I've got a mixed bag for you today--good, middling, and awful. Which should I start with first? Good, I guess.
Gentlemen and Players by Joanne Harris
Last library day, I mentioned this book as Julie's pick for me. I didn't realize until I got it that Joanne Harris is also the person who wrote Chocolat, another phenomenon that passed me by, both book and movie, maybe because--and I believe this is heresy among all women to say--I'm not all that into Johnny Depp. He is scary, what with all his movie roles in crazy tricked-out costumes and huge purple circles under his eyes and sometimes missing his whole head and having blades for hands and whatnot, it's alarming to me and I just don't understand the appeal, with the exception of the pirate movie when he was channeling Keith Richards. So I've probably lost everybody by now with the whole anti-Johnny Depp (though, hello, he's now the Mad Hatter, am I proving my point?) just as I usually lose everyone when I tell them I don't like U2 with the exception of "Angel of Harlem."
OK, we were talking about Gentlemen and Players? I think we were. This is a good book, not a great one, but a good one. It's got all these ingredients I love--England and prep schools and troubled students and cynical-on-the-surface-but-dedicated-underneath teachers, and people who seem like one thing but are really another. It was one of those that's hard to put down, and I do recommend it to you but with a caveat. Now nobody ever believes me when I tell them this, but Darren and I figured out The Sixth Sense within the first eleven or so minutes of the movie. We were watching and leaned over to each other and whispered, "So, Bruce Willis is dead, right?" and from then on, the whole thing was obvious to us. Since then I've noticed that certain books suffer from The Sixth Sense billing--movies will be compared to it, or books, such as Gentlemen and Players, will have this sort of blurb on the cover that comes out and TELLS you that there are twists and turns in it, so now you're looking for the twists and turns and then you guess them and it's kind of a letdown. And I'm not giving anything away to you, because like I said, it's on the cover for all and sundry to see. Suffice it to say, I did guess the major mysterious plot point. There were some other minor points I hadn't guessed, so those were nice to be surprised with, but still. I do recommend it though, and if you read it, let me know how you liked it and if you guessed anything.
On to the next:
The Privileges by Jonathan Dee
Oh my stars, avoid this turkey at all costs. It is dreadful; dreadful I tell you. It's about this young, beautiful couple who get married early and become fabulously, incredibly wealthy, and it chronicles (kind of) their life in New York. All the people in it are one-dimensional and evil and all-around hateful so that pretty much even if one of them clipped me with their car at this point, it might lower my oh-so-low opinion of them maybe 2%. Here's the thing, I LIKE novels about incredibly wealthy evil people--IF they are interesting. Think The Forsyte Saga and Soames Forsyte. Now there was a rich, tortured villain. These people were just banal idiots who never had an original thought or emotion. If you see this book, run far, far away.
White Picket Fences by Susan Meissner
This reviewlet kind of pains me to write because I really like Susan Meissner and think she has written some good-quality Christian fiction, which can be hard to find sometimes. However, this one just wasn't doing it for me. It was about a modern family who take in the mom's niece for a little while because she's homeless and the son of the family has a troubling secret in his past and the two of them (they're high school students) get to work together on a Holocaust project for history class. I like the premise, but the problem with running two stories in tandem--one in the present and one in the past--is that unless you're super-skilled at it (Barbara Vine, I'm looking at you), inevitably one of the stories is more interesting than the other so you find yourself skimming through the other one to get to the good one. Another negative on this one is that it falls prey to something I find a lot of authors mess up on--telling the story from too many people's viewpoints. I'm not telling you not to give this a whirl, because it was not bad and you might like it a lot better than I did. But I like other books of Susan's much better, including In All Deep Places and A Window to the World.
Heart and Soul by Maeve Binchy
I think I always get on a Maeve kick around this time of year since St. Patrick's Day is coming up. This is her latest. I love Maeve's earlier work. Like I said before, in the olden days like the 80s and 90s, nobody could spin a 600-page Irish yarn like Maeve could. Then Oprah got ahold of her with Tara Road and she's not been the same since. Her last two, Nights of Rain and Stars and Whitethorn Woods were distinctly under par. I had no great hopes for Heart and Soul, but I was pleasantly surprised. It's about Dr. Clara Casey who is appointed director of a brand new cardiac care clinic for one year. It details the stories of Clara, the patients, and the staff of the clinic. It certainly wasn't as good as one of her novels from the old days, but I'd recommend it as a fun, summer beach read. That is, if summer ever comes.
Then I've got...
The Cradle by Patrick Somerville
I took a gamble on this book by first-time author Somerville. In fact, I let it sit in the library bag for awhile and almost took it back unread, but then thought better of it. I'm glad I did. It's about Matt, a young husband and soon-to-be first time father who goes on a wild goose chase around the Midwest to find a cradle that used to belong to his wife when she was growing up because she wants it for their baby. Matt's trip, what he discovers about himself, his wife, and the cradle...well, I really liked it. There's a past secret revealed, but it's not that surprising and I don't think it's supposed to be. Really, it's kind of a lovely book about family and figuring out what's most meaningful to you but it's from a man's point of view so it's less sappy than I'm making it sound.
And lastly, a sort of classic:
Nemesis by Agatha Christie
I've read so many Agatha Christies in my lifetime, I can't even count how many I've read. And I always am wanting to use the quote by Nancy Banks Smith, "Agatha Christie has given more pleasure in bed than any other woman," but it also seems, you know, vaguely inappropriate so then I don't. But Nemesis I don't think I had read; however, I have seen the movie adaptation many, many, many times. In fact lately, I'm not sure why, I've taken to just turning it on at any and all times, so it's sort of on a continuous loop at my house. It's so comforting. And when I ask Elaine sometimes if she wants to watch something with me, she'll say, "Yes. Miss Marple. The one where they push the statue down on that lady." Which is actually moderately alarming now that I'm confessing it to you all, and I probably shouldn't be letting a 4-year-old watch murder mysteries. But they're classics! Murderous classics!
Let me say that I think in some ways, Agatha Christie parallels her beloved Shakespeare in that her stories, as his plays, while excellent reading, are better when performed. Nemesis certainly falls in that category. The book was good, but the movie is far better, and you'll rarely ever hear me make that claim. The story is that Miss Marple is commissioned by an old friend (who dies at the beginning of the book) to solve a mystery for him; however, she doesn't know what the mystery is and she doesn't know when she will have solved it.
I recommend that you watch the movie, but please. Please oh please oh please oh please I beg of you, do not watch the most recent version with Geraldine McEwan. For some reason, Agatha Christie's estate needs to make more money off her, so they've let ITV make these new awful versions where they completely change the stories so that the plot is practically unrecognizable, and the villain always turns out to be a Nazi or a lesbian. Or both.
If you want to see the real version, get the Joan Hickson one. Agatha Christie herself sent Joan a note after seeing her in a play and said, "I hope that one day you will play my Miss Marple." She did, like nobody else. Here's a clip (and a bit of the way through there's a bit from Nemesis)...
Well, there's some more stuff, fortunately more good than awful, so...carry on reading (and watching)!
Saturday, March 06, 2010
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
The Reverse Occurred
I meant to write and post this earlier, but my (one-year old) laptop died, then Darren revived it. Hence, the delay.
I've been doing this nine-week study (confession: it has taken me longer than nine weeks):
It has been intense, and I have learned so much. If you are looking for a good study, I highly recommend this. Esther is kind of a tricky subject actually, I've found. Some people tend to romanticize this into a great love story (think "One Night with the King"). I've found it to be unbearably sad in parts. First off, if you look at the text carefully, Esther was "taken," "brought," "given"--she was a very young girl, most likely a young teen, who was forced into a grotesque "beauty contest," which included a sexual tryout for the king, who was an egotist and not too bright into the bargain.
She was put in a waiting area palace for a year and given beauty treatments until it was her turn. The saddest verse in the book for me is 2:11, "And every day, Mordecai paced in front of the court of the women's quarters, to learn of Esther's welfare and what was happening to her." Now I'm married to a protective father of two daughters. I can't imagine what that father must have felt like, knowing what his girl was facing--out there every day, pacing, wondering what was happening to his Esther.
Much is made of the fact that God's name is never mentioned in this book, but rest assured, His hand is seen throughout.
One of the most incredible things I learned was how important the dates are. I don't know if you've read the book of Esther recently, but a lot of it is stuff like "the twelfth day of the twelfth month" or "the thirteenth day of the third month" or whatever--the kind of bits you just sort of skim over (if you are me). However, I learned the day the Jews received the decree of their death sentence from Haman was the thirteenth of Nisan. Get this--the fourteenth day of Nisan is the first day of Passover. This is what Beth says:
"The edict hit the provinces of Persia on exactly the day observing Jewish households were preparing their tables for Passover. That very evening, the fathers were to recount to their families the story of Israel's deliverance from the mighty Egyptians....Celebration turned to shock and horror, but for those who were willing, perhaps also to hope....the story of God's merciful redemption gave those who were willing a hope against hope. Could He who had delivered them from the Egyptians not also deliver them from the Persians? You bet He can, Beloved. He who delivered you from drugs can deliver you from distraction. He who delivered you from bankruptcy can deliver you from bingeing. He who delivered you from infertility can deliver you from inconsistency. He who delivered you from the fire can deliver you from fear. Sometimes God uses the winds of a new threat to blow the dust off a past miracle that has moved from our active file into the archives. Remember, Beloved! Remember what God has done for you! Dear One, He who delivered you from a Pharaoh can deliver you from any Haman. Remember who you are!"
Is that awesome or what?
If you know anything about our family, you know we love to celebrate. We'll use any excuse, but we especially love celebrations of God's faithfulness. There have been times, especially lately, where I have felt discouraged about my own mothering. Sometimes I just don't seem very good at it, and I can find a lot of things to criticize about myself. But one thing that I am determined will be my legacy to the girls is that I communicated to them that the Bible is not some dusty old tome or God's Big Book of Rules or whatever. It's a living and active, a treasure, a celebration of goodness and faithfulness, our stone of remembrance for the past, our rock for the present, our hope for the future.
So, highly coincidental I'm sure, I was talking to my friend Jamie on the phone on Thursday (she's also doing the Esther study), and she told me that Purim, the festival during which the Jews celebrate their deliverance from Haman was Sunday, February 28!
Time to party!
The girls and I set out to make a traditional Purim treat, hamantaschen, which are filled pastries. Beth provides the recipe at the back of the study book. We listened to James MacDonald's sermon on Esther "God at Work: Even When I'm Not Seeing It" while we baked, and every time he said the name "Haman" we booed and hissed, just like we were supposed to. If you get the chance, you should definitely listen for several reasons, not the least of which is that it is really, really funny. Did you know King Xerxes (I can't spell Ahasha-whatever) had a southside Chicago accent? Bet you didn't.
Here are my girls, rolling out the dough:
Cutting it into shapes and getting ready to add the filling. Traditional fillings are jam, fruit, poppyseed, etc. We used poppyseed, apricot preserves, and strawberry preserves.
The finished product--and they were delicious!
Today I studied how, on the day that the Jews were to be destroyed, killed, and annihilated, the reverse occurred. They were given victory over their enemies instead. The day after, they rested and sent each other portions of delicious food in celebration of the portion of victory God had given them. Here was the closing thought from today's lesson:
"The same Hebrew word for 'portion' or 'lot' is used in Psalm 16:5, Esther 3:7, and Esther 9:19. This is the way the three terms--favor, portions (or "presents") and lots--tie together. No matter what life hands us, the favor God has on His children causes that "lot" to tumble out on the table in such a way that, instead of destruction, the child will discover that her portion turned into destiny one trusting step at a time. Here you are. You're still standing, aren't you? Instead of falling apart, your lines are all starting to fall together. Once you wrap your mind around the favor God has had on you and the richness of the portion, you can't help but share your portion with others. Oh, that we'd wake up to the goodness of our God and the crushing defeat of our enemy! The day we do will be 'a day of joy and feasting, a day for giving presents to each other' Esther 9:19."
Hamantaschen Recipe
2 sticks butter (softened)
2 cups sugar
2 large eggs
2 t vanilla
4 t baking powder
4 cups flour
1. Blend butter and sugar thoroughly. Add eggs and vanilla, blending thoroughly. Add baking powder, then flour, 1/2 c at a time. (You might need to add a little milk too, I did.)
2. Refrigerate dough overnight or at least a few hours.
3. Roll it out to 1/4-in thickness (you may need to soften it a bit first) and then cut circles with a cookie cutter or drinking glass.
4. Put a tablespoon of filling in the middle of each circle (circles s/b about 3 inches in diameter). Fold up the sides to make a triangle, overlapping the sides as much as possible so only a little filling shows through the middle.
5. Bake at 375 for 10-15 minutes, until golden brown.
Now celebrate!
I've been doing this nine-week study (confession: it has taken me longer than nine weeks):
It has been intense, and I have learned so much. If you are looking for a good study, I highly recommend this. Esther is kind of a tricky subject actually, I've found. Some people tend to romanticize this into a great love story (think "One Night with the King"). I've found it to be unbearably sad in parts. First off, if you look at the text carefully, Esther was "taken," "brought," "given"--she was a very young girl, most likely a young teen, who was forced into a grotesque "beauty contest," which included a sexual tryout for the king, who was an egotist and not too bright into the bargain.
She was put in a waiting area palace for a year and given beauty treatments until it was her turn. The saddest verse in the book for me is 2:11, "And every day, Mordecai paced in front of the court of the women's quarters, to learn of Esther's welfare and what was happening to her." Now I'm married to a protective father of two daughters. I can't imagine what that father must have felt like, knowing what his girl was facing--out there every day, pacing, wondering what was happening to his Esther.
Much is made of the fact that God's name is never mentioned in this book, but rest assured, His hand is seen throughout.
