ACK!
I taped Everwood on Monday night because I knew I would be too tired to enjoy it. I've become somewhat addicted to the show, I have to admit. It's good, clean entertainment with humor and touching moments in every episode.
We were watching the tape last night only to discover that all but about the last 5 minutes of the episode recorded. Amy was about to open a gift from Efrem that I just know would change everything, then BLAT the tape ran out!! Waah! (Please, don't anyone tell me what happened!) I hadn't completely rewound the tape before popping it into the VCR because some of the winter Olympics were on that tape. Grrr...
Joel reminded me that the WB replays the episodes on Sunday evenings. I'll just have to be in suspense until next week. I definitely have to buy some new blank tapes.
11.27.2002
11.25.2002
Searching for joy
It is becoming a very difficult day. I’m functioning on little sleep because Claire was difficult to get to bed last night and she woke at 4:40 this morning. The first thing greeting me at the office was an e-mail from my mother begging me to come to Florida for Christmas. (It’s a trip we just can’t afford financially, physically or emotionally right now. I know I will have to say no. I hope one of my four siblings will manage to get down there sometime over the holidays.) Later in the morning, my MIL called to say she wants to take Claire to the doctor because her cold seems much worse. She’s very congested, irritable and not eating well.
I had to take a walk at lunchtime to pray and try to find my joy again. I didn’t find vigor, or a free chartered jet to Florida with an on-call family therapist, or a miracle cure for respiratory infections. But I found a dose of what I needed—snapshots of good things, evidence of God’s hand in the world:
The soft slant of autumn sun
Sparrows sharing a bit of bagel
Children charging through crunchy leaves
Hooves clattering on cobblestones as tourist carriages roll down Fifth Street
A neigh and snort and pungent whiff of manure
City schoolchildren jostling in a queue for the Liberty Bell, brown hands clapping, slapping, “See, see my playmate…”
A lone oak stubbornly clinging to its golden-orange foliage
A backhoe scooping dark earth
The majestic arc of a crane sweeping an I-beam into place
A concerned, head-tilted smile from a Christian co-worker who asks, "How are you?" and actually wants to know.
It is becoming a very difficult day. I’m functioning on little sleep because Claire was difficult to get to bed last night and she woke at 4:40 this morning. The first thing greeting me at the office was an e-mail from my mother begging me to come to Florida for Christmas. (It’s a trip we just can’t afford financially, physically or emotionally right now. I know I will have to say no. I hope one of my four siblings will manage to get down there sometime over the holidays.) Later in the morning, my MIL called to say she wants to take Claire to the doctor because her cold seems much worse. She’s very congested, irritable and not eating well.
I had to take a walk at lunchtime to pray and try to find my joy again. I didn’t find vigor, or a free chartered jet to Florida with an on-call family therapist, or a miracle cure for respiratory infections. But I found a dose of what I needed—snapshots of good things, evidence of God’s hand in the world:
The soft slant of autumn sun
Sparrows sharing a bit of bagel
Children charging through crunchy leaves
Hooves clattering on cobblestones as tourist carriages roll down Fifth Street
A neigh and snort and pungent whiff of manure
City schoolchildren jostling in a queue for the Liberty Bell, brown hands clapping, slapping, “See, see my playmate…”
A lone oak stubbornly clinging to its golden-orange foliage
A backhoe scooping dark earth
The majestic arc of a crane sweeping an I-beam into place
A concerned, head-tilted smile from a Christian co-worker who asks, "How are you?" and actually wants to know.
11.22.2002
Just Bree and me
Which of the Chronicles of Narnia are you? I am
The fifth book written, you're the third book chronologically and take place during The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. You tell the story of the humans Shasta and Aravis and the talking horses Bree and Hwin, all trying to escape from unhappy lives in Calormen to go to Narnia.
Find out which Chronicles of Narnia book you are.
Cool. This was a favorite of the series. As an equinophile, I always thought it would be amazing to have a talking horse.
