart Lovelace and L.M. Montgomery

Books I finished, but that disappointed me the most: 

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child 
The Awakening of Miss Prim 

Books I didn't finish, for a variety of reasons: 

Lab Girl (actually a really good memoir, I just wasn't in the mood for memoir. I plan to return to it.)

My Name is Lucy Barton (I felt I was reading an entirely different book than the one I'd heard described by others as lovely. Maybe it was just my frame of mind at the time? I don't know.)

Favorite read-aloud with Ramona:
Jane of Lantern Hill
The Curious World of Calpurnia Tate

~~~~~

What were your top three books of 2016? 

Photo credit: FreeImages.com

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! 

To Autumn

It has been a gorgeous autumn here. Unusually mild weather, with winds low, so that the lush palette of leaves has not been swept prematurely away. It's been a busy autumn, too. October gave us a trip to Michigan for a family wedding, a weekend away for Atticus and me, spent with old friends, glittering gems in the landscape of our lives. October gave us the 23rd birthday of my eldest daughter, and sadly -- but then happily, for she is doing very well -- a sudden surgery for my mother, her second double bypass operation. (She is home now, and recovering beautifully, I'm delighted to say.)

Ah, "Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness," just as you "load and bless with fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run" you load and bless my life.

Ramona and I talked yesterday about this weather, this extended warmth, the golden trees. I said, "I know that in a week or two we could have snow on the ground and only ten degrees," I complained. She philosophically reminded me to embrace what I have in the moment. "Just enjoy this warmth, and when it gets cold, enjoy that. Sweaters, and boots, and candles. Hygge," she said.

"Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?" writes Keats. "Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—"

Oh, yes. Thanks to Ramona and John Keats for reminding me to seize the day and relax into the music of the beauty of the moment.

To Autumn
John Keats

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, --
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

~~~~~

Laura Purdie Salas has the round up at Writing the World for Kids.

Photo courtesy of FreeImages.