One of the most incredible things I learned was how important the dates are. I don't know if you've read the book of Esther recently, but a lot of it is stuff like "the twelfth day of the twelfth month" or "the thirteenth day of the third month" or whatever--the kind of bits you just sort of skim over (if you are me). However, I learned the day the Jews received the decree of their death sentence from Haman was the thirteenth of Nisan. Get this--the fourteenth day of Nisan is the first day of Passover. This is what Beth says:
"The edict hit the provinces of Persia on exactly the day observing Jewish households were preparing their tables for Passover. That very evening, the fathers were to recount to their families the story of Israel's deliverance from the mighty Egyptians....Celebration turned to shock and horror, but for those who were willing, perhaps also to hope....the story of God's merciful redemption gave those who were willing a hope against hope. Could He who had delivered them from the Egyptians not also deliver them from the Persians? You bet He can, Beloved. He who delivered you from drugs can deliver you from distraction. He who delivered you from bankruptcy can deliver you from bingeing. He who delivered you from infertility can deliver you from inconsistency. He who delivered you from the fire can deliver you from fear. Sometimes God uses the winds of a new threat to blow the dust off a past miracle that has moved from our active file into the archives. Remember, Beloved! Remember what God has done for you! Dear One, He who delivered you from a Pharaoh can deliver you from any Haman. Remember who you are!"
Is that awesome or what?
If you know anything about our family, you know we love to celebrate. We'll use any excuse, but we especially love celebrations of God's faithfulness. There have been times, especially lately, where I have felt discouraged about my own mothering. Sometimes I just don't seem very good at it, and I can find a lot of things to criticize about myself. But one thing that I am determined will be my legacy to the girls is that I communicated to them that the Bible is not some dusty old tome or God's Big Book of Rules or whatever. It's a living and active, a treasure, a celebration of goodness and faithfulness, our stone of remembrance for the past, our rock for the present, our hope for the future.
So, highly coincidental I'm sure, I was talking to my friend Jamie on the phone on Thursday (she's also doing the Esther study), and she told me that Purim, the festival during which the Jews celebrate their deliverance from Haman was Sunday, February 28!
Time to party!
The girls and I set out to make a traditional Purim treat, hamantaschen, which are filled pastries. Beth provides the recipe at the back of the study book. We listened to James MacDonald's sermon on Esther "God at Work: Even When I'm Not Seeing It" while we baked, and every time he said the name "Haman" we booed and hissed, just like we were supposed to. If you get the chance, you should definitely listen for several reasons, not the least of which is that it is really, really funny. Did you know King Xerxes (I can't spell Ahasha-whatever) had a southside Chicago accent? Bet you didn't.
Here are my girls, rolling out the dough:
Cutting it into shapes and getting ready to add the filling. Traditional fillings are jam, fruit, poppyseed, etc. We used poppyseed, apricot preserves, and strawberry preserves.
The finished product--and they were delicious!
Today I studied how, on the day that the Jews were to be destroyed, killed, and annihilated, the reverse occurred. They were given victory over their enemies instead. The day after, they rested and sent each other portions of delicious food in celebration of the portion of victory God had given them. Here was the closing thought from today's lesson:
"The same Hebrew word for 'portion' or 'lot' is used in Psalm 16:5, Esther 3:7, and Esther 9:19. This is the way the three terms--favor, portions (or "presents") and lots--tie together. No matter what life hands us, the favor God has on His children causes that "lot" to tumble out on the table in such a way that, instead of destruction, the child will discover that her portion turned into destiny one trusting step at a time. Here you are. You're still standing, aren't you? Instead of falling apart, your lines are all starting to fall together. Once you wrap your mind around the favor God has had on you and the richness of the portion, you can't help but share your portion with others. Oh, that we'd wake up to the goodness of our God and the crushing defeat of our enemy! The day we do will be 'a day of joy and feasting, a day for giving presents to each other' Esther 9:19."
Hamantaschen Recipe
2 sticks butter (softened)
2 cups sugar
2 large eggs
2 t vanilla
4 t baking powder
4 cups flour
1. Blend butter and sugar thoroughly. Add eggs and vanilla, blending thoroughly. Add baking powder, then flour, 1/2 c at a time. (You might need to add a little milk too, I did.)
2. Refrigerate dough overnight or at least a few hours.
3. Roll it out to 1/4-in thickness (you may need to soften it a bit first) and then cut circles with a cookie cutter or drinking glass.
4. Put a tablespoon of filling in the middle of each circle (circles s/b about 3 inches in diameter). Fold up the sides to make a triangle, overlapping the sides as much as possible so only a little filling shows through the middle.
5. Bake at 375 for 10-15 minutes, until golden brown.
Now celebrate!
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
T. S. Eliot Had It All Wrong
April is not the cruelest month at all. It's definitely February. Especially February in the Midwest. It's hideously ugly, it's cold, and there's nothing exciting happening. I'm not into the Olympics, and because of them, all the shows I like are re-runs.
The girls aren't saying much of anything funny. On the contrary, Lucy is whining and grizzling every single day about having to put on her tights for school. Words cannot express how old this gets. And she hates having her statick-y, tangled hair brushed. This is what we go through every morning. I say, "Lucy, come gt your hair done." She comes in the bathroom, dragging her feet. Then she puts her hands over her hair and starts to cry, saying, "It hurts! It hurts!" Keep in mind at this point the brush hasn't even touched her head. Then I lift her hair carefully and gently in my hands and show it to the brush. She claps her hands down even harder and wails, "You're hurting me!"
It's so much fun. Except not at all.
Then they both got into Scooby-Doo cartoons, which is a fun blast from Darren's past that he wanted to share with them. But then they watched a bunch of them, and we couldn't figure out why they were so rowdy and doing lovely dangerous things such as pushing each other while getting out of the slippery bathtub onto the equally slippery tile floor, and we finally traced it to Scooby- and Shaggy-induced madness. So, no Scooby-Doo for awhile.
Life just keeps going around with dropping kids off at school and picking them, putting coats/hats/boots/mittens on and taking them off, driving to the swimclub and waiting an hour in the waiting area while the girls swim and then going to the pool area where it's 1000% humidity to get them and taking them to the locker room to shower and dress and then drying their hair and putting the coats/hats/boots/mittens back on to drive home.
And last night, I read a bunch of stuff from facebook that led me to articles about some parents who got into some radical fundamentalist parenting techniques and spanked one of their little girls to death and hospitalized another. That traumatized me so much that I had to run upstairs after Lucy and Elaine had already gone to bed, get them out, hug them, and tell them I was sorry that I had shouted at them before dinner.
"That's OK, Mom," said Lucy. "We forgive you. We know you're not perfect."
And Elaine rubbed her cheek against mine and sang the Dino-dance song for me and then announced, "I did not pick my nose ," which is a surefire indication that indeed, she had been picking her nose.
So unless you wanted to read all of the above, I've had nothing to write about. I was casting around my mind for things to write on, and I had a lovely little post all written up in my head about my kitchen stool and how my mom had one like it while we were growing up and then she gave me this one and how it's metaphorical for all the conversations I had with her and now my daughters have with me while sitting on it. Then February hit me in the face again, and I realized that I was actually going to subject you to a post about my kitchen stool, for crying in a bucket.
Last Friday I went to see my mom, and she said, apropos of nothing, "Let's get your dad to bring up the sewing machine out of the basement, and I could show you how to sew." I whined, "Do we have to?" which might not have been the kindest thing to say, but it was worth its weight in gold for nostalgia's sake from my teen years.
My dad lugged the machine up, and my mom patiently showed me how it works, but if you know me, you know I really have no patience for anything mechanical or technical or that has small parts or needs an instruction booklet or requires following procedures (I know, with those qualifications, I am a shoo-in for a parenting award, right?) And my mom kept telling me how smart I am and that I'll get it in no time and all sorts of other sweet lies that we mothers tell our kids when they're hopeless at something.
And let me tell you, that machine, which my mom says is simplicity itself, is absolutely diabolical. It takes seven, count them, seven steps just to thread the needle, and that's only on the top part, not the bottom part with that inexplicable bobbin thingy. I could man the space shuttle once I figure that thing out.
So I grumpily ran the machine until I gave up (not very long), and my mom said, "Next time you come [wait, there's going to be a next time at this?], let's sew something you can use, like a cover for your kitchen stool because the last time I was over there, I noticed how beat up it was looking." Now teaching me to measure and cut out material and sew a cover for my kitchen stool is akin to teaching a chimpanzee to paint some frescoes in the Sistine Chapel, but I admire her nerve and enthusiasm.
Here is my kitchen stool in its current state (see, it truly is in sad need of a cover):
If there ever actually is an "after" picture, I promise I'll show it to you.
And maybe February will be over by then.
The girls aren't saying much of anything funny. On the contrary, Lucy is whining and grizzling every single day about having to put on her tights for school. Words cannot express how old this gets. And she hates having her statick-y, tangled hair brushed. This is what we go through every morning. I say, "Lucy, come gt your hair done." She comes in the bathroom, dragging her feet. Then she puts her hands over her hair and starts to cry, saying, "It hurts! It hurts!" Keep in mind at this point the brush hasn't even touched her head. Then I lift her hair carefully and gently in my hands and show it to the brush. She claps her hands down even harder and wails, "You're hurting me!"
It's so much fun. Except not at all.
Then they both got into Scooby-Doo cartoons, which is a fun blast from Darren's past that he wanted to share with them. But then they watched a bunch of them, and we couldn't figure out why they were so rowdy and doing lovely dangerous things such as pushing each other while getting out of the slippery bathtub onto the equally slippery tile floor, and we finally traced it to Scooby- and Shaggy-induced madness. So, no Scooby-Doo for awhile.
Life just keeps going around with dropping kids off at school and picking them, putting coats/hats/boots/mittens on and taking them off, driving to the swimclub and waiting an hour in the waiting area while the girls swim and then going to the pool area where it's 1000% humidity to get them and taking them to the locker room to shower and dress and then drying their hair and putting the coats/hats/boots/mittens back on to drive home.
And last night, I read a bunch of stuff from facebook that led me to articles about some parents who got into some radical fundamentalist parenting techniques and spanked one of their little girls to death and hospitalized another. That traumatized me so much that I had to run upstairs after Lucy and Elaine had already gone to bed, get them out, hug them, and tell them I was sorry that I had shouted at them before dinner.
"That's OK, Mom," said Lucy. "We forgive you. We know you're not perfect."
And Elaine rubbed her cheek against mine and sang the Dino-dance song for me and then announced, "I did not pick my nose ," which is a surefire indication that indeed, she had been picking her nose.
So unless you wanted to read all of the above, I've had nothing to write about. I was casting around my mind for things to write on, and I had a lovely little post all written up in my head about my kitchen stool and how my mom had one like it while we were growing up and then she gave me this one and how it's metaphorical for all the conversations I had with her and now my daughters have with me while sitting on it. Then February hit me in the face again, and I realized that I was actually going to subject you to a post about my kitchen stool, for crying in a bucket.
Last Friday I went to see my mom, and she said, apropos of nothing, "Let's get your dad to bring up the sewing machine out of the basement, and I could show you how to sew." I whined, "Do we have to?" which might not have been the kindest thing to say, but it was worth its weight in gold for nostalgia's sake from my teen years.
My dad lugged the machine up, and my mom patiently showed me how it works, but if you know me, you know I really have no patience for anything mechanical or technical or that has small parts or needs an instruction booklet or requires following procedures (I know, with those qualifications, I am a shoo-in for a parenting award, right?) And my mom kept telling me how smart I am and that I'll get it in no time and all sorts of other sweet lies that we mothers tell our kids when they're hopeless at something.
And let me tell you, that machine, which my mom says is simplicity itself, is absolutely diabolical. It takes seven, count them, seven steps just to thread the needle, and that's only on the top part, not the bottom part with that inexplicable bobbin thingy. I could man the space shuttle once I figure that thing out.
So I grumpily ran the machine until I gave up (not very long), and my mom said, "Next time you come [wait, there's going to be a next time at this?], let's sew something you can use, like a cover for your kitchen stool because the last time I was over there, I noticed how beat up it was looking." Now teaching me to measure and cut out material and sew a cover for my kitchen stool is akin to teaching a chimpanzee to paint some frescoes in the Sistine Chapel, but I admire her nerve and enthusiasm.
Here is my kitchen stool in its current state (see, it truly is in sad need of a cover):
If there ever actually is an "after" picture, I promise I'll show it to you.And maybe February will be over by then.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Library Day
OK, it's book reviewlet time again. I have been in a slump, fellow readers. Nothing much is really grabbing me, and some of what I'm reading is really letting me down. But before I start on what's bugging me, I'll kick off with something completely excellent.
The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie by Alan Bradley
First off, this is Mr. Bradley's first book, though he's written a memoir and a lot of articles, and he's like, 70 years old I think. Tres inspiring. AND the book has already won The Crime Writers' Association Debut Dagger Award. It's the first novel (with hopefully many to come) starring Flavia De Luce, a 12-year-old chemist and aspiring crime solver, and is set in post-war England. Flavia is the first to find a murdered stranger, lying in the cucumber bed of the family estate. Days before, a jacksnipe was left on the doorstep with a postage stamp in its beak. How are the two events related? Is Flavia's father somehow involved? Flavia herself is no ordinary girl--I wanted to write down a lot of my favorite quotes, but then the book became overdue at the library and I had already stored it in the swim bag, slightly water-damaging it (my sincere apologies, public library!), so I really needed to get it off my hands. However, here is one to whet your appetite:
"If there is a thing I truly despise, it is being addressed as 'dearie.' When I write my magnum opus, A Treatise Upon All Poison, and come to 'Cyanide,' I am going to put under 'Uses' the phrase 'Particularly efficacious in the cure of those who call one "Dearie."'"
The next Flavia book comes out on March 9 and is titled The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag. Mr. Bradley is working on the third installment, called A Red Herring Without Mustard. So, rush to get the first one, and you'll be all caught up. Oh, and you can visit Flavia here as well.
The next few I'll group together. I got on this kick of reading books that had recipes with them. You know how you order one book and then amazon will tell you others that are kind of like it? That's how I fell into that. Unfortunately, most of them were just lame chick lit. They are as follows:
The Lost Recipe for Happiness by Barbara O'Neal--cliched and trite. Girl is a chef and loses her job and can't find love. Oh, and has a hidden sadness. Girl gets handpicked to become executive chef by restaurant mogul. Girl faces all sorts of trials and tribulations as executive chef but triumphs brilliantly. Alas, still no love because of the hidden sadness. Can anything break through her sad, lonely shell? Why, yes, of course, restaurant mogul can. And all is well. Bleah. It's a Kate Hudson movie in book form. Also, quite a few people ask me for recommendations of Christian fiction. Heads up: this is definitely not it. Just sayin'.