Which of the Chronicles of Narnia are you? I am
The fifth book written, you're the third book chronologically and take place during The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. You tell the story of the humans Shasta and Aravis and the talking horses Bree and Hwin, all trying to escape from unhappy lives in Calormen to go to Narnia.
Find out which Chronicles of Narnia book you are.
Cool. This was a favorite of the series. As an equinophile, I always thought it would be amazing to have a talking horse.
11.21.2002
Noise pollution
Thank goodness the piano tuner is done with all that plunking and sour notes and warping tones. I was jamming Leahy and trying to work, but after two and a half hours, his tuning efforts were really getting on my nerves.
Now we can have friends over to sing carols this holiday. Previously, we tried to hide the piano when company came, it was so out of tune. I inherited it when my parents retired to Florida, but since I don't really play (unless you count my George Winston-esque bouts of free-playing), I never got it tuned. The poor Baldwin has been moved three times without the touch of a professional tuner.
Let the berating fest begin...
Thank goodness the piano tuner is done with all that plunking and sour notes and warping tones. I was jamming Leahy and trying to work, but after two and a half hours, his tuning efforts were really getting on my nerves.
Now we can have friends over to sing carols this holiday. Previously, we tried to hide the piano when company came, it was so out of tune. I inherited it when my parents retired to Florida, but since I don't really play (unless you count my George Winston-esque bouts of free-playing), I never got it tuned. The poor Baldwin has been moved three times without the touch of a professional tuner.
Let the berating fest begin...
| "Sin is incurable by the strength of man, nor does free will have any validity here,
so that even the saints say: 'The evil which I do not wish, this I do.' 'You are not doing the things which you wish.' 'Since my loins are filled with illusions,' etc." |
| You are Martin Luther! Yeah, you have a way of letting everyone know how you feel, usually with Bible quotes attached, and will think your way through the issues, although sometimes you make no sense! You aren't always sure of yourself, and you can change your mind about things, something you actually consider a strength. You can take solitude, especially with some music. |
What theologian are you?
A creation of Henderson
My brother Jerry would be so proud! (He's an ELCA pastor.)
11.20.2002
A housesitting tale
In August about five years ago, I agreed to housesit for my friend Delia, who at the time lived alone with two cats in a cute little Cape Cod in southern New Jersey. In exchange for keeping the cats fed and entertained, I got a house to myself for a week and a shorter commute to work (thanks to New Jersey’s mass transit system, which beats the pants off Pennsylvania’s SEPTA in every conceivable way).
It was a quiet week. Emma the cream-colored female hid from me most of the time, except at night, when she wanted to sleep with me. Leo the orange tabby followed me everywhere and required much tummy scratching.
The last night of my stay, I was awakened at around 4:30 a.m. by a strange noise. It sounded like something was mechanically wrong with the little fan running to keep me cool—a strange metallic clicking.
I turned on the light to see Leo pounce on something. It sprang about six feet and climbed up the wall. Brown, eight legged, bulbous body, about 6 inches long. Tarantella!!! I screamed so hard, I had a sore throat for days afterward.
As Leo in chased the huge spider around, I ran from the room, shut the door and jumped on the bed in the guest room across the hall. I tried to calm down enough to figure out what to do. No way was I going to stay until morning. Unfortunately, my suitcase was in the room with the spider. Could I drive home in nothing but a summer nightgown?
As luck would have it, I had undressed in the bathroom the night before, so I had some clothes to wear. I dressed, packed up all my belongings except those in the bedroom and loaded up my car, shaking.
Poor Leo was trapped in the bedroom, and I knew I had to let him out so he could use the litter box and eat. I grabbed the biggest bowl in the kitchen and went upstairs, ready to trap the tarantella if it came walking towards me. Having seen earlier how far the thing could jump, I was not too keen on facing it again.
When I got upstairs, Leo was crying. I opened the bedroom door just a crack, and he came out. The spider did not follow.
It was still too early to call the neighbor who was my emergency contact. Delia was slated to return home in the early afternoon, so I left a note on the back door and went home.
