Categories: Photography
Bostons!
We decided to take Banjo for a play date this week and I, naturally, brought my camera along. There were thirty Boston Terriers running amok in one backyard. Truly more fun than a barrel of monkeys.
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Banjo & Friend Dancing 
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Banjo's New Best Friend Benny 
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Banjo Takes a Break 
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Benny & Friend Share a Stick 
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Yet Another Pretty Girl! 
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Rare
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I
NATURE, the gentlest mother,
Impatient of no child,
The feeblest or the waywardest,---
Her admonition mild
In forest and the hill
By traveller is heard,
Restraining rampant squirrel
Or too impetuous bird.
How fair her conversation,
A summer afternoon,---
Her household, her assembly;
And when the sun goes down
Her voice among the aisles
Incites the timid prayer
Of the minutest cricket,
The most unworthy flower.
When all the children sleep
She turns as long away
As will suffice to light her lamps;
Then, bending from the sky,
With infinite affection
And infiniter care,
Her golden finger on her lip,
Wills silence everywhere.
Emily Dickinson (1830-86)
Lily quit taking naps when she was six weeks old, so this is a rare glimpse of my child sleeping. She had been up all night at a sleepover and, although she fought valiantly, she finally succumbed to sleep in our backyard swing. As the sun slid down the sky, I began to wonder if she would continue there into the evening. She arose at dusk, though, never knowing I had taken her picture.
Wild Violets
What is it?
It's Clara's own springtime perfume concoction.
God's Will
I know, I know where violets blow
Upon a sweet hillside,
And very bashfully they grow
And in the grasses hide---
It is the fairest field, I trow,
In the whole world wide.
One spring I saw two lassies go,
Brown cheek and laughing eye;
They swung their aprons to and fro,
They filled them very high
With violets---then whispered low
So strange, I wondered why.
I know where violet tendrils creep
And crumbled tombstones lie,
The green churchyard is silence-deep;
The village folk go by,
And lassies laugh and women weep,
And God knows why.
Robert Louis Munger
Architecture
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Just Another Wednesday
Salty
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Just a Little While
February 2, 1939 - January 29, 2007
I wanted to let everyone know that my mother passed from this world to be with her Father in heaven yesterday morning. I thank all of you who wrote to say you were praying for her and for those who didn't write, but were praying anyway. Please pray for my family as we will be taking what looks to be a rather long drive in bad weather on Thursday. I am going to be taking a little break from blogging over the next week or two as the girls and I will be spending that time with my father. Please keep him in your prayers as he was my mother's sole caretaker and his life completely revolved around tending to her needs. He is lost without her there to focus his attentions on. I will be back, dear friends. God bless you all.
John 16:16
Bad Banjo!
This is what a bad dog does when you think that he is too short to jump up on a very tall bed.
Thank you, Secret Sis!
I signed up for a "Secret Sister" through Training Hearts and got my first care package in the mail Saturday. At first, I thought the package must be for the entire month of February, but now I am not sure since everything was wrapped up in one box. When I opened the package that came in the mail, I found a sweet note card in an envelope and a package wrapped in wrapping paper. I unwrapped the package to find this lovely box:
My girls were quite envious, but I immediately found the perfect purpose for such a box as this. I put all my note cards, envelopes, and stamps in it. This wasn't exactly a stroke of genius since my secret sister had already put a nice package of note cards in the box. I'm not going to show them here in case I absent-mindedly send one to the secret sister assigned to me. Better safe than sorry.
Along with the note cards, though, were candles in my favorite scents.
The box smelled heavenly when I opened it up. The candles are scented "Cinnamon Stick", "Farmhouse Apple", and "Mom's Apple Pie". I can't decide which one to burn first. I think it will be "Mom's Apple Pie". Thank you so much, secret sister of mine. I feel very blessed to have such a thoughtful friend out there praying for me.
Where the Wild Things Grow
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XXV THE MUSHROOM is the elf of plants, -Emily Dickinson |
Apparently, the "wild things" grow in my yard. I found this growing in my yard last summer. A two-headed little beasty. Is there anyone out there who can tell me what type of fungal creature this is?
Technology
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I had to think about this week's theme, "Technology". We have a lot of gadgets around here that I could have taken pictures of, but I tend to dislike taking photos of gadgetry. I also kept trying to consider carefully what really brings joy to our home. The piece of technology that brings me the most joy would have to be our Yamaha DGX500 digital keyboard. I don't know how to play any musical instrument or even how to read music, but my girls have been taking lessons for years. This makes me very happy because they will have the gift of music to share with others throughout their lives. Moments like this make my day.
(Just between the two of us, though, the kitchen appliances and the washer and dryer all weighed heavily in my considerations.)