Bread Alone by Judith Ryan Hendricks. Rich socialite gets dumped by cheating husband. She tries to find the one thing that ever made her happy besides being married to cheating, rich husband. Why, making bread of course. She magically gets a new job and new life, doing the very thing she loves and getting paid for it!! (does this ever happen in real life? No. As Drew Carey says, "Oh, you hate your job? There's a support group for that. It's called 'Everyone,' and we meet at the bar.") Somewhere in there she meets a rugged, handsome man who heals her heart from cheating husband, but honestly, I don't even know much about it because I tossed the book without finishing it. But you know that happens. C'mon. You know.
World of Pies by Karen Stolz. This was the best of the bunch. It covers the life of Roxanne, from Annette, Texas, from the age of 12 to 32. Each chapter is a stand-alone short story, but they all form snapshots of her life. It's all right, and there are some good recipes in there too. It's an extremely quick and easy read.
Here's one that someone lent to me. I don't usually read American thrillers, but I wanted to because of the whole friend lending thing.
Shutter Island by Dennis LeHane. This is actually a movie with Leonardo DiCaprio, I believe, and is by the same author of Mystic River (another book/movie I haven't read/seen). I have to say, I had a hard time putting this down. It's about a U.S. Marshal and his partner who go to an island off the coast of New England to investigate a disappearance at a facility for the criminally insane. It seems she has vanished into thin air. While there, the marshals soon learn there is a lot more going on than just a missing crazy lady. I'd give it 3 out of 5 stars because it held my interest. I had to suspend my disbelief big time (not that I have a problem doing that), but the ending was pretty contrived--as many holes as a colander. But...if you're at the airport and you see this and you have a long wait with nothing to read, it's worth picking up.
I've also done two rereads this month by Maeve Binchy. I just love her old stuff. If you've never read her and you're put off by her Oprah connections (I'm telling you, her writing went way downhill after Oprah chose her to be in her book club), definitely check out her older novels. She can spin an Irish dramatic tale like nobody's business. Also, I met her once at a book signing, and she is so, so nice. She looks very lovely and glamorous on the American editions of her book jackets, but on the Irish editions, and in real life, she totally looks like your slightly disheveled older next door neighbor who wears her housecoat to wheel the trashcans out. In fact, when we took a bus tour of Dun Laoghaire, the area where she lives, the tour guide said she does just that, which makes me love her even more.
I reread Echoes and Firefly Summer--both of which are fantastic. I also recommend Light a Penny Candle, The Glass Lake, Circle of Friends, and Evening Class.
Last night I got into this big insta-chat with my friend Julie on facebook. We got talking about Donna Tartt and how great The Secret History was and how awful The Little Friend was and why she writes only one book every ten years. I've taught The Secret History more times than I can count, and I highly recommend it as a great modern novel. If you haven't read that, you certainly should.
In between talking about that, Julie recommended Gentlemen and Players by Joanne Harris to me (it's a mystery set in a prep school. Oh, mysteries and sinister doings set in prep schools and colleges...you had me at "hello"!) and I recommended everything by Carol Goodman to her. In fact, Carol Goodman has a new novel coming out on March 9 (same day as the new Flavia!) so in March, I will have all sorts of more library goodness to share.
That's all I've got! I read so you don't have to. You're welcome.
The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie by Alan Bradley
First off, this is Mr. Bradley's first book, though he's written a memoir and a lot of articles, and he's like, 70 years old I think. Tres inspiring. AND the book has already won The Crime Writers' Association Debut Dagger Award. It's the first novel (with hopefully many to come) starring Flavia De Luce, a 12-year-old chemist and aspiring crime solver, and is set in post-war England. Flavia is the first to find a murdered stranger, lying in the cucumber bed of the family estate. Days before, a jacksnipe was left on the doorstep with a postage stamp in its beak. How are the two events related? Is Flavia's father somehow involved? Flavia herself is no ordinary girl--I wanted to write down a lot of my favorite quotes, but then the book became overdue at the library and I had already stored it in the swim bag, slightly water-damaging it (my sincere apologies, public library!), so I really needed to get it off my hands. However, here is one to whet your appetite:
"If there is a thing I truly despise, it is being addressed as 'dearie.' When I write my magnum opus, A Treatise Upon All Poison, and come to 'Cyanide,' I am going to put under 'Uses' the phrase 'Particularly efficacious in the cure of those who call one "Dearie."'"
The next Flavia book comes out on March 9 and is titled The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag. Mr. Bradley is working on the third installment, called A Red Herring Without Mustard. So, rush to get the first one, and you'll be all caught up. Oh, and you can visit Flavia here as well.
The next few I'll group together. I got on this kick of reading books that had recipes with them. You know how you order one book and then amazon will tell you others that are kind of like it? That's how I fell into that. Unfortunately, most of them were just lame chick lit. They are as follows:
The Lost Recipe for Happiness by Barbara O'Neal--cliched and trite. Girl is a chef and loses her job and can't find love. Oh, and has a hidden sadness. Girl gets handpicked to become executive chef by restaurant mogul. Girl faces all sorts of trials and tribulations as executive chef but triumphs brilliantly. Alas, still no love because of the hidden sadness. Can anything break through her sad, lonely shell? Why, yes, of course, restaurant mogul can. And all is well. Bleah. It's a Kate Hudson movie in book form. Also, quite a few people ask me for recommendations of Christian fiction. Heads up: this is definitely not it. Just sayin'.
Bread Alone by Judith Ryan Hendricks. Rich socialite gets dumped by cheating husband. She tries to find the one thing that ever made her happy besides being married to cheating, rich husband. Why, making bread of course. She magically gets a new job and new life, doing the very thing she loves and getting paid for it!! (does this ever happen in real life? No. As Drew Carey says, "Oh, you hate your job? There's a support group for that. It's called 'Everyone,' and we meet at the bar.") Somewhere in there she meets a rugged, handsome man who heals her heart from cheating husband, but honestly, I don't even know much about it because I tossed the book without finishing it. But you know that happens. C'mon. You know.
World of Pies by Karen Stolz. This was the best of the bunch. It covers the life of Roxanne, from Annette, Texas, from the age of 12 to 32. Each chapter is a stand-alone short story, but they all form snapshots of her life. It's all right, and there are some good recipes in there too. It's an extremely quick and easy read.
Here's one that someone lent to me. I don't usually read American thrillers, but I wanted to because of the whole friend lending thing.
Shutter Island by Dennis LeHane. This is actually a movie with Leonardo DiCaprio, I believe, and is by the same author of Mystic River (another book/movie I haven't read/seen). I have to say, I had a hard time putting this down. It's about a U.S. Marshal and his partner who go to an island off the coast of New England to investigate a disappearance at a facility for the criminally insane. It seems she has vanished into thin air. While there, the marshals soon learn there is a lot more going on than just a missing crazy lady. I'd give it 3 out of 5 stars because it held my interest. I had to suspend my disbelief big time (not that I have a problem doing that), but the ending was pretty contrived--as many holes as a colander. But...if you're at the airport and you see this and you have a long wait with nothing to read, it's worth picking up.
I've also done two rereads this month by Maeve Binchy. I just love her old stuff. If you've never read her and you're put off by her Oprah connections (I'm telling you, her writing went way downhill after Oprah chose her to be in her book club), definitely check out her older novels. She can spin an Irish dramatic tale like nobody's business. Also, I met her once at a book signing, and she is so, so nice. She looks very lovely and glamorous on the American editions of her book jackets, but on the Irish editions, and in real life, she totally looks like your slightly disheveled older next door neighbor who wears her housecoat to wheel the trashcans out. In fact, when we took a bus tour of Dun Laoghaire, the area where she lives, the tour guide said she does just that, which makes me love her even more.
I reread Echoes and Firefly Summer--both of which are fantastic. I also recommend Light a Penny Candle, The Glass Lake, Circle of Friends, and Evening Class.
Last night I got into this big insta-chat with my friend Julie on facebook. We got talking about Donna Tartt and how great The Secret History was and how awful The Little Friend was and why she writes only one book every ten years. I've taught The Secret History more times than I can count, and I highly recommend it as a great modern novel. If you haven't read that, you certainly should.
In between talking about that, Julie recommended Gentlemen and Players by Joanne Harris to me (it's a mystery set in a prep school. Oh, mysteries and sinister doings set in prep schools and colleges...you had me at "hello"!) and I recommended everything by Carol Goodman to her. In fact, Carol Goodman has a new novel coming out on March 9 (same day as the new Flavia!) so in March, I will have all sorts of more library goodness to share.
That's all I've got! I read so you don't have to. You're welcome.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
It's a Giveaway!
OK, I don't have anything to give away unless you're interested in the several trillion Polly Pocket pieces littering my house or a member of the extensive Barbie nudist colony that lives in my bathroom.
But my talented and artistic friend Becky is having a giveaway on her blog here. Becky makes hair accessories for little girls along with lots of other stuff. She has a site: http://fullofposies.com/, an etsy shop called "bowture" here , and the blog, where you can enter the giveaway (plus it's fun to read).
If you look at the pictures of the girls to the right here, I got the crocheted beanies and bows (named the "Lucy"!) from Becky. Her products are beautifully made, customizable (is that a real word? anyway, you can order them however you want them), reasonably priced, and strong enough to stand up to the wear and tear of two, ahem, spirited little girls.
Stop by her blog and enter to win (and buy some stuff from her too!) Easter is coming up, and every little girl needs something for her hair!
But my talented and artistic friend Becky is having a giveaway on her blog here. Becky makes hair accessories for little girls along with lots of other stuff. She has a site: http://fullofposies.com/, an etsy shop called "bowture" here , and the blog, where you can enter the giveaway (plus it's fun to read).
If you look at the pictures of the girls to the right here, I got the crocheted beanies and bows (named the "Lucy"!) from Becky. Her products are beautifully made, customizable (is that a real word? anyway, you can order them however you want them), reasonably priced, and strong enough to stand up to the wear and tear of two, ahem, spirited little girls.
Stop by her blog and enter to win (and buy some stuff from her too!) Easter is coming up, and every little girl needs something for her hair!
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Sometimes I Catch a Glimpse, Part 2
I've been visiting my mom a couple weekends here and there recently. I go to see her with Elaine every Friday, but sometimes I've been able to go by myself and spend a couple of nights. My mom is under hospice care now and she is feeling an urgency to go through all of her things to decide what to do with them, but she doesn't have the energy to do it and needs my help.
It's sort of a no-brainer to say I've been so sad lately--going through all the finite things my mom has owned and loved to try and decide what to do with them. But through the sadness, I'm trying to pray--pray specifically for my mom. What do I want to ask for her? That she will feel peace? That she won't feel pain? And suddenly, a few weeks ago, it came over me--what I should pray for her. I need to pray that heaven will be so real to her, that it will be far more real than this earth. I need to pray that she just can't wait to get there. This thought became so overwhelming to me that now I pray it every day, throughout the day...sometimes I just plead and beg for it, for a glimpse of heaven for my mom.
I've never told her that I pray for it; I just do.
I've tried to find out more about it for myself too, which frankly isn't too hard because I actually have always loved thinking about heaven. A lot. Last fall I went to hear a Native American poet, and before she read one of her poems she said, "This poem is about...you know that feeling you get? So homesick? Even if you're right at home?" and I almost raised my hand and said, "You too? I thought that was just me!" Ever since I was a child I've had that feeling come and go, and I've just figured it will never go away until I get to heaven.
I read this beautiful little passage by Anne Graham Lotz recently, about how whenever she would go to her parents' home, even near the end of her mom's life, her mom always left the outside light on--so when Anne would round the curve of the road, she would see that light shining and know her mom was waiting for her. Then Anne did the same for her son, and she always cooked his favorite things when he came home. She says, "When Jesus says, ‘I’m preparing a place for you, He knows the colors you like, the people you want to be with, the landscape you enjoy, and the music you want to hear,” Anne says. “When you walk through heaven’s gate you will know that you’ve been expected, that you’re welcomed because you’re the Father’s child. I think it’s that personal."
Not too long ago, my frind Brad posted something on his facebook status about his little boy. He said, "My son told my wife, 'You know who I'll miss when I die? Dasher' (our dumb potty train-proof dog). My wife told him, 'Honey, dogs don't live as long as you and I, so you'll have many pets,' and he replied 'Oh, ok, I'll see lots of pets when I am in JesusWorld.'
I don't know about you, but I firmly believe that when I open the front door of my mansion in heaven, my dogs, Boo Radley and Gatsby, will be right there to meet me. I cannot wait. I miss them so much. (Any pastors and/or theologians reading? Do not even try to talk me down from this faith position.)
So anyway, I've been thinking and praying about heaven and spending some weekends with my mom, and we're having a blast in the same old way--talking about books and watching "Cranford" and then watching "The Making of Cranford" and then watching "Return to Cranford" and then pulling apart every character and every actor from "Cranford." And "Return to Cranford." And talking about books again.
Then as we often do, especially when it gets late at night, we start talking about the Bible: what we're learning (yes, my mom is still learning and teaching me what she knows), the parts we love, and the parts we don't understand. We somehow got on the topic of Moses, and then we had to laugh because we've both felt a little bit like how Moses must have felt after he met with God and then came down the mountain, only to see everyone dancing around the golden calf. I said, "You know how after you've had a really great quiet time? Then you come downstairs and everyone is just acting like total heathens? I could totally smash the Ten Commandments right there." And Mom said, "Or grind up the powder, give it to them, and say, 'DRINK IT!'"
Then we talked about how awesome it was that Moses asked to see God's glory, and God hid Him in the rock but let Him catch a glimpse of His back. We wondered, what exactly was that that he saw?