At home, I slept more, then called the neighbors to let them know a tarantella was loose in Delia’s house. I told them it might be an escaped pet from one of the neighborhood boys. They contacted animal control, who searched the entire house and never found the critter.
Delia brought my suitcase to me the next day, Sunday, and I picked through everything with a stick before loading it into my car.
An unsolved mystery remains. Where did the tarantella come from? How did it get in the house? Where did it go? Did Leo kill and eat it? Did it escape?
Now that I own a cat, I do at least know the source of the strange sound that woke me. It was Leo. Cats apparently have a “hunting noise” that sounds more mechanical than organic.
The day of my ordeal, I had an afternoon date with Joel. When I told him the story, he shrieked and jumped on a chair. He refused to set foot in Delia’s house ever again. (Since then, Delia got married and moved, so we are free to visit again. ;-) )
Delia has teased me long and hard about this whole incident. For a long time she did not believe that I had seen a tarantella. (This is how matter-of-fact types torment those of us who enjoy novels and imaginative thinking.) Why would I make up something like this? I asked. She knows how much I hate getting up early!
Recently she finally relented and admits that Leo probably ate the tarantella. *shudder*
In August about five years ago, I agreed to housesit for my friend Delia, who at the time lived alone with two cats in a cute little Cape Cod in southern New Jersey. In exchange for keeping the cats fed and entertained, I got a house to myself for a week and a shorter commute to work (thanks to New Jersey’s mass transit system, which beats the pants off Pennsylvania’s SEPTA in every conceivable way).
It was a quiet week. Emma the cream-colored female hid from me most of the time, except at night, when she wanted to sleep with me. Leo the orange tabby followed me everywhere and required much tummy scratching.
The last night of my stay, I was awakened at around 4:30 a.m. by a strange noise. It sounded like something was mechanically wrong with the little fan running to keep me cool—a strange metallic clicking.
I turned on the light to see Leo pounce on something. It sprang about six feet and climbed up the wall. Brown, eight legged, bulbous body, about 6 inches long. Tarantella!!! I screamed so hard, I had a sore throat for days afterward.
As Leo in chased the huge spider around, I ran from the room, shut the door and jumped on the bed in the guest room across the hall. I tried to calm down enough to figure out what to do. No way was I going to stay until morning. Unfortunately, my suitcase was in the room with the spider. Could I drive home in nothing but a summer nightgown?
As luck would have it, I had undressed in the bathroom the night before, so I had some clothes to wear. I dressed, packed up all my belongings except those in the bedroom and loaded up my car, shaking.
Poor Leo was trapped in the bedroom, and I knew I had to let him out so he could use the litter box and eat. I grabbed the biggest bowl in the kitchen and went upstairs, ready to trap the tarantella if it came walking towards me. Having seen earlier how far the thing could jump, I was not too keen on facing it again.
When I got upstairs, Leo was crying. I opened the bedroom door just a crack, and he came out. The spider did not follow.
It was still too early to call the neighbor who was my emergency contact. Delia was slated to return home in the early afternoon, so I left a note on the back door and went home.
At home, I slept more, then called the neighbors to let them know a tarantella was loose in Delia’s house. I told them it might be an escaped pet from one of the neighborhood boys. They contacted animal control, who searched the entire house and never found the critter.
Delia brought my suitcase to me the next day, Sunday, and I picked through everything with a stick before loading it into my car.
An unsolved mystery remains. Where did the tarantella come from? How did it get in the house? Where did it go? Did Leo kill and eat it? Did it escape?
Now that I own a cat, I do at least know the source of the strange sound that woke me. It was Leo. Cats apparently have a “hunting noise” that sounds more mechanical than organic.
The day of my ordeal, I had an afternoon date with Joel. When I told him the story, he shrieked and jumped on a chair. He refused to set foot in Delia’s house ever again. (Since then, Delia got married and moved, so we are free to visit again. ;-) )
Delia has teased me long and hard about this whole incident. For a long time she did not believe that I had seen a tarantella. (This is how matter-of-fact types torment those of us who enjoy novels and imaginative thinking.) Why would I make up something like this? I asked. She knows how much I hate getting up early!
