blog: stuff white people like

My sister Libby just told me about this blog, featured here. So objectionable and silly, it makes me laugh out loud.

Wednesday morning

Lilacs, flowering quince and (stolen, from a friendly source) forsythia on their way to some kind of bloom.
Henry wanted flour for play this morning. We had this handy plexiglass sheet hanging around, so we poured it out on there. Thanks, Joel, for keeping that stuff (and other similar things) around. Thank you, dear New Creation Preschool director, for modeling the freedom to play.
Ick. This butter doesn't look very appetizing to me, but Henry and Joel liked it well enough. I made it very salty. But look how white it is? Oh well. We'll use it, and I'm so glad we have this delicious milk from Yoder, and it was fun to attempt making butter. I am so thankful to my colleague Nancy for leading Bible Study on Wednesday mornings so I can be home doing this. Nancy, thank you!

local milk, anyone?

Occasionally friends have spoken with me about a desire for locally produced milk, or shared about how they have enjoyed such milk. Thanks to one of my dear sisters, I now have the opportunity to sign up for some. My order's been made, and the delivery's comin' tomorrow. I write to ask if any of you would be interested in some good holstein milk, coming from cows near Yoder. If you are, please let me know, and I will be glad to pass the word along and visit with you about how you might get hooked up to the milk delivery route Becky helped me get in on. I know it's possible for such groups to get so large that the pick-up becomes too big for one delivery person to manage. So maybe smaller groups would need to be formed. But, if you're interested, I'm willing to find out more.

midnight encouragement

Oh, I have to share just one more thing before I go to sleep. I do so enjoy gentle William Stafford. His poem, "Ask Me," has reassured me through the years. I wish I would listen more and talk less. But I have so much to say. Maybe that is the work of my mid-life years. Learning to listen more and talk less.

A treasure from homeschooling land

Our friends Leeala, Fallon and Story Blithe came to visit this evening. (We missed you, Doug, if you're reading this). I have learned much from Leeala and Doug and admire the way they're parenting and homeschooling their two daughters. A visit with Leeala is a treat because she is so generous with me, always bringing new books and ideas my way. Tonight she brought us Peter in Blueberry Land, a new book for Henry. I love the mice pulling the berry wagon on the cover of this classic (not to me, but I guess to many people) book by Elsa Beskow.

How do I put this? When Leeala gives me these things I feel like I'm communing with another world, one that I would like to enter (namely, homeschooling), but feel somewhat barred from. I suppose it is mostly an inner barrier I am facing. As I (along with Joel) deliberate about how to do this, I'm having a hard time letting go of the worry that all this time spent with Joel and me (mostly me) might expose me to be a nagging, worrying, clingy mother who won't let her son cut loose and grow. Oh, and that opens up a whole 'nother ball of worries. Am I keeping him from learning to be polite and obedient like "other children"? Am I / are we allowing him to dabble too much, keeping him from developing the gifts of self-discipline and self-restraint? Will I mess him up by keeping him, an only child, from playing with others for so much of the day?

By no means do I think any of these questions merit an automatic and unequivocal, "yes." But this is the stuff I'm wrestling with. That and the fact Henry has told us he'd like to go to public school with his friends. We value his opinion, but I can see that there could be a great gift for him in learning at home while maintaining a host of "outside" relationships--with neighborhood friends, family, other homeschoolers in Wichita and Newton, and mentors who are older than he.

I pray for wisdom in all of this. I am planning to request a conversation with the principal (or someone) from our elementary school. I'm pretty clear that I, personally, would like to give homeschooling a try. And I think I speak pretty accurately when I say that Joel is open to giving it a try. But what if Henry just isn't "into" it. I think the idea of giving homeschooling a dry run has some merits, but that's kind of hard to do (a) before you're officially of kindergarten age and already in a marvelous preschool program or (b) when all other kids are enjoying summer break. Giving it a test drive this fall could, I believe, provide us with some real momentum. But I'm afraid. Afraid of Henry (possibly) resisting it every step of the way, or resenting us/me for asking him to do this instead of going to "real school." I guess it all just leaves me in a position of wanting and needing to pray about it and let it continue to unfold.