And Mom said to me, "Does it bother you, honey, going through my dying with me? I never really liked to be around sick people. I feel so bad that you kids have to go through this." Then she closed her eyes and the most beautiful smile spread across her face as she whispered, "You know, sometimes when I close my eyes, I see the Lord Himself. And He's standing there, His hands stretched out to me, and He's saying, 'Come home!'"
The next day we went out in the car; Mom can't really go out any more and she hates that, but I took her out for just a little bit. Not too far from home, my favorite song came on (from Travis Cottrell's "Alive Forever"--a CD that never leaves my rotation). My mom said, "Oh, how I love this one!" so we turned it up and let the music and lyrics wash over us.
We neared home, just as it was cranking up to the best part so we drove around a couple more blocks so we could hear it all--there's no way you can turn the song off in the middle. And as the end came: "No guilt in life, no fear in death...no power of hell, no scheme of man can ever pluck me from His hand...till He returns or calls me home...," Mom leaned her head back and whispered, "Awesome. Glory! The man who wrote that, he caught a glimpse, didn't he?"
Later on that evening, I heard my mom sitting at the piano--I don't think I've heard her play in at least two years--picking out the notes to that song. And I looked out the window into the night sky and thought I might have seen the hem of His garment go by.
Exodus 33:17 And the LORD said to Moses, "I will do the very thing you have asked, because I am pleased with you and I know you by name."
It's sort of a no-brainer to say I've been so sad lately--going through all the finite things my mom has owned and loved to try and decide what to do with them. But through the sadness, I'm trying to pray--pray specifically for my mom. What do I want to ask for her? That she will feel peace? That she won't feel pain? And suddenly, a few weeks ago, it came over me--what I should pray for her. I need to pray that heaven will be so real to her, that it will be far more real than this earth. I need to pray that she just can't wait to get there. This thought became so overwhelming to me that now I pray it every day, throughout the day...sometimes I just plead and beg for it, for a glimpse of heaven for my mom.
I've never told her that I pray for it; I just do.
I've tried to find out more about it for myself too, which frankly isn't too hard because I actually have always loved thinking about heaven. A lot. Last fall I went to hear a Native American poet, and before she read one of her poems she said, "This poem is about...you know that feeling you get? So homesick? Even if you're right at home?" and I almost raised my hand and said, "You too? I thought that was just me!" Ever since I was a child I've had that feeling come and go, and I've just figured it will never go away until I get to heaven.
I read this beautiful little passage by Anne Graham Lotz recently, about how whenever she would go to her parents' home, even near the end of her mom's life, her mom always left the outside light on--so when Anne would round the curve of the road, she would see that light shining and know her mom was waiting for her. Then Anne did the same for her son, and she always cooked his favorite things when he came home. She says, "When Jesus says, ‘I’m preparing a place for you, He knows the colors you like, the people you want to be with, the landscape you enjoy, and the music you want to hear,” Anne says. “When you walk through heaven’s gate you will know that you’ve been expected, that you’re welcomed because you’re the Father’s child. I think it’s that personal."
Not too long ago, my frind Brad posted something on his facebook status about his little boy. He said, "My son told my wife, 'You know who I'll miss when I die? Dasher' (our dumb potty train-proof dog). My wife told him, 'Honey, dogs don't live as long as you and I, so you'll have many pets,' and he replied 'Oh, ok, I'll see lots of pets when I am in JesusWorld.'
I don't know about you, but I firmly believe that when I open the front door of my mansion in heaven, my dogs, Boo Radley and Gatsby, will be right there to meet me. I cannot wait. I miss them so much. (Any pastors and/or theologians reading? Do not even try to talk me down from this faith position.)
So anyway, I've been thinking and praying about heaven and spending some weekends with my mom, and we're having a blast in the same old way--talking about books and watching "Cranford" and then watching "The Making of Cranford" and then watching "Return to Cranford" and then pulling apart every character and every actor from "Cranford." And "Return to Cranford." And talking about books again.
Then as we often do, especially when it gets late at night, we start talking about the Bible: what we're learning (yes, my mom is still learning and teaching me what she knows), the parts we love, and the parts we don't understand. We somehow got on the topic of Moses, and then we had to laugh because we've both felt a little bit like how Moses must have felt after he met with God and then came down the mountain, only to see everyone dancing around the golden calf. I said, "You know how after you've had a really great quiet time? Then you come downstairs and everyone is just acting like total heathens? I could totally smash the Ten Commandments right there." And Mom said, "Or grind up the powder, give it to them, and say, 'DRINK IT!'"
Then we talked about how awesome it was that Moses asked to see God's glory, and God hid Him in the rock but let Him catch a glimpse of His back. We wondered, what exactly was that that he saw?
And Mom said to me, "Does it bother you, honey, going through my dying with me? I never really liked to be around sick people. I feel so bad that you kids have to go through this." Then she closed her eyes and the most beautiful smile spread across her face as she whispered, "You know, sometimes when I close my eyes, I see the Lord Himself. And He's standing there, His hands stretched out to me, and He's saying, 'Come home!'"
The next day we went out in the car; Mom can't really go out any more and she hates that, but I took her out for just a little bit. Not too far from home, my favorite song came on (from Travis Cottrell's "Alive Forever"--a CD that never leaves my rotation). My mom said, "Oh, how I love this one!" so we turned it up and let the music and lyrics wash over us.
We neared home, just as it was cranking up to the best part so we drove around a couple more blocks so we could hear it all--there's no way you can turn the song off in the middle. And as the end came: "No guilt in life, no fear in death...no power of hell, no scheme of man can ever pluck me from His hand...till He returns or calls me home...," Mom leaned her head back and whispered, "Awesome. Glory! The man who wrote that, he caught a glimpse, didn't he?"
Later on that evening, I heard my mom sitting at the piano--I don't think I've heard her play in at least two years--picking out the notes to that song. And I looked out the window into the night sky and thought I might have seen the hem of His garment go by.
Exodus 33:17 And the LORD said to Moses, "I will do the very thing you have asked, because I am pleased with you and I know you by name."
Monday, February 08, 2010
Perfect Advice to Start the Week
This is from Beth Moore, and it's just workin' for me today:
"For those of us who don't have one of those monumental, overwhelming reasons to be angry and we're just temperamental, irritable, and summarily lacking in self-control, sometimes it's just the matter of making a choice. As my grandmother used to say, we can get glad in the same clothes we got mad in.
Or, then again, we could just change clothes and see if that would help. One way or the other, it's time to get over it!"
"For those of us who don't have one of those monumental, overwhelming reasons to be angry and we're just temperamental, irritable, and summarily lacking in self-control, sometimes it's just the matter of making a choice. As my grandmother used to say, we can get glad in the same clothes we got mad in.
Or, then again, we could just change clothes and see if that would help. One way or the other, it's time to get over it!"
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
A New Friend
The theme for the March/April issue of the magazine is that of legacy. My particular piece for this is the letters of C.S. Lewis and Joy Davidman Gresham Lewis (yeah, it's a hard job I've got). Anybody who knows me knows how much I admire Jack (after all, we named our firstborn from his books), but my knowledge of Joy has been confined to some snippets and the movie "Shadowlands." (By the way, if you've never seen that? You should.)
However, because of this new book, Joy ended up becoming the focal point of my article.
First off, a lot of Lewis devotees don't like Joy. I guess they think she's like the Yoko Ono of the Inklings or something. They are so, so wrong. I picked up this book, planning to skim through to get enough of a picture to write about it, and I could not put it down. I kept thinking, "Just one more, just one more letter..." Then I started marking the pages every time I came across a quote I just had to use--until I looked back at the book and saw I had marked most of the pages. Finally, I just made a big document, and I still didn't get everything down that I liked. I probably could have written a 3,000-word (at least) piece on Joy alone.
For anyone not familiar, I'll just give the briefest summation of her life, then I'll throw in some great quotes. Joy Davidman was an American, Jewish, atheist, Communist writer. She was married to a fellow writer, Bill Gresham, who was an abusive, alcoholic, philanderer. Through reading the work of C.S. Lewis and others, Joy became a Christian. When she and Bill finally divorced, Joy moved to England with her two little boys, whom she raised alone. She had been corresponding with Lewis; they became friends, and he married her in a civil ceremony in order that she could remain in England. Shortly after, it was discovered that Joy had bone cancer--due to a radium collar she had had to wear for hypothyroidism (um, yikes!!). Lewis's concern for her grew to love, and they married in a church ceremony and had a few extremely happy years together until Joy's death at age 45.
OK, here are just a few of some of my favorite quotes. As I mentioned, Joy was a writer in the U.S. and was known for her sharp mind and caustic wit (after meeting Christ, she kept the sharp mind and softened the wit--a bit.)
In a review of the WWII film "I Wanted Wings": "Using the crudest of appeals, 'I Wanted Wings' alternates uplifting pep talks with uplifted blondes. If Miss Veronica Lake ever puts on a brassiere, her acting ability will disappear."
In a letter to a colleague on review of his volume of poetry: "The trouble with your poetry is sheer unwillingness to get an education."
In a letter to a colleague on a review of his poem: ""Pregnant Woman' strikes me as terrible, but then I’ve been pregnant myself and I know what it really feels like; you sentimentalize it excessively. It is a cheerful, earthy rather animal and fierce state, usually accompanied by bad temper and greed."
After her conversion to Christianity: "Since my conversion—I am now, believe it or not, a deaconess of the Presbyterian Church, and it feels odd to say the least. Oy!"
On divorce: I always took it that divorce was only the last possible resort, and felt I ought to to put up with anything I could bear for the children’s sake. I hoped that Bill’s adulteries, irresponsibilities, etc. would end if he ever recovered from his various neuroses; also that his becoming a Christian would make a difference. Unfortunately I’ve been disappointed on both counts. Bill gave up being a Christian as soon as he found out it meant living by a moral code and admitting and repenting one’s sins."
On her cousin, with whom Bill had an affair and wanted to marry: "Well it’s a dreary business! My cousin has left now for FL, to divorce her own husband, a violent drunken Alabama man whom she left a year or so ago. For more than a month she and Bill and I were all here together and she was tortured by guilt and embarrassment and worry, and would take to her bed with crying fits—where upon Bill lectured me for my lack of Christian charity in not enabling her to enjoy her love affair more."
And in a subsequent letter to her cousin: "Promise or no, I wouldn’t have him back for a million bucks. He gives me the creeps."
After the divorce and Joy's move to England, Bill had been ordered to send $60 a week as support for her and the boys. Many of the letters depict their life in England and the fact that Bill has, yet again, sent them little or no money.
In a letter to Bill: "Thanks for the scratch, only I wish there were more. Lookie, cookie, even if I could live myself on $100 a month (and I'm already on a lunchless, beerless diet) what am I supposed to do with the boys? Drown them? They got laws against that in this country!"
While there are very few letters between Joy and Jack Lewis, (Lewis burned most of his correspondence three weeks after receiving and answering it), there are a lot of snippets of their life together. Lewis relied on Joy to help him with his work, and she writes, "Though I can’t write one-tenth as well as Jack, I can tell him how to write more like himself!"
At one point, Lewis was commissioned by American Episcopalians to do several radio programs, which they eventually dropped before they even aired, shattering Lewis and outraging Joy, as she wrote to a friend, "[the whole series is supressed because of] "Jack's 'startling frankness' on sexual matters! Needless to say he wouldn't have startled anyone over the age of sixteen and the I.Q. of 80."
As her cancer progressed, she drew strength from God and Jack, stating, "Jack pointed out to me that we were wrong in trying to accept utter hopelessness; uncertainty is what God has given us for a cross."
And she wrote in encouragement to another friend with cancer, "Can you do any sort of work? I’ve found that making crocheted rugs and tablecloths was an amazing help with my spiritual difficulties when I was feeling low. One can work off so many frustrations by stabbing away with a knitting needle! It’s better to make pretty things, I find, than just useful ones. Of course we’re both praying for you—and don’t be too afraid, even if you turn out to need an operation. I’ve had three, and they were nothing like so bad as my fears."
After her death, C.S. Lewis wrote A Grief Observed and talked about everything Joy had been to him--"Once I praised her for her masculine virtues. But she soon put a stop to that by asking how I’d like to be praised for my feminine ones. It was a good riposte, dear."
These are just a brief smattering of all the treasures in Out of My Bone. After reading, you're left without a shadow of a doubt how this remarkable woman caught C.S. Lewis's heart. She caught mine, too.
Internets, you have GOT to get this book!
However, because of this new book, Joy ended up becoming the focal point of my article.
First off, a lot of Lewis devotees don't like Joy. I guess they think she's like the Yoko Ono of the Inklings or something. They are so, so wrong. I picked up this book, planning to skim through to get enough of a picture to write about it, and I could not put it down. I kept thinking, "Just one more, just one more letter..." Then I started marking the pages every time I came across a quote I just had to use--until I looked back at the book and saw I had marked most of the pages. Finally, I just made a big document, and I still didn't get everything down that I liked. I probably could have written a 3,000-word (at least) piece on Joy alone.
For anyone not familiar, I'll just give the briefest summation of her life, then I'll throw in some great quotes. Joy Davidman was an American, Jewish, atheist, Communist writer. She was married to a fellow writer, Bill Gresham, who was an abusive, alcoholic, philanderer. Through reading the work of C.S. Lewis and others, Joy became a Christian. When she and Bill finally divorced, Joy moved to England with her two little boys, whom she raised alone. She had been corresponding with Lewis; they became friends, and he married her in a civil ceremony in order that she could remain in England. Shortly after, it was discovered that Joy had bone cancer--due to a radium collar she had had to wear for hypothyroidism (um, yikes!!). Lewis's concern for her grew to love, and they married in a church ceremony and had a few extremely happy years together until Joy's death at age 45.
OK, here are just a few of some of my favorite quotes. As I mentioned, Joy was a writer in the U.S. and was known for her sharp mind and caustic wit (after meeting Christ, she kept the sharp mind and softened the wit--a bit.)
In a review of the WWII film "I Wanted Wings": "Using the crudest of appeals, 'I Wanted Wings' alternates uplifting pep talks with uplifted blondes. If Miss Veronica Lake ever puts on a brassiere, her acting ability will disappear."