Recently she finally relented and admits that Leo probably ate the tarantella. *shudder*
11.18.2002
Going once...
If you haven't already, please try my friendship test. Most of the answers have appeared on my blog at some point. Here's a hint: What might appear to be a trick question asks about my "hometown." By that I mean where was I born and raised, rather than my current home. I will post the correct answers later this week.
If you haven't already, please try my friendship test. Most of the answers have appeared on my blog at some point. Here's a hint: What might appear to be a trick question asks about my "hometown." By that I mean where was I born and raised, rather than my current home. I will post the correct answers later this week.
11.17.2002
Sniff, sniff...
I have a cold. :-(
I guess I should expect to reap the consequences of doing too much yesterday: Women in the Church breakfast, role-play gaming in the afternoon and "play with the new DVD player" at a friend's house in the evening.
Ugh. I feel lousy. I think I will nap in Claire's room with her.
I have a cold. :-(
I guess I should expect to reap the consequences of doing too much yesterday: Women in the Church breakfast, role-play gaming in the afternoon and "play with the new DVD player" at a friend's house in the evening.
Ugh. I feel lousy. I think I will nap in Claire's room with her.
11.15.2002
An anniversary
One year ago today, I had my first appointment with a reproductive endocrinologist. It marked for me the beginning of the end...of walking in the valley of a shadowy grief that's rarely discussed--infertility.
The miracle of my journey is that the Lord enabled me to conceive--probably just days after that consult visit--with no medical assistance at all.
Here's a poem I wrote in the midst of that stuggle to hang on to hope and faith in disappointing circumstances. It reminds me of God's faithfulness in dark times.
House is hushed
At night the house is hushed—
a dangerous peace of
too-empty rooms.
Nursery wallpaper
shrink-wrapped on a shelf,
hand-woven blanket,
tattered tag still attached
wait in dark for another day.
She sits on the shadowed bed
watching her husband’s
slumbered breathing
reading disappointment
in his exhale, inhale
undisturbed by dreamt-of
night-feeding cries.
Her world is a tangle of
ugly acronyms: OPK, HSG, PMS.
And dawn offers little
but the steady beep of failure
on a lavender thermometer.
The beauty of female anatomy
is not lost on her: waxing,
waning chemical surges
Peaks and valleys of warmness
and chill. Follicles rising
and bursting in splendor,
tumbling joyfully to a
warm, cozy womb.
It is a deep mystery.
Why ovaries are greedy
of the legions of possibilities
Half-children locked in darkness,
rocked in the lu-lay
of her thrumming heart.
Let my children go!
she cries in the night.
From safety to danger,
it’s the nature of life.
Empty rooms, empty
arms need messes,
need tears, need
bump-scrapey tumbles,
objects for our fears.
Let my half-children go,
Lord. Make them whole.
Show them light.
Copyright LWG 8-22-01
One year ago today, I had my first appointment with a reproductive endocrinologist. It marked for me the beginning of the end...of walking in the valley of a shadowy grief that's rarely discussed--infertility.
The miracle of my journey is that the Lord enabled me to conceive--probably just days after that consult visit--with no medical assistance at all.
Here's a poem I wrote in the midst of that stuggle to hang on to hope and faith in disappointing circumstances. It reminds me of God's faithfulness in dark times.
House is hushed
At night the house is hushed—
a dangerous peace of
too-empty rooms.
Nursery wallpaper
shrink-wrapped on a shelf,
hand-woven blanket,
tattered tag still attached
wait in dark for another day.
She sits on the shadowed bed
watching her husband’s
slumbered breathing
reading disappointment
in his exhale, inhale
undisturbed by dreamt-of
night-feeding cries.
Her world is a tangle of
ugly acronyms: OPK, HSG, PMS.
And dawn offers little
but the steady beep of failure
on a lavender thermometer.
The beauty of female anatomy
is not lost on her: waxing,
waning chemical surges
Peaks and valleys of warmness
and chill. Follicles rising
and bursting in splendor,
tumbling joyfully to a
warm, cozy womb.