I know life will be worth living either way, or in some hybridized form of the two (that last option being--I think--fairly typical of the way our family tends to live and move in the world). That gives me peace. All shall be well, any which way... ultimately.

I just wanna be warm

Friday mornings are sacred for me at the moment. I have three and a half hours to myself--something I haven't had regularly in five years. I have been using some of my Friday morning time to go for a walk, and I've been walking three or four times a week, a practice I'd like to crank up to a daily thing when the weather warms up. I would go this morning, but I am tired of being cold, tired of putting on layers. I want to stay inside, clean my kitchen, get ready to have friends over this evening, and be warm. It is cold and gray outside, but I want to remember that this won't last forever. Maybe a walk outside would be just the thing I need... Yesterday I walked through the Dyck Arboretum of the Plains, enjoyed the frosty weather and felt gratitude for the little dog footprints along the trail and all the benches along the way that are dedicated to the memory of people living and dead, many of whom I have (had) the privilege of knowing personally. I am so thankful for the Dycks, who had the vision to create this place; for Julie Irish Torseth, who directs the Arboretum, for Brad Guhr and others who work there to make it such a wonderful place.

lamps and potions

On Saturday I did something I haven't done in a while--prepared a sermon. I used this beautiful resource to help me plan my words about Nicodemus. Joel and Henry worked on their own projects.

Henry busied himself making potions in the kitchen. They tasted a little salty by the time they were finished. All I could manage was a lick. Joel wasn't game to give them a try. Neither was Henry!

Now our bathroom lamps work again. Thanks, Joel, for retro-fitting these ancient fixtures. It took a lot of work and finessing (including making your own set screw) but you did it and, under these gentle lights, the dust on the bathroom floor looks so much nicer.

mousetrap

I didn't get as serious a kick out of this as Joel, but I'd like to share this very pragmatic design of Henry's with you because you might get a kick out of it yourself. The other day Henry wanted hammer and nails to work with. What do you make when you don't yet have a lot of experience joining pieces of wood together with nails, but you do have the will and a way to get the nail through? You make a mouse trap, of course, complete with (moldy) Jason Wiebe Dairy southwest chipotle cheese. This impressed Joel enough to merit getting out the tripod for our rinky dink camera and taking close-up and distant photos on white background. The trap looks cruel, doesn't it? Happily, I can say that we do not presently seem to have a mouse problem. But it is nice to know I won't have to rely on those more humane instant-killer models alone should another mouse seek refuge in our home.

my Lenten intention

Ingrid Friesen Moser's words in Simply in Season have stayed with me since I first read them while standing in my parents' driveway. Titled "Imagining modern day dietary laws for right eating," her piece begins, "Food shall be washed, chopped, sauteed, stirred, and baked with a grateful attitude and with tender loving care. ...Whenever possible food shall be eaten in the company of others. When that is not possible, eat in the presence of the holy. Light a candle or place yourself in harmony with God's creation by eating outside, near a window or with a flower or plant."

This year my intention for Lent is to eat at the (or a) table anytime I have something to eat. Sundays, in celebration of the Resurrection, I'll eat anywhere I please, thank you very much (and thank you, Sara, for the suggestion). I've enjoyed keeping this discipline so far. Indirectly, it prompted me to make homemade ketchup from Laurel's Kitchen and to appreciate the beauty of that simple, honest food as I ate it with some homemade chicken nuggets, or "nugs," as my friend Leeala would say. I'm noticing that I keep reaching for that handful of chocolate chips or the sliver of brownie on the sly. I can still eat them, but first I must sit down at the table and be thankful. This intention led me to peel potatoes at the table Saturday afternoon, something I seldom do. Generally I save kitchen work for the kitchen, not the dining table in our living room. But that table (pictured in my 2/8 post) is a Sears Roebuck special circa 1900 that's undoubtedly held lots of peelings . So I sat at the table and placed myself in the beauty of the room that holds it to do some blessed, ordinary work. And then I threw the peelings in the trash, because they weren't organically grown potatoes...ah, the decisions and compromises of life. Which leads me to the last thing I wanted to say today. We bought milk from the Twig Family Dairy (Tecumseh, KS) to drink last week. At $7.00 a gallon, we probably won't be drinking it often, but I couldn't resist a try. It was so beautiful pouring milk out of those glass jugs.

warm memories for cold days

Our camera is serving a higher calling at the moment, so I'm savoring some scenes from last fall and spring.All four sisters gathered for supper--a rare and wonderful event--last fall. Note beet and feta foucacia and red velvet cake adorned with blueberries. Also, fading zinnias.