In a letter to a colleague on review of his volume of poetry: "The trouble with your poetry is sheer unwillingness to get an education."
In a letter to a colleague on a review of his poem: ""Pregnant Woman' strikes me as terrible, but then I’ve been pregnant myself and I know what it really feels like; you sentimentalize it excessively. It is a cheerful, earthy rather animal and fierce state, usually accompanied by bad temper and greed."
After her conversion to Christianity: "Since my conversion—I am now, believe it or not, a deaconess of the Presbyterian Church, and it feels odd to say the least. Oy!"
On divorce: I always took it that divorce was only the last possible resort, and felt I ought to to put up with anything I could bear for the children’s sake. I hoped that Bill’s adulteries, irresponsibilities, etc. would end if he ever recovered from his various neuroses; also that his becoming a Christian would make a difference. Unfortunately I’ve been disappointed on both counts. Bill gave up being a Christian as soon as he found out it meant living by a moral code and admitting and repenting one’s sins."
On her cousin, with whom Bill had an affair and wanted to marry: "Well it’s a dreary business! My cousin has left now for FL, to divorce her own husband, a violent drunken Alabama man whom she left a year or so ago. For more than a month she and Bill and I were all here together and she was tortured by guilt and embarrassment and worry, and would take to her bed with crying fits—where upon Bill lectured me for my lack of Christian charity in not enabling her to enjoy her love affair more."
And in a subsequent letter to her cousin: "Promise or no, I wouldn’t have him back for a million bucks. He gives me the creeps."
After the divorce and Joy's move to England, Bill had been ordered to send $60 a week as support for her and the boys. Many of the letters depict their life in England and the fact that Bill has, yet again, sent them little or no money.
In a letter to Bill: "Thanks for the scratch, only I wish there were more. Lookie, cookie, even if I could live myself on $100 a month (and I'm already on a lunchless, beerless diet) what am I supposed to do with the boys? Drown them? They got laws against that in this country!"
While there are very few letters between Joy and Jack Lewis, (Lewis burned most of his correspondence three weeks after receiving and answering it), there are a lot of snippets of their life together. Lewis relied on Joy to help him with his work, and she writes, "Though I can’t write one-tenth as well as Jack, I can tell him how to write more like himself!"
At one point, Lewis was commissioned by American Episcopalians to do several radio programs, which they eventually dropped before they even aired, shattering Lewis and outraging Joy, as she wrote to a friend, "[the whole series is supressed because of] "Jack's 'startling frankness' on sexual matters! Needless to say he wouldn't have startled anyone over the age of sixteen and the I.Q. of 80."
As her cancer progressed, she drew strength from God and Jack, stating, "Jack pointed out to me that we were wrong in trying to accept utter hopelessness; uncertainty is what God has given us for a cross."
And she wrote in encouragement to another friend with cancer, "Can you do any sort of work? I’ve found that making crocheted rugs and tablecloths was an amazing help with my spiritual difficulties when I was feeling low. One can work off so many frustrations by stabbing away with a knitting needle! It’s better to make pretty things, I find, than just useful ones. Of course we’re both praying for you—and don’t be too afraid, even if you turn out to need an operation. I’ve had three, and they were nothing like so bad as my fears."
After her death, C.S. Lewis wrote A Grief Observed and talked about everything Joy had been to him--"Once I praised her for her masculine virtues. But she soon put a stop to that by asking how I’d like to be praised for my feminine ones. It was a good riposte, dear."
These are just a brief smattering of all the treasures in Out of My Bone. After reading, you're left without a shadow of a doubt how this remarkable woman caught C.S. Lewis's heart. She caught mine, too.
Internets, you have GOT to get this book!
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Not Just With the Turkey
I may be in and out of blogging over the next couple of weeks because, as it often is in the world of editing, I've got several big deadlines all at the same time. I've also got all the regular stuff going on, like swim practice, and the fact that both the girls and I needed haircuts in the worst way--we look like those afghan hounds in 101 Dalmations, and also the fact that Lucy has to do a report on a constellation (read: I have to do the report). She got assigned Vulpecula, or The Fox. Now I never even heard of the Fox, so I must say I learned something during my research. One thing I learned is that it is not comprised of any bright stars, so it's not easy to find, which is kind of a relief to know since I've never even been able to figure out which one is the Big Dipper.
In the midst of all that, I've been secretly doing a new year's resolution, and it has actually lasted all 27 days of January so I figured I can write about it now. A few months ago, I read a great blog post by James Macdonald. You can read the whole thing here (and it's well worth reading), but I'll excerpt my favorite part below:
Am I choosing thankfulness over complaining moment by moment?
Am I choosing thankfulness over complaining? Because it’s at a moment. It’s like freeze-frame! Am I choosing thankfulness right now? Am I? Remember, attitudes are patterns of thinking formed over a long period of time.
Find a 3” x 5” card, but don’t write on it. What you want to do is to take it and put it on a photocopier and make three hundred sixty-five of them. Then put it by your night-stand. Now I’m telling you, in Jesus’ name, you fill out that card every night before you go to bed. Big things. Little things. Something good today. Things you’re thankful for.
You lay your head down to sleep with that on your mind. You get up in the morning and you read that before you begin your day. That will change your life—that will absolutely change your life. You say you want to live in the Promised Land? Do you want to know the fullness and the fulfillment that only God can bring? That card right there—that was worth the price of admission of this morning. Guaranteed.
Now I'll tell you if I had 365 3 x 5 cards floating around my house that would completely rock my world and not in a good way. I'm trying to get rid of all the spare paper in this place, while Elaine follows me around, practicing her new-found scissor skills and scattering confetti in her wake.
What I did do was buy a nice journal, and I write my thankful entries in there every day. Sometimes they're weighty, such as "I'm thankful for a God who deals in matters of the heart--who prizes righteousness over rightness and reconciliation over winning." Sometimes they're physical, such as, "I'm thankful for free vaccines and kind nurses for my children." Sometimes they're completely simple, such as, "I'm thankful for chenille blankets" (granted, I was sick that day). But each day, I've got one or more entries in there.
I will tell you, this process has made a great difference in me this year so far. It's not a matter of putting on rose-colored glasses and pretending things aren't going wrong. It's about choosing to be grateful for things, for everything, rather than complaining about stuff.
In the front of my journal, I wrote out Romans 1:21 "For although they knew God, they neither glorified Him as God nor gave thanks to Him, but their thinking became futile and their foolish hearts were darkened."
I don't know about you, but I don't want that to happen to me.
A couple weeks ago, Elaine came home from Sunday School with a styrofoam cup of dirt. I can't tell you how many times my girls have come home from places with styrofoam cups of dirt, and pretty much every time nothing happens. But in good faith and at her pleading, I put it up on the kitchen windowsill.
So today, I am thankful for this--Grass! Grass is growing in January!
In the midst of all that, I've been secretly doing a new year's resolution, and it has actually lasted all 27 days of January so I figured I can write about it now. A few months ago, I read a great blog post by James Macdonald. You can read the whole thing here (and it's well worth reading), but I'll excerpt my favorite part below:
Am I choosing thankfulness over complaining moment by moment?
Am I choosing thankfulness over complaining? Because it’s at a moment. It’s like freeze-frame! Am I choosing thankfulness right now? Am I? Remember, attitudes are patterns of thinking formed over a long period of time.
Find a 3” x 5” card, but don’t write on it. What you want to do is to take it and put it on a photocopier and make three hundred sixty-five of them. Then put it by your night-stand. Now I’m telling you, in Jesus’ name, you fill out that card every night before you go to bed. Big things. Little things. Something good today. Things you’re thankful for.
You lay your head down to sleep with that on your mind. You get up in the morning and you read that before you begin your day. That will change your life—that will absolutely change your life. You say you want to live in the Promised Land? Do you want to know the fullness and the fulfillment that only God can bring? That card right there—that was worth the price of admission of this morning. Guaranteed.
Now I'll tell you if I had 365 3 x 5 cards floating around my house that would completely rock my world and not in a good way. I'm trying to get rid of all the spare paper in this place, while Elaine follows me around, practicing her new-found scissor skills and scattering confetti in her wake.
What I did do was buy a nice journal, and I write my thankful entries in there every day. Sometimes they're weighty, such as "I'm thankful for a God who deals in matters of the heart--who prizes righteousness over rightness and reconciliation over winning." Sometimes they're physical, such as, "I'm thankful for free vaccines and kind nurses for my children." Sometimes they're completely simple, such as, "I'm thankful for chenille blankets" (granted, I was sick that day). But each day, I've got one or more entries in there.
I will tell you, this process has made a great difference in me this year so far. It's not a matter of putting on rose-colored glasses and pretending things aren't going wrong. It's about choosing to be grateful for things, for everything, rather than complaining about stuff.
In the front of my journal, I wrote out Romans 1:21 "For although they knew God, they neither glorified Him as God nor gave thanks to Him, but their thinking became futile and their foolish hearts were darkened."
I don't know about you, but I don't want that to happen to me.
A couple weeks ago, Elaine came home from Sunday School with a styrofoam cup of dirt. I can't tell you how many times my girls have come home from places with styrofoam cups of dirt, and pretty much every time nothing happens. But in good faith and at her pleading, I put it up on the kitchen windowsill.
So today, I am thankful for this--Grass! Grass is growing in January!
Thursday, January 21, 2010
The Speech Meet
Before I talk about Lucy's speech meet (also, each time I type the word "speech"? It looks weirder and weirder), I have to talk about how I opened up a website yesterday, and there was a big banner across the top that said, "My kid was completely healthy. The next day he was dead. Find out what you need to know about meningitis." Now I was in full-blown freakout mode because who gets not one, but two, random library books about kids who die from meningitis and now this? So of course I start googling "signs of meningitis." Then I saw that not only is it quite rare, but we've been vaccinated for it, which is not surprising since, not only is that standard, but I'm so pro-vaccine that every time I take the girls to the pediatrician--even if it's not time for them to get a shot--I ask if they've got anything back there that they can at least get a booster for.
OK, we've dealt with that, and I'm sure you're relieved. On to the speech meet, which was yesterday. The night before Lucy wanted me to put curlers in her hair, and then I even ironed her uniform--something I haven't done since the first week of school--made sure she had the right pair of clean tights, etc. etc.
We practiced her verses again, but she knows them so well that she didn't falter at all. We practiced saying her name, standing still with her hands at her side, and speaking loudly and clearly. In the morning we prayed together before school that she would not be nervous and would do a good job. The judges pick four children from each class, two from each of the categories: poetry and Scripture. The winners go on to a regional speech meet that's in March.
Now, I am not a competitive person at all and never have been. I prefer to float down the river of life in my inner tube, chatting with my friends and sipping iced tea along the way. But something about having kids--other parents, are you with me? I want everyone to recognize that certainly, mine are the sweetest, brightest, smartest little shining stars that their dad and I already know they are. When I saw Lucy all ready for the day in her crisp little uniform and her curly hair with the butterfly clip in it...well, she should win just for adorableness alone.
Oh and I have to add this: the classes have their speech meets on different days, so already we've found out that Lucy's two friends from school who are also on the swim team with her won in their respective categories, and Lucy's best friend who's in second grade won for poetry.
Throughout the day, I kept praying for her, and I couldn't wait to pick her up from school to hear about her glorious performance and sure-to-be win. She came running out, holding her teacher's hand, with a huge smile on her face: "I did it, Mommy, I did it!" she yelled. As I was getting so excited for her, her teacher leaned in the car and said, "She did a great job. There were so many kids who did Bible verses this year--that's unusual--so she didn't win. But she still did such a good job."
I wasn't disappointed for myself, but I figured I better handle this gingerly...she seemed so excited, was she under the impression that she'd won too?
"Wow, awesome job, Lucy; I am so proud of you for getting up there and saying your verses!" I enthused.
"I DID IT!" she said again, "and you know what's sooooooo great? I DIDN'T WIN! Isn't that cool? When I said, '...in glory' at the end I knew I was done. If you win, you have to get up in front of everyone and do it AGAIN; no way!" High five me, Mom! I didn't win! Fist bump!"
Um, OK. I can go with that, no problem. I certainly know the feeling. And really--I just wanted her to do her best, which she did, and now she's got the ultimate value of having four verses from Colossians hidden in her heart
And so...looks like we have another inner tube rider in the world. Fist bump.
OK, we've dealt with that, and I'm sure you're relieved. On to the speech meet, which was yesterday. The night before Lucy wanted me to put curlers in her hair, and then I even ironed her uniform--something I haven't done since the first week of school--made sure she had the right pair of clean tights, etc. etc.
We practiced her verses again, but she knows them so well that she didn't falter at all. We practiced saying her name, standing still with her hands at her side, and speaking loudly and clearly. In the morning we prayed together before school that she would not be nervous and would do a good job. The judges pick four children from each class, two from each of the categories: poetry and Scripture. The winners go on to a regional speech meet that's in March.
Now, I am not a competitive person at all and never have been. I prefer to float down the river of life in my inner tube, chatting with my friends and sipping iced tea along the way. But something about having kids--other parents, are you with me? I want everyone to recognize that certainly, mine are the sweetest, brightest, smartest little shining stars that their dad and I already know they are. When I saw Lucy all ready for the day in her crisp little uniform and her curly hair with the butterfly clip in it...well, she should win just for adorableness alone.
Oh and I have to add this: the classes have their speech meets on different days, so already we've found out that Lucy's two friends from school who are also on the swim team with her won in their respective categories, and Lucy's best friend who's in second grade won for poetry.
Throughout the day, I kept praying for her, and I couldn't wait to pick her up from school to hear about her glorious performance and sure-to-be win. She came running out, holding her teacher's hand, with a huge smile on her face: "I did it, Mommy, I did it!" she yelled. As I was getting so excited for her, her teacher leaned in the car and said, "She did a great job. There were so many kids who did Bible verses this year--that's unusual--so she didn't win. But she still did such a good job."
I wasn't disappointed for myself, but I figured I better handle this gingerly...she seemed so excited, was she under the impression that she'd won too?
"Wow, awesome job, Lucy; I am so proud of you for getting up there and saying your verses!" I enthused.