It is a deep mystery.
Why ovaries are greedy
of the legions of possibilities
Half-children locked in darkness,
rocked in the lu-lay
of her thrumming heart.
Let my children go!
she cries in the night.
From safety to danger,
it’s the nature of life.
Empty rooms, empty
arms need messes,
need tears, need
bump-scrapey tumbles,
objects for our fears.
Let my half-children go,
Lord. Make them whole.
Show them light.
Copyright LWG 8-22-01
11.14.2002
11.12.2002
A matter of perspective?
Earlier this evening while I was visiting a few blogs, Joel stood next to me and said, "Is that a gray hair?"
My reaction was to say "No way! No WAY! You're just messing with me. I don't believe it! Prove it!"
He yanked out the offending hair and handed it to me. I just stared at the silvery strand in total disbelief. I can't go gray yet, I'm only 34! My mother had very little gray hair at 60 and now that she's in her mid 70s still looks 10-15 years younger without ever touching dye.
I think I have been warped by our youth-obsessed culture. If I lived in another culture, I'd be psyched to finally be closer to being one of the venerated, wise ones. Instead I feel decrepit.
Earlier this evening while I was visiting a few blogs, Joel stood next to me and said, "Is that a gray hair?"
My reaction was to say "No way! No WAY! You're just messing with me. I don't believe it! Prove it!"
He yanked out the offending hair and handed it to me. I just stared at the silvery strand in total disbelief. I can't go gray yet, I'm only 34! My mother had very little gray hair at 60 and now that she's in her mid 70s still looks 10-15 years younger without ever touching dye.
I think I have been warped by our youth-obsessed culture. If I lived in another culture, I'd be psyched to finally be closer to being one of the venerated, wise ones. Instead I feel decrepit.
Am I Leopold?
I really want Claire to learn to play viola, and to start music training young. My fear is that I'll become like Mozart's dad Leopold and push her too hard. If Amadeus bears any resemblance to fact, the early pressures led Mozart to drink himself to death.
Am I naive to believe there must be some way to get a musical kid without warping him or her for life?
I really want Claire to learn to play viola, and to start music training young. My fear is that I'll become like Mozart's dad Leopold and push her too hard. If Amadeus bears any resemblance to fact, the early pressures led Mozart to drink himself to death.
Am I naive to believe there must be some way to get a musical kid without warping him or her for life?
11.08.2002
Regrets
I realized while strolling at lunchtime that I have never ridden in a limousine. It made me wonder what other fairly common things I have never experienced.
I have never...
...had a professional manicure
...drunk espresso
...owned a new car
...gone skinny dipping
...learned to speak a foreign language with some fluency
...lived alone for more than two months
...been drunk (I suspect this is no big loss)
I realized while strolling at lunchtime that I have never ridden in a limousine. It made me wonder what other fairly common things I have never experienced.
I have never...
...had a professional manicure
...drunk espresso
...owned a new car
...gone skinny dipping
...learned to speak a foreign language with some fluency
...lived alone for more than two months
...been drunk (I suspect this is no big loss)
11.07.2002
Laurel is...
...such a pathetic copycat, I decided to run a googlism on my name too.
laurel is cool (yeah!)
laurel is important (so there!)
laurel is a broad (a dame, a chick...)
laurel is a friendly and caring community
laurel is far more than a summer job; it's an unforgettable experience in beautiful surroundings
laurel is one of the few plants mentioned solely in the new testament (Aha! I have a Bible name!)
laurel is poisonous to livestock; hence the common name sheepkill (how would you like being nibbled on?)
laurel is not to purchase cemetery plots here (Something wrong with my remains? Huh?)
laurel is the guild's highest award for screenwriting
laurel is fast growing
laurel is listening to thumping techno pop music on her headphones
laurel is a broke man who gets evicted from his home and then hassled by local thug
laurel is also the founding chairman of the women's leadership foundation
laurel is full
laurel is energetic
laurel is located in yellowstone county 15 miles sw of billings (This is actually where my name comes from, my Dad's birthplace in Montana)
laurel is fed up with stan hitting the town with ollie
laurel is not a preferred food for most animals (Except the darned sheep, see above!)