Presents vs. Presence
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- Burton Hillis
1. 8 large white bath towels
2. 8 white hand towels
3. 8 white washcloths
4. 4 white king-sized pillow cases
5. 1 warm throw blanket with matching "napping pillow" and "napping socks"
6. 1 leather-bound Thompson's Chain-Reference Bible (KJV)
7. 4 beautiful modest dresses
8. 1 set of Jane Austen novels, Sanditon by Jane Austen and "Another Lady", and Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte
9. 1 good book on learning to crochet, 2 books on crochet stitches and 1 book on knitting techniques
10. 1 set of crochet hooks & dark blue and black yarn
11. The A&E Literary Classics - Romance Collection Megaset (DVDs) which includes Pride and Prejudice, Emma, Victoria & Albert, Tom Jones, Jane Eyre, Lorna Doone, Ivanhoe, and The Scarlet Pimpernel)
12. 1 happy family
13. 1 good nap
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Fresh Towels
I've been washing my Christmas presents today.
"Forgiveness is the answer to the child's dream of a miracle by which
what is broken is made whole again, what is soiled is made clean again."
- Dag Hammarskjold
New
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As you can see, Banjo had a very merry Christmas! He spent the day happily chewing on his new rawhide bone while lying on his new fluffy bed. Banjo was a good boy this year! And that is a very good thing if you consider that it was his very first year. He will be celebrating his first birthday on January 5th.
Christmas Ornamental
Annoying
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I had a hard time finding something annoying for the photo theme this week. I finally found something that has been annoying me for quite a while. This dress. It is the first thing I have ever sewn and, early in July, I had it all finished except for the hemming. I started it and got this far in just a week thanks to the cheerful encouragement of my sister who was visiting at the time. Once she left, though, I never touched it again. I find this very annoying. I have enough material to make four more dresses. I just find it very upsetting that I got this far with a dress and I not only never finished it, but I would feel intimidated at the idea of trying to sew another one after all this time has passed. I really, really want to sew my own dresses. Anyone want to suggest how to make a nice even hem?
Isn't the material pretty?
Wuv. Twuu Wuv...
Morning
...weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.
~ from Psalm 30:5
From My Window
Morning, November 29, 2006
Turkey Time
When the Frost Is on the Punkin
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,
And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,
And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best,
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.
They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here --
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock --
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.
The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries -- kindo' lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin' sermons to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawsack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below -- the clover overhead! --
O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin, and the fodder's in the shock!
Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin's over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too!
I don't know how to tell it -- but ef sich a thing could be
As the angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on me --
I'd want to 'commodate 'em -- all the whole-indurin' flock --
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!
James Whitcomb Riley
Birthday Presents
My birthday was last week and I just thought I would share what my sweet girls gave me.
Prairie Plush
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--Mrs. John Berry, settler, in a letter to a friend "back east"
Frontier Girls
The girls and I went on a field trip this Tuesday to a "frontier settlement". Here are our thirteen pictures from the year 1725.
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1. Off to do chores! 
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2. Fetching Water 
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3. Hauling Wood 
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4. Home Sweet Home 
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5. Building a Pen 
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6. Pig Pen? 
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7. Playing Quoits 
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8. Bartering 
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9. Caught napping! 
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10. The Desk & Chamber Pot 
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11. Drying Flowers or Herbs 
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12. The "Kitchen" 
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13. The Fireplace 
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Growth
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It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body."
Elizabeth Stone
Autumn Walk
Gentian
SO all day long I followed through the fields
The voice of Autumn, calling from afar;
And now I thought: "Yon hazel thicket yields
A glimpse of her," and now: "These asters are
Sure sign that she of late has passed this way;
Lo! here the traces of her yellow car."
And once I looked and seemed to see her stand
Beneath a golden maple's black-drawn boughs;
But when I reached the place, naught but a band
Of crickets did perform their tuneful vows
To the soon fading grass, and through the leaves
The quiet sunlight, falling, blessed my brows.
Till, as the long rays lengthened from the west,
I came upon an altar of gray stone,
O'er which a creeper flung with pious zest
Her flickering flames. About that altar lone,
The crowding sumac burned with steady fire;
Before it, stately, stood a priestess; one
Who turned to me her melancholy eyes.
I saw her beauty, ripe with color's breath,
Yet veiled, as when on wood and hill there lies
A mist, a shadow, as of coming death.
And while I gazed she faded; swift I clutched
Her fringed cloak, which rent, my grasp beneath.
And she was gone. As fluttered to the ground
Its many fragments, I with sudden fears,
Stooped, vainly seeking them, when all around
The blue fringed gentian smiled up through my tears,
As one who knows his welcome will be warm,
Although sad news to his beloved he bears.
~Elizabeth Green Crane~
Window
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Goodbye, Miss A.