"I DID IT!" she said again, "and you know what's sooooooo great? I DIDN'T WIN! Isn't that cool? When I said, '...in glory' at the end I knew I was done. If you win, you have to get up in front of everyone and do it AGAIN; no way!" High five me, Mom! I didn't win! Fist bump!"
Um, OK. I can go with that, no problem. I certainly know the feeling. And really--I just wanted her to do her best, which she did, and now she's got the ultimate value of having four verses from Colossians hidden in her heart
And so...looks like we have another inner tube rider in the world. Fist bump.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Library Day
In keeping with my new year's resolution of writing down all the books I read this year, I'll also try to review a bunch of them, at least in mini-reviews. I usually have one or both of the girls with me at the library so my process of selecting books is grab something off the shelf, see if it looks remotely interesting, toss it in the library bag. And sometimes one of the girls will pull a book down and say, "Read this one, Mom." So there you are with my scientific process.
Here are this week's books:
In A Good Place by Rachel Johnson
Apparently Rachel Johnson (according to the blurb on the back of the book) is one of the most high profile and popular female journalists in the UK. The Guardian and The Times call her "the Nancy Mitford of Notting Hill" and "Notting Hill's Jane Austen." That's some pretty awesome billing, so I was excited to start. Meh. First off, it listed the characters in the front of the book and there are, let me run and count, 58 of them, all with some sort of precious description, such as "Virginie Lacoste: stone-cold French superfox and children's culotte magnate who never regrettes rien." Ugh. The book kept switching around from various characters' viewpoints, which normally I like, with the exception that I didn't like any of these characters. Then it teased the reader that one of the characters had a big! secret! that turned out that she's pregnant. There. I told you. Plus the book tried to be funny with all sorts of hip, faux cool, name-dropping references, which I didn't get (despite being pretty well-versed in UK names/places/slang) and finally was overcome with a big wave of "I don't care." So, thumbs down for this book and a word
to the wise: just 'cause it's British doesn't automatically make it klassy.
The Knitting Circle by Ann Hood
The cover and title of this book are somewhat deceptive. There's a comfy chair, a bit of knitting, and a pot of tea, so you think it might be some cozy tale with recipes thrown in. You would think wrong. The Knitting Circle is about a woman whose 5-year-old daughter has recently died unexpectedly from meningitis. It chronicles the first two years after the death and how a grieving mother pours her sorrow into the mind-freeing, healing activity of creating something with her hands. She comes together with a circle of other knitters--all who have turned to the hobby as therapy from tragedy. Each of their stories eventually comes out. It could all be kind of cliche except for the fact that it is somewhat autobiographical: the author herself lost her 5-year-old daughter to meningitis and comforted herself by knitting, so while some of the scenarios are improbable, the emotions behind them are quite real. I'd give this one a guarded thumbs up.
The Ghost at the Table by Suzanne Berne
I'll say straight up that I loved this one. It's the story of two adult sisters who have widely varying memories of their growing up together: one wants to remember it as lovely and the other remembers it as a nightmare. The truth, of course, lies somewhere in between. They get together for the Thanksgiving weekend because the one sister wants to stage a reconciliation between the other and their father. In between this family drama are interwoven vignettes of Mark Twain and the fractured relationship he had with his wife and daughters (one of the sisters is an author of sanitized historical fiction, but she loves to know all the dirty details). There's some great writing in here, such as: "I understood perfectly well what Frances wanted from me: the tale of Mark Twain's daughters and their pleasantly eventful childhood. She wanted what everyone wants--what even I wanted--a good story with a reasonable ending. But she'd gotten carried away, as she always did, with the decor. With the kittens and the cherubs and the Christmas letters. And so I was forced to brandish the sorrows of Mark Twain's daughters to keep Frances from snatching them up, to save them from becoming bric-a-brac and bedposts." Thumbs up.
Haunting Rachel by Kay Hooper
I won't waste much time on this one. I was moderately taken in by the title, but I could tell by the typeface on the cover that it wasn't going to deliver (you know what I'm talkin' about). It's about some woman whose fiance died mysteriously, and now 15 years later his dead ringer is back in her life and she can't figure out who he is or if he's good or evil. Kay Hooper is billed on the cover as a "master storyteller" and the book as a thriller. Neither was true. It was more like a Lifetime movie in book form and wasn't thrilling at all. Also, as my girls would say, it was kind of trashy. Thumbs down.
Margaret's Peace by Linda Hunt
This is another book where the heroine's 5-year-old daughter has just died of meningitis. How odd, and now I'm paranoid and keep checking my own daughters for signs of it. She returns to her old family home in Maine for a rest, but she gets caught up in finding out what really happened to her sister. Twenty-five years earlier, she pitched off the widow's walk of their house and died. Was it an accident? Suicide? Murder? I could pretty much easily figure out what had happened and why, but the book still held my interest well enough though the characterization was a little cardboard cutout. Thumbs sideways.
So, there you go. I'm ready for another library trip today...we'll see what I come up with next week.
Here are this week's books:
In A Good Place by Rachel Johnson
Apparently Rachel Johnson (according to the blurb on the back of the book) is one of the most high profile and popular female journalists in the UK. The Guardian and The Times call her "the Nancy Mitford of Notting Hill" and "Notting Hill's Jane Austen." That's some pretty awesome billing, so I was excited to start. Meh. First off, it listed the characters in the front of the book and there are, let me run and count, 58 of them, all with some sort of precious description, such as "Virginie Lacoste: stone-cold French superfox and children's culotte magnate who never regrettes rien." Ugh. The book kept switching around from various characters' viewpoints, which normally I like, with the exception that I didn't like any of these characters. Then it teased the reader that one of the characters had a big! secret! that turned out that she's pregnant. There. I told you. Plus the book tried to be funny with all sorts of hip, faux cool, name-dropping references, which I didn't get (despite being pretty well-versed in UK names/places/slang) and finally was overcome with a big wave of "I don't care." So, thumbs down for this book and a word
to the wise: just 'cause it's British doesn't automatically make it klassy.
The Knitting Circle by Ann Hood
The cover and title of this book are somewhat deceptive. There's a comfy chair, a bit of knitting, and a pot of tea, so you think it might be some cozy tale with recipes thrown in. You would think wrong. The Knitting Circle is about a woman whose 5-year-old daughter has recently died unexpectedly from meningitis. It chronicles the first two years after the death and how a grieving mother pours her sorrow into the mind-freeing, healing activity of creating something with her hands. She comes together with a circle of other knitters--all who have turned to the hobby as therapy from tragedy. Each of their stories eventually comes out. It could all be kind of cliche except for the fact that it is somewhat autobiographical: the author herself lost her 5-year-old daughter to meningitis and comforted herself by knitting, so while some of the scenarios are improbable, the emotions behind them are quite real. I'd give this one a guarded thumbs up.
The Ghost at the Table by Suzanne Berne
I'll say straight up that I loved this one. It's the story of two adult sisters who have widely varying memories of their growing up together: one wants to remember it as lovely and the other remembers it as a nightmare. The truth, of course, lies somewhere in between. They get together for the Thanksgiving weekend because the one sister wants to stage a reconciliation between the other and their father. In between this family drama are interwoven vignettes of Mark Twain and the fractured relationship he had with his wife and daughters (one of the sisters is an author of sanitized historical fiction, but she loves to know all the dirty details). There's some great writing in here, such as: "I understood perfectly well what Frances wanted from me: the tale of Mark Twain's daughters and their pleasantly eventful childhood. She wanted what everyone wants--what even I wanted--a good story with a reasonable ending. But she'd gotten carried away, as she always did, with the decor. With the kittens and the cherubs and the Christmas letters. And so I was forced to brandish the sorrows of Mark Twain's daughters to keep Frances from snatching them up, to save them from becoming bric-a-brac and bedposts." Thumbs up.
Haunting Rachel by Kay Hooper
I won't waste much time on this one. I was moderately taken in by the title, but I could tell by the typeface on the cover that it wasn't going to deliver (you know what I'm talkin' about). It's about some woman whose fiance died mysteriously, and now 15 years later his dead ringer is back in her life and she can't figure out who he is or if he's good or evil. Kay Hooper is billed on the cover as a "master storyteller" and the book as a thriller. Neither was true. It was more like a Lifetime movie in book form and wasn't thrilling at all. Also, as my girls would say, it was kind of trashy. Thumbs down.
Margaret's Peace by Linda Hunt
This is another book where the heroine's 5-year-old daughter has just died of meningitis. How odd, and now I'm paranoid and keep checking my own daughters for signs of it. She returns to her old family home in Maine for a rest, but she gets caught up in finding out what really happened to her sister. Twenty-five years earlier, she pitched off the widow's walk of their house and died. Was it an accident? Suicide? Murder? I could pretty much easily figure out what had happened and why, but the book still held my interest well enough though the characterization was a little cardboard cutout. Thumbs sideways.
So, there you go. I'm ready for another library trip today...we'll see what I come up with next week.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Sometimes I Catch a Glimpse, Part I
When I was little, I used to sit for hours in the dark in front of our Christmas tree. I would keep my eyes open, looking at the lights, then slowly shut them until they were almost closed but not quite--so all I could see was the blur of bright light, and I thought I could almost see that sky in Bethlehem all lit up from the multitude of the heavenly host (I loved that King James language too..."heavenly host" sounded so awe-inspiring and other-worldly.)
A couple of weeks before this Christmas, I went in one night to check on the girls while they were sleeping. Lucy was still awake though, and she whispered, "Will you rock me, Mom?" So we got in the glider rocker together--where I've rocked her ever since we brought her home from the hospital--and we talked together. It had snowed that day, and she told me, "I love winter so much! I love winter a lot more than summer."
"Oh, Lucy," I said playfully, "We can't be related if you like winter more than summer. Yuck! Summer is way better. You can go on picnics in the summer!"
Then she said softly, "I love picnics. I love when Manga took care of us, and she would make our lunch and put down a blanket in the backyard so we could have a picnic together." Then she began to cry. "I don't want Manga to die, Mama!"
It had been a long, tiring day of shouldering the adult world for me and, while I let her child-like pain soak into me, I began to cry too. "I know," I told her. "I don't want her to die either. My heart can't bear it. I'm going to miss her so much. I can't figure out how to have a life without her."
Lucy said through her tears, "I'm going to miss everything about her. She takes such tender loving care of me. She is the right grandma for me. I just can't let go of her!"
I held her close and told her I understood. Then I said, "Lucy, there's an awesome verse in the Bible. It says that one day Jesus is going to come back for us. We're going to hear a great shout, and we'll know it's Him because we know His voice already. And there will be a trumpet too. And when all the people have died hear Jesus calling and any of us who are still alive hear Him calling, we'll be caught up into the air TOGETHER. Just think of it! When we hear that shout, we'll all be gathered together again, and you'll see Manga right away!"
She still cried and said, "I hope she doesn't look young though so I don't recognize her. I want her to still have her same curly hair and her cute glasses. And will she know it's me?"
"Of course she will," I reassured her. "She'll say, 'Lucy LuLu! I've been waiting for you!' and you'll never be separated again. This time, we'll be together always and forever. Jesus promised us. And He always keeps His promises."
We rocked for awhile longer, and she quieted down and went back to bed.
We moved through the holiday season and then back to school. In January is the school-wide speech meet. Each child from 1st through 8th grade has to memorize (according to grade-appropriateness) a poem, a fable, or a Scripture passage. Lucy was adamant that she wanted to memorize some Bible verses, so we have been working diligently together on that.
On January 13, I was working around in the kitchen after school, and Lucy was puttering around by me. All of a sudden she said, "We learned about Nicodemus at school today. He talked to Jesus and he found out that he had to be born twice, not just once. And I know I love Jesus and want Him to be in my heart, but I don't think I've ever asked Him to, have I? Can I talk to you about it, Mom?"
I dropped everything I was doing and drew her onto my lap. I asked her if she understood what that meant. She did, but I explained it to her again. I told her that Daddy and I have already observed how much she loves Jesus and wants to live for Him, but that this was an important decision because it meant going to God directly and telling Him that.
We prayed together, first me, then her. She thanked Jesus for coming to Earth and dying on the cross for her sins. She thanked Him for rising from the dead. And she told Him how she wanted to live for Him while she's here and would He please take her to heaven when it's time. When we were done I said, "Did you know that the Bible says that right now, all the angels are up in heaven, having a big party just for YOU?" Her eyes widened with delight. "You know what else? Your name: LUCY, is written down in God's Book of Life. No one can ever erase it, and no one can ever take you out of Jesus' hand."
I told her the story of Maria Chapman and played her this song (I hope you can hear the whole thing--if not, the lyrics are here).
Today was a holiday from school so I took both the girls to see my mom. Her condition is rapidly deteriorating now, and Lucy hasn't seen her since New Year's Day. Before we left, she had a special picture she wanted to draw for her Manga. She did her best work, and I bought her a frame to put it in.
When we got there, they had a private conversation together. Lucy told my mom that she had asked Jesus into her heart last week, and she gave her the picture she had drawn: of clouds; of God and Jesus on thrones; on streets of gold; and of a curly-haired lady labeled "You" and a little girl labeled "Me." Then she recited her verses that she's memorized for the speech meet:
Colossians 3: 1-4 "Since then you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above--where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also shall appear with Him in glory."
I've always found it challenging to keep walking by faith. I want the sight so bad, and I want it now. I want to be able to tell a grieving little girl that I know heaven is real because I've seen it with my own eyes, but I can't. I can only tell her what I believe.
Fortunately, she believes too.
And as I sit here in the dark, squinting my eyes at the images, I can get a little glimpse of glory.
A couple of weeks before this Christmas, I went in one night to check on the girls while they were sleeping. Lucy was still awake though, and she whispered, "Will you rock me, Mom?" So we got in the glider rocker together--where I've rocked her ever since we brought her home from the hospital--and we talked together. It had snowed that day, and she told me, "I love winter so much! I love winter a lot more than summer."
"Oh, Lucy," I said playfully, "We can't be related if you like winter more than summer. Yuck! Summer is way better. You can go on picnics in the summer!"