laurel is a cold hardy plant that requires a good deal of direct sunlight for proper development and bloom color
laurel is 8 to 25 degrees centigrade with an annual precipitation of 0 (obviously hasn't seen me on a bad day! I precipitate quite a lot. LOL)
laurel is also a contributing member of the kensington ladies erotica society
laurel is not responsible for personal items either lost or stolen
laurel is one of many cats whom laura brinser used to feed
laurel is soaked in this mixture while the witch chants over the mixture for 7 hours
laurel is under way and we invite you to become a part of this renewal
laurel is the perfect destination where both tourists and business travelers experience style and service that every traveler deserves (I guess hospitality is my spiritual gift)
laurel is not referred to as a "compleat artist" for nothing
laurel is seen as a symbol for peace and victory (How cool is that?)
laurel is different and has its own particular specialness
laurel is a plant that has been involved in my life for 5 years (don't tell Joel)
laurel is thick and whitish to light brown (Okay, so I don't tan easily. Sheesh.)
laurel is truly a resort for all seasons
laurel is the creator of wordmagic (well, I am an editor)
laurel is dressed in the thin nightgown given to her by her captors
laurel is undoubtedly a species that has been the most widely written about and that has aroused great interest at home
laurel is sure having a rough day today
laurel is an excellent idea
...such a pathetic copycat, I decided to run a googlism on my name too.
laurel is cool (yeah!)
laurel is important (so there!)
laurel is a broad (a dame, a chick...)
laurel is a friendly and caring community
laurel is far more than a summer job; it's an unforgettable experience in beautiful surroundings
laurel is one of the few plants mentioned solely in the new testament (Aha! I have a Bible name!)
laurel is poisonous to livestock; hence the common name sheepkill (how would you like being nibbled on?)
laurel is not to purchase cemetery plots here (Something wrong with my remains? Huh?)
laurel is the guild's highest award for screenwriting
laurel is fast growing
laurel is listening to thumping techno pop music on her headphones
laurel is a broke man who gets evicted from his home and then hassled by local thug
laurel is also the founding chairman of the women's leadership foundation
laurel is full
laurel is energetic
laurel is located in yellowstone county 15 miles sw of billings (This is actually where my name comes from, my Dad's birthplace in Montana)
laurel is fed up with stan hitting the town with ollie
laurel is not a preferred food for most animals (Except the darned sheep, see above!)
laurel is a cold hardy plant that requires a good deal of direct sunlight for proper development and bloom color
laurel is 8 to 25 degrees centigrade with an annual precipitation of 0 (obviously hasn't seen me on a bad day! I precipitate quite a lot. LOL)
laurel is also a contributing member of the kensington ladies erotica society
laurel is not responsible for personal items either lost or stolen
laurel is one of many cats whom laura brinser used to feed
laurel is soaked in this mixture while the witch chants over the mixture for 7 hours
laurel is under way and we invite you to become a part of this renewal
laurel is the perfect destination where both tourists and business travelers experience style and service that every traveler deserves (I guess hospitality is my spiritual gift)
laurel is not referred to as a "compleat artist" for nothing
laurel is seen as a symbol for peace and victory (How cool is that?)
laurel is different and has its own particular specialness
laurel is a plant that has been involved in my life for 5 years (don't tell Joel)
laurel is thick and whitish to light brown (Okay, so I don't tan easily. Sheesh.)
laurel is truly a resort for all seasons
laurel is the creator of wordmagic (well, I am an editor)
laurel is dressed in the thin nightgown given to her by her captors
laurel is undoubtedly a species that has been the most widely written about and that has aroused great interest at home
laurel is sure having a rough day today
laurel is an excellent idea
11.06.2002
Lullabies
I think a favorite part of my day has become putting Claire to bed. She takes her last bottle at 9:30 to 10:00, then I change her into a sleeper gown and rock her to sleep.