Because of Jeremy's vision and Joel's parents' generosity, a cabin will be built here on and near land Joel's grandpa gave him and his brothers.
I feel thankful to be part of this family and receive the beauty this land has to offer.
Joel took these pictures of our Memorial Day walkabout at the cabin site.

a favorite squared circle

I just finished listening to the most wonderful interview with an author I've been acquainted with since I shelved his book Prayers for the Domestic Church back in 1995, at Faith and Life Bookstore. I bought the book that same day, and it changed my life. If you would like to hear the interview with Edward Hays, or any of the other podcasts (they all look marvelous to me), go here. The interview "Learning to Pray" made me think of a favorite squared circle of mine. Such as it is, dog-eared and unmounted, it is posted right inside the house on our front door frame. I don't know who created it, but I found it in an ad for a continuing-ed event at a U. S. seminary of some denomination in a 2002 or 2003 issue of The Christian Century.

451

Parking in a forbidden-feeling parking lot, trudging through snow, standing in long, snaking lines, enjoying conversations with long-time acquaintances and new-found peers, meeting my sister to hand over a bierrock, cheese and apples, cleaning my dad's glasses, feeling and smelling the chlorine-studded, energy-charged air of a crowd gathered for a democratic caucus in my town. These are some of my recollections of last night. The profoundest part was hearing people count off. I won't forget saying my number, 451. And there we were, six hundred twenty-five people in a standing-room-only space, voicing our support for Obama. A very memorable evening.

this child

We just finished reading bedtime stories to this child. Actually, Joel read two chapters of Paddington while Henry gazed at my face and challenged my far-sighted eyes. He likes to fall asleep this way, gazing. When I allow it to happen, my heart opens right up to him and I am filled with holy awe. Other times I'm aggravated that he is touching my face, getting tickly hair in my way when I myself am trying to drift off into sleep. I post this photo because it makes me think of happy summer times, and also because it gets at the paradoxes I feel loving this child. I enjoy his individuality, spirit and tenderness and I struggle with knowing how to help him reign it all in a little bit, when necessary. Ah, I could say more, but I've already revised this post twice. Henry did love this summer day.

If Candlemas be fair and bright

...winter has another flight. If Candlemas brings clouds and rain, winter will not come again. I guess it's going to be a long winter yet. This is my first year for intentionally celebrating Candlemas. I love what I'm learning of it so far, mostly from this site and from this site. Here's a photo of my little Mennonite Mary shrine (the Mary was a gift from my ordination). The bundle of Missouri beeswax candles I'm giving to my youngest sister for her 30th birthday this evening. The Kansas honey is there just for 'cause, and the lit candle (if you can see it) was a Christmas present. The beautiful cloth was homespun in Missouri by an artist who sells her wares at this place. My, my, I seem to be having a lot of fun posting links. Barbara, thank you for sharing your beautiful cloth with me. I give it back to you on your almost-Candlemas thirtieth birthday. I love you!

William Stafford says good night / good morning

I'd like to include original poetry in this blog someday, but I want to post one more thing before I go to sleep, and I have been thinking of poet William Stafford all day. His words are simple and he has a tender heart for the place where we find ourselves now--wherever, whatever that is. Here's a link to the Friends of William Stafford website. Earth Dweller fits the mood I'm in. Maybe you'll find others you like better. Enjoy.

circle squared

Here are three examples of squared circles in my life: my mouse pad, (a gift from my mother) a Pendleton blanket reproduction called "Circle of Life/Elders," a Huguenot cross purchased for me in Belgium by the brother of a dear friend, and a metal cross bought at a Carmelite convent at Dachau. Someday I'll tell its story and the story of the postcard I cropped in the previous post. The words on the cross, Ich bin bei euch, mean I am with you.