Then she said softly, "I love picnics. I love when Manga took care of us, and she would make our lunch and put down a blanket in the backyard so we could have a picnic together." Then she began to cry. "I don't want Manga to die, Mama!"
It had been a long, tiring day of shouldering the adult world for me and, while I let her child-like pain soak into me, I began to cry too. "I know," I told her. "I don't want her to die either. My heart can't bear it. I'm going to miss her so much. I can't figure out how to have a life without her."
Lucy said through her tears, "I'm going to miss everything about her. She takes such tender loving care of me. She is the right grandma for me. I just can't let go of her!"
I held her close and told her I understood. Then I said, "Lucy, there's an awesome verse in the Bible. It says that one day Jesus is going to come back for us. We're going to hear a great shout, and we'll know it's Him because we know His voice already. And there will be a trumpet too. And when all the people have died hear Jesus calling and any of us who are still alive hear Him calling, we'll be caught up into the air TOGETHER. Just think of it! When we hear that shout, we'll all be gathered together again, and you'll see Manga right away!"
She still cried and said, "I hope she doesn't look young though so I don't recognize her. I want her to still have her same curly hair and her cute glasses. And will she know it's me?"
"Of course she will," I reassured her. "She'll say, 'Lucy LuLu! I've been waiting for you!' and you'll never be separated again. This time, we'll be together always and forever. Jesus promised us. And He always keeps His promises."
We rocked for awhile longer, and she quieted down and went back to bed.
We moved through the holiday season and then back to school. In January is the school-wide speech meet. Each child from 1st through 8th grade has to memorize (according to grade-appropriateness) a poem, a fable, or a Scripture passage. Lucy was adamant that she wanted to memorize some Bible verses, so we have been working diligently together on that.
On January 13, I was working around in the kitchen after school, and Lucy was puttering around by me. All of a sudden she said, "We learned about Nicodemus at school today. He talked to Jesus and he found out that he had to be born twice, not just once. And I know I love Jesus and want Him to be in my heart, but I don't think I've ever asked Him to, have I? Can I talk to you about it, Mom?"
I dropped everything I was doing and drew her onto my lap. I asked her if she understood what that meant. She did, but I explained it to her again. I told her that Daddy and I have already observed how much she loves Jesus and wants to live for Him, but that this was an important decision because it meant going to God directly and telling Him that.
We prayed together, first me, then her. She thanked Jesus for coming to Earth and dying on the cross for her sins. She thanked Him for rising from the dead. And she told Him how she wanted to live for Him while she's here and would He please take her to heaven when it's time. When we were done I said, "Did you know that the Bible says that right now, all the angels are up in heaven, having a big party just for YOU?" Her eyes widened with delight. "You know what else? Your name: LUCY, is written down in God's Book of Life. No one can ever erase it, and no one can ever take you out of Jesus' hand."
I told her the story of Maria Chapman and played her this song (I hope you can hear the whole thing--if not, the lyrics are here).
Today was a holiday from school so I took both the girls to see my mom. Her condition is rapidly deteriorating now, and Lucy hasn't seen her since New Year's Day. Before we left, she had a special picture she wanted to draw for her Manga. She did her best work, and I bought her a frame to put it in.
When we got there, they had a private conversation together. Lucy told my mom that she had asked Jesus into her heart last week, and she gave her the picture she had drawn: of clouds; of God and Jesus on thrones; on streets of gold; and of a curly-haired lady labeled "You" and a little girl labeled "Me." Then she recited her verses that she's memorized for the speech meet:
Colossians 3: 1-4 "Since then you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above--where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also shall appear with Him in glory."
I've always found it challenging to keep walking by faith. I want the sight so bad, and I want it now. I want to be able to tell a grieving little girl that I know heaven is real because I've seen it with my own eyes, but I can't. I can only tell her what I believe.
Fortunately, she believes too.
And as I sit here in the dark, squinting my eyes at the images, I can get a little glimpse of glory.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Awaiting Help
Of course we all want to help those in Haiti, but maybe we're unsure how.
Compassion International is an organization we have partnered with for many years. We have written letters back and forth between the little girl we sponsor in Ecuador (who is now a big girl, actually) and her parents. The money we have donated has gone directly to her--her physical and spiritual needs, her education.
Compassion is reputable, and the money goes where they say it's going. They have a list on their website of needs and dollar amounts in Haiti if you are looking for a place to donate. You can access it here.
Compassion International is an organization we have partnered with for many years. We have written letters back and forth between the little girl we sponsor in Ecuador (who is now a big girl, actually) and her parents. The money we have donated has gone directly to her--her physical and spiritual needs, her education.
Compassion is reputable, and the money goes where they say it's going. They have a list on their website of needs and dollar amounts in Haiti if you are looking for a place to donate. You can access it here.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Flowers from a Book
I got some really great gifts this year, but by far the best was from my friend Alysa. She is creative and artistic and incredibly gifted. A week or two before Christmas, we bundled up our littlest children and met mid-way between our houses. She gave me two scrapbooks, one each for Lucy and Elaine, that she had made from the pictures Julie Kittredge took earlier this fall. She had asked me earlier for some verses for each girl, which she put in the books, but she found perfect quotes of her own as well and also wrote them a letter.
Here is what she wrote:
Dear Lucy and Elaine,
Your Manga is one of the most beautiful women I know. She is courageous and strong and gentle and kind. She is selfless and grace-filled. She is the Hands and Feet of Jesus. She loves her Lord Jesus more than life itself. And she loves you deeply, sweet little ones. I am confident that you will carry on, in both your Manga and your mother's footsteps, as a daughter of the King, living solely to please Him.
This quote, from Manga's favorite book besides the Bible sums up who she is:
"Suppose, then, you content yourself for the present with doing in a faithful, quiet, persistent way all the little, homely tasks that return with each returning day, each one as unto God, and perhaps by and by you will thus have gained strength for a more heroic life."
--Stepping Heavenward, by Elizabeth Prentiss
Your Manga has lived a heroic life, and I will always remind you of that. While her life here on earth is coming to a close, a large part of who you are is because of who she is. Her legacy will live on in you, sweet Lucy and Elaine.
If you ever want to know stories about your Manga and your mommy, you just let me know and I'll tell you all sorts of wonderful ways in which they have deeply touched my life.
I love you, sweet Lucy and Elaine.
Love, Auntie Alysa
Here are some of the pages she did--I didn't include all of them, just some so you can get a sampling. The caption for this page reads "Grandmas hold our tiny hands for just a little while, but our hearts forever":
This one has 3 John 1:4 "I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth."
This one has a quote from Stepping Heavenward that I absolutely love: "Mothers occasionally know more than their daughters do."
This one has the caption: "My mother had a slender, small body, but a large heart--a heart so large that everybody's joys found welcome in it, and hospitable accommodation"--Mark Twain.
This one has one of Lucy's verses; her middle name is "Nan," which means "grace": "Now I commit you to God and to the word of his grace, which can build you up and give you an inheritance among all those who are sanctified." Acts 20:32
Elaine's middle name is "Frances," which means "freedom." Her verse is: "It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery." Galatians 5:1
In each book, Alysa left a blank piece of stationery on which my mom could write a letter.
Here is her letter to Elaine:
Dear Little Sweet Pea (my mom's special name for her):
Wasn't that fun--the day we walked in the Japanese Gardens, enjoying the last of a lovely summer?
It was October, remember? You and Lucy were wearing your new crocheted hats and your ponchos, and looked just like you walked out of a picture book! Oh, what a happy time I had with Mom, Dad, you girls, and God's beautiful world all around us.
Walk close to Jesus, my Precious. He makes every day beautiful.
All My Love,
Manga
Here is her letter to Lucy:
Dearest Sugar Plum:
I've never been in a lovelier garden, have you? I will always remember this day and your happy excitement in showing me your favorite spots. We found the frog and the turtle, and I watched you and Elaine feed the fish. How blessed you are to have this little spot of Heaven so near your home.
It reminds me of the Garden of Eden, where God walked with Adam and Eve. God's Word is like a garden with treasures hidden all through it.
Always love Jesus and walk and talk with Him every day. That is the Road to Heaven, Lovey. Keep on it always.
With all the love in I have,
Manga
At the end of each book is our family verse: "Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, 'This is the way: walk in it.'" Isaiah 30:21
I don't have words for how much these books mean to me. My girls already love looking at them, but I know they will be treasures of the heart as they get older. Their clear memories of my mom will fade with time, but they will have these tangible evidences of love and family to hold onto.
I know I still have the crumbling piece of Moody Bible Institute stationery that my grandma wrote her last note to me on, while she was in the hospital, dying of cancer:
(1973)
My darling Alice:
I'm here in bed, looking at those pretty flowers you sent me. They make me very happy. Thank you so much.
I miss seeing you so much. Maybe pretty soon I'll be out of here and you can come to see me. Don't ever forget that Grandpa and I love you so very much.
Do you know what I've been doing today while here? I've prayed especially for you and Chuck. You're growing up so fast. We hope you'll always love the Lord Jesus and do what He wants you to do and be a real worker for Him. Even now you can show other children that you love the Lord Jesus.
You'll never forget that we love you, will you? Very, very much love to you.
Grandma
As a quote from John Steinbeck says, "How will our children know who they are if they don't know where they come from?"
Alysa, I'll never be able to thank you enough for these books--not only chronicling this time, but doing it with such breathtaking beauty. Thank you for helping to give my girls their legacy.
Here is what she wrote:
Dear Lucy and Elaine,
Your Manga is one of the most beautiful women I know. She is courageous and strong and gentle and kind. She is selfless and grace-filled. She is the Hands and Feet of Jesus. She loves her Lord Jesus more than life itself. And she loves you deeply, sweet little ones. I am confident that you will carry on, in both your Manga and your mother's footsteps, as a daughter of the King, living solely to please Him.
This quote, from Manga's favorite book besides the Bible sums up who she is:
"Suppose, then, you content yourself for the present with doing in a faithful, quiet, persistent way all the little, homely tasks that return with each returning day, each one as unto God, and perhaps by and by you will thus have gained strength for a more heroic life."
--Stepping Heavenward, by Elizabeth Prentiss
Your Manga has lived a heroic life, and I will always remind you of that. While her life here on earth is coming to a close, a large part of who you are is because of who she is. Her legacy will live on in you, sweet Lucy and Elaine.
If you ever want to know stories about your Manga and your mommy, you just let me know and I'll tell you all sorts of wonderful ways in which they have deeply touched my life.
I love you, sweet Lucy and Elaine.
Love, Auntie Alysa
Here are some of the pages she did--I didn't include all of them, just some so you can get a sampling. The caption for this page reads "Grandmas hold our tiny hands for just a little while, but our hearts forever":
This one has 3 John 1:4 "I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth."
This one has a quote from Stepping Heavenward that I absolutely love: "Mothers occasionally know more than their daughters do."
This one has the caption: "My mother had a slender, small body, but a large heart--a heart so large that everybody's joys found welcome in it, and hospitable accommodation"--Mark Twain.
This one has one of Lucy's verses; her middle name is "Nan," which means "grace": "Now I commit you to God and to the word of his grace, which can build you up and give you an inheritance among all those who are sanctified." Acts 20:32
Elaine's middle name is "Frances," which means "freedom." Her verse is: "It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery." Galatians 5:1
In each book, Alysa left a blank piece of stationery on which my mom could write a letter.
Here is her letter to Elaine:
Dear Little Sweet Pea (my mom's special name for her):
Wasn't that fun--the day we walked in the Japanese Gardens, enjoying the last of a lovely summer?
It was October, remember? You and Lucy were wearing your new crocheted hats and your ponchos, and looked just like you walked out of a picture book! Oh, what a happy time I had with Mom, Dad, you girls, and God's beautiful world all around us.
Walk close to Jesus, my Precious. He makes every day beautiful.
All My Love,
Manga
Here is her letter to Lucy:
Dearest Sugar Plum:
I've never been in a lovelier garden, have you? I will always remember this day and your happy excitement in showing me your favorite spots. We found the frog and the turtle, and I watched you and Elaine feed the fish. How blessed you are to have this little spot of Heaven so near your home.
It reminds me of the Garden of Eden, where God walked with Adam and Eve. God's Word is like a garden with treasures hidden all through it.
Always love Jesus and walk and talk with Him every day. That is the Road to Heaven, Lovey. Keep on it always.
With all the love in I have,
Manga
At the end of each book is our family verse: "Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, 'This is the way: walk in it.'" Isaiah 30:21
I don't have words for how much these books mean to me. My girls already love looking at them, but I know they will be treasures of the heart as they get older. Their clear memories of my mom will fade with time, but they will have these tangible evidences of love and family to hold onto.
I know I still have the crumbling piece of Moody Bible Institute stationery that my grandma wrote her last note to me on, while she was in the hospital, dying of cancer:
(1973)
My darling Alice:
I'm here in bed, looking at those pretty flowers you sent me. They make me very happy. Thank you so much.
I miss seeing you so much. Maybe pretty soon I'll be out of here and you can come to see me. Don't ever forget that Grandpa and I love you so very much.
Do you know what I've been doing today while here? I've prayed especially for you and Chuck. You're growing up so fast. We hope you'll always love the Lord Jesus and do what He wants you to do and be a real worker for Him. Even now you can show other children that you love the Lord Jesus.
You'll never forget that we love you, will you? Very, very much love to you.
Grandma
As a quote from John Steinbeck says, "How will our children know who they are if they don't know where they come from?"
Alysa, I'll never be able to thank you enough for these books--not only chronicling this time, but doing it with such breathtaking beauty. Thank you for helping to give my girls their legacy.
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Golden Apples
I had this speech teacher in college who was phenomenal (shout out, Dr. Kragel! not sure where he is now--Cedarville?) Anyway, I was so terrified of public speaking that I took the class at night so I wouldn't run into any of my friends or various boys I had crushes on and humiliate myself in front of them with my terrible speeches, and I ended up taking it with all sorts of cool, older people (older than 18) from around Chicago. It was great. Dr. Kragel would randomly toss in bon mots, great little pieces of advice he called "golden apples." The most important one I still remember: "Focus on the message, not on yourself."