The first few weeks into this routine, I told her stories about some of the contents of her room and where they came from: the rocker that my mom bought at an auction and refinished, the needlepoint pictures from Joel's grandmother and my grandmother, the cross stitch carousel horse I made during the 1992 winter Olympics, the Gainsborough print my mom bought me in London--for a nursery--in 1994, before I even met Joel. I want Claire to always know that she is part of generations of love and faith--and creativity.
Recently, I've been going through my musical repetoire. It amazes me how lyrics stick in my head after so many years--songs from grade school music class, high school musicals, VBS, college voice lessons, post-college singles group. Most stamped on my brain are hymns. Having worshiped in several denominations over my lifetime (Christian Missionary Alliance, Southern Baptist, Presbyterian Church in America), I've been exposed to so many kinds of hymns.
What riches we have as Christians! The songs that fill our minds are so amazing. What a joy it is to sing to my daughter of the "Deep, deep love of Jesus, vast, unmeasured, boundless, free..."
The world misses out on such a treasure without this heritage. "Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird..." doesn't really measure up.
I think a favorite part of my day has become putting Claire to bed. She takes her last bottle at 9:30 to 10:00, then I change her into a sleeper gown and rock her to sleep.
The first few weeks into this routine, I told her stories about some of the contents of her room and where they came from: the rocker that my mom bought at an auction and refinished, the needlepoint pictures from Joel's grandmother and my grandmother, the cross stitch carousel horse I made during the 1992 winter Olympics, the Gainsborough print my mom bought me in London--for a nursery--in 1994, before I even met Joel. I want Claire to always know that she is part of generations of love and faith--and creativity.
Recently, I've been going through my musical repetoire. It amazes me how lyrics stick in my head after so many years--songs from grade school music class, high school musicals, VBS, college voice lessons, post-college singles group. Most stamped on my brain are hymns. Having worshiped in several denominations over my lifetime (Christian Missionary Alliance, Southern Baptist, Presbyterian Church in America), I've been exposed to so many kinds of hymns.
What riches we have as Christians! The songs that fill our minds are so amazing. What a joy it is to sing to my daughter of the "Deep, deep love of Jesus, vast, unmeasured, boundless, free..."
The world misses out on such a treasure without this heritage. "Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird..." doesn't really measure up.
11.01.2002
Boo!
One of the best things about where we live is the sense of neighborhood, especially at Halloween. Many of our neighbors have lived here for decades, and their children bring the grandkids back to Trick-or-Treat. It's like a slice of America as it used to be. We hang out on our front porches and chat, meet people, get to know families as they bring their costumed kids around to get candy.
Because of this tradition, Halloween is quite a big deal here. The decorating has become quite over the top. One neighbor across the street sets up an entire torture chamber in their front yard. Another neighbor sets up a haunted house in their first floor, which they invite all the neighbors to tour on Halloween.
Last night Joel got to participate in the fun for the first time since we moved here over 2 years ago, since he doesn't teach evening classes. He put on a handmade mask and sat out on the porch with Keats (our all-black kitty) to hand out candy. Some of the kids were a bit afraid of Joel, but seeing our silky kitty helped some kids work up the courage to come up on the porch. Our Halloween cat got lots of strokes and attention.
Claire and I joined him after her dinner bottle. She was cute as a button in her little pumpkin costume. I'll see if Joel can help me post pics of her soon.
What I enjoy most is hanging out with our neighbors the Coopers (who are Joel's parents' age) and hear about the history of the neighborhood, as well as recent goings on. Betty seems to know who lives in every house on the block. She knows who sold their houses recently, how quickly the houses sold, and in some cases, who our new neighbors will be.
One of Betty's sons and his wife chatted with us for a while. Her son's best friend from childhood, who grew up in our house, also stopped by with his kids to chat. He said that our narrow row house once housed a family of seven! I don't think we're ever going to populate this place quite so densely. LOL
One of the best things about where we live is the sense of neighborhood, especially at Halloween. Many of our neighbors have lived here for decades, and their children bring the grandkids back to Trick-or-Treat. It's like a slice of America as it used to be. We hang out on our front porches and chat, meet people, get to know families as they bring their costumed kids around to get candy.