I find that parenting is kind of like that--in between the feeding and clothing and chauffeuring and basic needs fulfillment, you're always trying to slip in a good word to your children--so that they'll know what's important in life. You figure they're probably not listening, but you do it anyway.
Then comes the sweet, sweet pay-off day when you realize they actually have been absorbing some of what you tell them.
Here is Elaine's example. She got a dollar one day in the Advent calendar, and I told her, "We can go to the dollar spot at Target and you can get something with that. You could pick yourself out a treat." She answered, "I would NOT get a treat with this dollar. I will buy lipstick."
Joy flooded my soul. Lipstick, more important than candy! (Of course I don't let her wear lipstick. She means chapstick. But the seed is there, people, the seed is there.)
And here is Lucy's example. Apropos of nothing, she made this announcement from the backseat.
"Mom, if it doesn't work out that I marry Daniel, then I'm going to marry Andrew. Because he loves God, and I love God. He's funny, and you know I'm funny," (she added unnecessarily). "And don't worry, Mom, we're both going to get jobs, and we'll work very hard together."
Hold onto that thought, little girl (for at least 20 years).
Maybe they haven't been listening all the times I've said, "Ladies don't eat like pigs at the trough," or "Flies and bees! Flies and bees!" (which is what I yell whenever they leave the patio door open, approximately 852 times a day). But the "don't-go-out-without-your-lipstick" and the "loves-God-and-has-a-job are requirements for a life partner" lectures stuck.
So, keep dropping those golden apples...they really do pick some of them up.
I find that parenting is kind of like that--in between the feeding and clothing and chauffeuring and basic needs fulfillment, you're always trying to slip in a good word to your children--so that they'll know what's important in life. You figure they're probably not listening, but you do it anyway.
Then comes the sweet, sweet pay-off day when you realize they actually have been absorbing some of what you tell them.
Here is Elaine's example. She got a dollar one day in the Advent calendar, and I told her, "We can go to the dollar spot at Target and you can get something with that. You could pick yourself out a treat." She answered, "I would NOT get a treat with this dollar. I will buy lipstick."
Joy flooded my soul. Lipstick, more important than candy! (Of course I don't let her wear lipstick. She means chapstick. But the seed is there, people, the seed is there.)
And here is Lucy's example. Apropos of nothing, she made this announcement from the backseat.
"Mom, if it doesn't work out that I marry Daniel, then I'm going to marry Andrew. Because he loves God, and I love God. He's funny, and you know I'm funny," (she added unnecessarily). "And don't worry, Mom, we're both going to get jobs, and we'll work very hard together."
Hold onto that thought, little girl (for at least 20 years).
Maybe they haven't been listening all the times I've said, "Ladies don't eat like pigs at the trough," or "Flies and bees! Flies and bees!" (which is what I yell whenever they leave the patio door open, approximately 852 times a day). But the "don't-go-out-without-your-lipstick" and the "loves-God-and-has-a-job are requirements for a life partner" lectures stuck.
So, keep dropping those golden apples...they really do pick some of them up.
Monday, January 04, 2010
This is what can be done when you stay off the Internet
One of my goals for this year is to stop wasting so much time online. I check my email (both of them), read the paper, read my blog list, then check facebook, then read some other blogs, then look at amazon.com, then read some theological blogs--where most of the people who comment (men) are rude, and arrogant, and argumentative and keep fighting about who signed or didn't sign the Manhattan Declaration (which I kept calling the Manhattan Project for the longest, until my cousin reminded me that was that World War II nuclear deal), and that's depressing for me and by then it's 10:30 a.m., and I've just frittered away a bunch of time and have nothing to show for it. It's a terrible habit. No more. I'm limiting my time as of today.
Instead, I got up and took Lucy to school. Then I came back and did some laundry. Visible accomplishment of a task I usually procrastinate. Then I got out Elaine's new game and played with her. That was so worth it right there because as we were putting it together, she was all excited and said, "I just can't wait to play this with you, Mama!" What have I been missing all this time?
Instead, I got up and took Lucy to school. Then I came back and did some laundry. Visible accomplishment of a task I usually procrastinate. Then I got out Elaine's new game and played with her. That was so worth it right there because as we were putting it together, she was all excited and said, "I just can't wait to play this with you, Mama!" What have I been missing all this time?
We had a blast, playing together. Then she and I bundled up and went to the grocery store and to Borders. I needed to buy a new journal and a new calendar. Here's a little tip: always buy those things a couple days into January. They're 50% off. Look, just LOOK at my new calendar:
Is that not the coolest thing you've ever seen? Every week is a different piece of cover art from a Nancy Drew book, like this:
...and they even have my favorite one:
Then I decided to try something I've never, ever done before. Yesterday I had seen a recipe (on the Internet, natch) for bread that takes five minutes to make and you don't have to knead it. Now, my mom always made bread, every single week--multiple loaves--that she mixed and kneaded and baked, and our house always smelled fantastic. The whole prospect was really daunting to me, so I always just buy multi-grain bread enriched with extra fiber and feel very virtuous doing so. But I also buy this delicious rosemary-olive oil bread, which costs way too much, and I'm lookin' at this recipe and thinking I could try it.
I was still daunted because it's on Catherine Newman's site, called Dalai Mama Dishes, and she just seems fearless and like the kind of person who grows her own produce and mills her own wheat flour or whatever and I am like the kind of person who so does not do those things. But she promised that it was ultra-easy, plus she has nice, funny instructions, such as " The dough's texture may seem all wrong: too loose, too shaggy, too sticky. This is fine." or " Turn the dough in your hands to stretch its surface, pulling it under to create a taut, rounded top and a gathered-up bottom (imagine that you're giving the dough a firming face lift and tucking all that baggy, extra skin underneath)."
Now her recipe is for some sort of ultra-grain artisan-type bread, but I thought that not only could I try this amazing feat I had never done before, but also I could mix it up a little and add ingredients not called for because if my life's motto is not "Break All Rules with Abandon," it's nothing. (Actually, my life's motto is "Always Have a Back-Up Plan," which in this case is the grocery store where I could buy the bread if I failed.)
I got Elaine to help me, and we used white flour and added olive oil and chopped rosemary instead of using all the fancy flours and stone-ground stuff and flaxseed that Catherine Newman does. She seems really cool-hippy and groovy while you know, I'm more, well, 80s. Evidenced by the fact that we played Erasure's Top 20 Hits, and Elaine danced around to "A Little Respect" and yelled, "I'm a good cooker, aren't I, Mom?"
OK, here's the mixed dough that we've set to rest for 2 hours (after the 5 minutes of putting it together, which really took longer than 5 minutes but that's because I'm brand new at this and also had a 4-year-old assisting).
Hey, look! Here it is, 2 hours later, all risen up! I couldn't believe it! It worked! I guess it's that yeast stuff I sprinkled in.
Then I cut off a third of the dough (all of it makes three loaves) and shaped it. Here it is, shaped:
Then you're supposed to hide it under a tea towel for 40 minutes so it can rest some more.
Then I forgot to take to take a picture of the loaf all ready in its pan, which is disappointing seeing as I was supposed to take you through this whole odyssey, including a dumb shot of bread under a tea towel. But, oh well. Then I baked it, and it was wonderful, just like my house when I was growing up, and that brought the happiness that only the smell of fresh-baked bread can bring.
Here is my very first loaf of homemade bread from scratch:
A side view, with my helper, coloring in the background. Is that a beautiful loaf of bread or what?
Here it is, sliced and ready to go with some olive oil and grated parmesan:
I served it for supper with this (which I also made today. You can get a LOT done when you're not on your computer.)
When I served dinner, I asked the girls shamelessly, "Is this bread the absolute best thing you have ever put in your mouth?"
"Yes," said Lucy. "It's almost just like the store kind."
"The crust is yucky," Elaine added.
I never liked her much.
For dessert, I served these. This picture does not do the color justice. They're actually made with strawberry marshmallows, so they're hot pink. I can't really tell the difference from regular ones, other than that they're a little sweeter. And you know what you really need from Rice Krispie treats is that they be a little sweeter.
Anyway, they're pink, and as you ought to know by now from this blog, you never have to pray about pink.
After that, my girls nominated me for Mother of the Year for my amazing cooking skills (despite Elaine's opinion of bread crust), and it is only January FOUR, people.
Don't worry, other mothers. There's still plenty of time for me to screw it up. I'm sure I'll manage that by tomorrow.
Oh, and if you want the recipe, here it is. Try it, and tell me if you follow the recipe or do your own thing.
Saturday, January 02, 2010
Things That Are Not
I love new beginnings and fresh starts. My favorite time is spring, when everything is new. I also love when the new school year begins. And even though I hate winter, I love turning the (new) calendar page to January--when I can tear down all the decorations, pitch the tree to the curb, throw out the stale cookies, put the new clothes we got for Christmas in the closet, and start afresh. See? I love to change my blog background, and I got a little thrill putting up a new quote and starting a brand new booklist for 2010.
I'm not sad to say goodbye to 2009. That was one rough year, and not just for me. I have friends who miscarried, whose marriages broke up, who lost loved ones to suicide, who lost loved ones to heart attacks and cancer. There's always a little part of me (the control part) that would like to know the future. Mostly though, I'm glad I don't. Like Jesus said, I've got enough worry just for today.
I've got a dear friend who starts the new year with a word: something that she holds in her heart and sets her goals by--maybe "self-control," or "joy" or "follow through." I think that's such a great idea: having a fresh start, a blank page, a word to center around and work toward.
I have to say, I honestly can't think of one for me this year. I've been dreading 2010. I can catch a glimpse into this future, and I know that death is crouching at the door of our family. Our world is going to change. There's going to be one empty space at the table, and you know what? There could be more. I just don't know. None of us could have predicted the bad things that happened in 2009.
Oh, I've got some words for 2010: "dread" "sleepless" "hopeless," but I'm not wanting to center my life around those.
I figure I need a verse, something for me to hang onto, to memorize--that will carry me through both what I sort of know and what I don't know is coming up ahead for me. Can I tell everyone on the Internet a little secret while I'm at it? I've got some Psalms memorized that I love: the 23rd of course, Psalm 91, Psalm 121, Psalm 4:8. But whenever I just open up the book, desperate for some comfort--I can't ever find just what I'm looking for. I know! Nobody else is like that. I always seem to find the really happy, praise ones or the ones about smiting enemies or something, I don't know. Maybe I need to take a Psalms class (again).
Then I found this verse in Romans: (Rom. 4:17) "As it is written: 'I have made you a father of many nations.' He is our father in the sight of God, in whom he believed—the God who gives life to the dead and calls things that are not as though they were."
The first part is talking about Abraham; it's the second part that really got to me "the God who gives life to the dead and calls things that are not as though they were."
So, all the things that I can see around me that not, God calls them as though they were. I say "hopeless," and God says, "hope for the future." I say, "perplexed," He says, "not in despair." I say, "lonely;" He says, "never abandoned." I say, "by sight;" He says, "by faith." I say, "broken;" He says, "redeemable." I say, "bedridden;" He says, "dancing with joy." I say, "dead, death, dying," and He says, "Resurrection!"
I don't have super high hopes for 2010. I love being with my family and doing work I enjoy. That's huge, and it's a comfort for me. Jesus promises that He'll never leave or forsake me and that He stays the same--yesterday, today, and forever. I've got more than I need and far more than I deserve in that alone. And I've got a God who gives life to the dead and call things that are not as though they were.
It's beyond what I could ask or think. I'm looking forward to seeing what He will do in 2010!
I'm not sad to say goodbye to 2009. That was one rough year, and not just for me. I have friends who miscarried, whose marriages broke up, who lost loved ones to suicide, who lost loved ones to heart attacks and cancer. There's always a little part of me (the control part) that would like to know the future. Mostly though, I'm glad I don't. Like Jesus said, I've got enough worry just for today.
I've got a dear friend who starts the new year with a word: something that she holds in her heart and sets her goals by--maybe "self-control," or "joy" or "follow through." I think that's such a great idea: having a fresh start, a blank page, a word to center around and work toward.
I have to say, I honestly can't think of one for me this year. I've been dreading 2010. I can catch a glimpse into this future, and I know that death is crouching at the door of our family. Our world is going to change. There's going to be one empty space at the table, and you know what? There could be more. I just don't know. None of us could have predicted the bad things that happened in 2009.
Oh, I've got some words for 2010: "dread" "sleepless" "hopeless," but I'm not wanting to center my life around those.
I figure I need a verse, something for me to hang onto, to memorize--that will carry me through both what I sort of know and what I don't know is coming up ahead for me. Can I tell everyone on the Internet a little secret while I'm at it? I've got some Psalms memorized that I love: the 23rd of course, Psalm 91, Psalm 121, Psalm 4:8. But whenever I just open up the book, desperate for some comfort--I can't ever find just what I'm looking for. I know! Nobody else is like that. I always seem to find the really happy, praise ones or the ones about smiting enemies or something, I don't know. Maybe I need to take a Psalms class (again).
Then I found this verse in Romans: (Rom. 4:17) "As it is written: 'I have made you a father of many nations.' He is our father in the sight of God, in whom he believed—the God who gives life to the dead and calls things that are not as though they were."
The first part is talking about Abraham; it's the second part that really got to me "the God who gives life to the dead and calls things that are not as though they were."
So, all the things that I can see around me that not, God calls them as though they were. I say "hopeless," and God says, "hope for the future." I say, "perplexed," He says, "not in despair." I say, "lonely;" He says, "never abandoned." I say, "by sight;" He says, "by faith." I say, "broken;" He says, "redeemable." I say, "bedridden;" He says, "dancing with joy." I say, "dead, death, dying," and He says, "Resurrection!"
I don't have super high hopes for 2010. I love being with my family and doing work I enjoy. That's huge, and it's a comfort for me. Jesus promises that He'll never leave or forsake me and that He stays the same--yesterday, today, and forever. I've got more than I need and far more than I deserve in that alone. And I've got a God who gives life to the dead and call things that are not as though they were.
It's beyond what I could ask or think. I'm looking forward to seeing what He will do in 2010!
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