Because of this tradition, Halloween is quite a big deal here. The decorating has become quite over the top. One neighbor across the street sets up an entire torture chamber in their front yard. Another neighbor sets up a haunted house in their first floor, which they invite all the neighbors to tour on Halloween.
Last night Joel got to participate in the fun for the first time since we moved here over 2 years ago, since he doesn't teach evening classes. He put on a handmade mask and sat out on the porch with Keats (our all-black kitty) to hand out candy. Some of the kids were a bit afraid of Joel, but seeing our silky kitty helped some kids work up the courage to come up on the porch. Our Halloween cat got lots of strokes and attention.
Claire and I joined him after her dinner bottle. She was cute as a button in her little pumpkin costume. I'll see if Joel can help me post pics of her soon.
What I enjoy most is hanging out with our neighbors the Coopers (who are Joel's parents' age) and hear about the history of the neighborhood, as well as recent goings on. Betty seems to know who lives in every house on the block. She knows who sold their houses recently, how quickly the houses sold, and in some cases, who our new neighbors will be.
One of Betty's sons and his wife chatted with us for a while. Her son's best friend from childhood, who grew up in our house, also stopped by with his kids to chat. He said that our narrow row house once housed a family of seven! I don't think we're ever going to populate this place quite so densely. LOL
10.29.2002
Capitalist excess
In my never ending quest to ensure my family never runs out of everything, I recently joined BJs warehouse club. Buying in bulk for me means saved time (fewer store trips) that can be spent with Claire, and saved money on things we buy most often, like diapers.
I have to admit, however, that these clubs are a showcase of American consumerism at its worst. People load their oversize carts with obscene amounts of everything imaginable. And while bulk buying should mean less packaging, many buy bulk quantities of things like snack packs of potato chips. I think of all the landfills that will be created to accommodate the little chip bags and it makes me feel a bit ill. Is it really so time consuming to put chips into baggies from one large 2 or 3 lb. bag?
I don't think of myself as excessively eco-conscious, but there are some things I do to reduce waste, like use a water filter instead of buying bottled water. I also wash and re-use zipper baggies from my bag lunches. Now I feel kind of extreme for using old rags for cleaning instead of disposable wipes that contain window cleaner, bathroom cleaner or furniture polish. Oh, and using a washcloth instead of disposable "facial cloths."
I'm wondering why the eco-warriors of the world aren't going after manufacturers for inventing these "convenience" items that are no more easy than the reusable alternative, and cost more and create more waste.
I also wonder if I should feel more guilty for using disposable diapers and kleenex instead of cloth diapers and handkerchiefs. I am a hypocrite too, I guess.
In my never ending quest to ensure my family never runs out of everything, I recently joined BJs warehouse club. Buying in bulk for me means saved time (fewer store trips) that can be spent with Claire, and saved money on things we buy most often, like diapers.
I have to admit, however, that these clubs are a showcase of American consumerism at its worst. People load their oversize carts with obscene amounts of everything imaginable. And while bulk buying should mean less packaging, many buy bulk quantities of things like snack packs of potato chips. I think of all the landfills that will be created to accommodate the little chip bags and it makes me feel a bit ill. Is it really so time consuming to put chips into baggies from one large 2 or 3 lb. bag?
I don't think of myself as excessively eco-conscious, but there are some things I do to reduce waste, like use a water filter instead of buying bottled water. I also wash and re-use zipper baggies from my bag lunches. Now I feel kind of extreme for using old rags for cleaning instead of disposable wipes that contain window cleaner, bathroom cleaner or furniture polish. Oh, and using a washcloth instead of disposable "facial cloths."
I'm wondering why the eco-warriors of the world aren't going after manufacturers for inventing these "convenience" items that are no more easy than the reusable alternative, and cost more and create more waste.
I also wonder if I should feel more guilty for using disposable diapers and kleenex instead of cloth diapers and handkerchiefs. I am a hypocrite too, I guess.
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