I loved my friend
He went away from me
There's nothing more to say
The poem ends,
Soft as it began-
I loved my friend.
~Langston Hughes~
Pictures from the Patch
The girls and I went along with some other homeschooling friends to our local, pumpkin patch for our yearly visit. I thought some of you might enjoy a few of the pictures I took. They put up a new slide this year, but I am sorry to say that I was too busy sliding down it to actually take any pictures. I get to have some fun, don't I?
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Baaaah-d hair day 
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She smiles 
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Milking Sunshine 
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It's all about Mee-ee-ee-ee! 
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These little piggies stayed home
What To Say??
I hope there are still some of you out there patiently waiting for my return. If so, here is your reward.
I have been missing in action for the past month and a half because of a combination of spring fever and post-puppy elation. Spring is finally here and I have a new baby to coo over. Banjo has been doing extremely well since he made his entrance into our family. He has gone from three pounds at nine weeks to eight and a half pounds at sixteen weeks. He is expected to max out at twenty pounds. He loves his little crate/den and sleeps through the night there. We haven't had any nighttime accidents since we brought him home and put him in the crate at night. He hasn't had any daytime accidents in a while, either. Banjo knows how to sit, stay and is doing well on his leash. I have to say... I LOVE this dog! I wake up in the mornings and I can't wait to see him. His crate is in the living room so I don't have to go far. I am afraid I have a serious case of puppy love. If not for my very determined husband, this baby would be in bed with us just like our natural children were when they were babies. Did I tell you that I love this dog?
Okay. I will try to think of something else to say. Hmm...
I love this dog. I love this dog. I really, really love this dog.
Oh, Susannah!
Okay, I didn't come from Alabama and I didn't go to Louisiana, but I did cross several state lines and came back with a Banjo on my knee. Yes, our new puppy's name is officially Sebastian's Blue Banjo, but you can just call him Banjo.
While in the land of the Blue Banjo, we had the pleasure of not only visiting the breeder's kind family, but of visiting Thicket Dweller and her family. You can read her post about our visit here. We were very blessed by both visits.
The breeder's family is a lovely, homeschooling family of nine (going on ten). We went to see our puppy the first afternoon, but while all of the children played with Banjo, I found myself completely distracted by the sweet conversation I shared with their mother. The following day, when we went to pick up Banjo, I found myself wishing I could stay longer before driving home. Once home, I actually felt saddened that I did not live nearer to this kind lady and her family.
We were all a bit timid about visiting Thicket Dweller's family because we had never met them and didn't have any other premise for being there except that we were fellow homeschooling bloggers who happened to be visiting their area. The big question of what would we talk about quickly became "what didn't we talk about?". Considering we only had a short visit, we all seemed to have had quite an enjoyable one. My youngest hit it off so well with Sweetheart, that neither could be found for the photo op. It turned out that they were busy feeding a neighbor's horse a carrot. While there, my girls also got to hold baby bunnies and visit with various other pets such as rats, turtles, dogs, chickens, at least one cat and a dwarf pot-bellied pig. Of course, my girls were very enthusiastic about a family that cared for so many animals. While we have our beloved eight-year-old cat, Sam, and were there to pick up our new puppy, my children only dream about living in such a pet utopia.
I must say that I absolutely loved Thicket Dweller's home. She has such a wonderfully spacious house and the most impressive view I have seen in a long time. Tall banks of windows line her walls allowing so much warmth and light into her home. It is no wonder all of her indoor photos come out so lovely. We had such an enjoyable conversation that I left wishing our visit didn't have to be so short. It was nice to visit with a fellow Ambleside Online homeschooling mom. As always, I went about sniffing out all of the books in the house. I have come to the realization that it is futile for me to resist this habit. My thanks to Thicket Dweller and her family for allowing us to visit with them. I hope to visit them again some day in the future.
And now you must indulge me as I introduce our newest family member.
What A Balm For The Weary
As you may have gathered, I do struggle through the winter months. I have often wondered why we even have to have winter months. Of course, then I must wonder why we have tsunamis or earthquakes or any number of natural occurances we do have on this earth. One could speculate as to the "scientific" reasons for such things and in many cases one would be correct. I, however, am all too apt to look for the God reasons. I wonder why God couldn't figure out a different way of doing things that would, naturally, be more to my liking. More comfortable for me.
Of course, he did.
"But a mist used to rise from the earth and water the whole surface of the ground."
Genisis 2:6
In the beginning, there wasn't any inclement weather. God created a world were there was a mist that rose up out of the earth and watered everything there that needed watering. God carefully created a garden that would be a perfect place for us. He walked and talked with Adam and Eve in the garden in a relationship that is hard for me to even imagine. I long for that with all of my heart.
We messed that up. Not God. But God still loves us and for that I am thankful this day. I may be weary of this world at times, but he has given me hope. Hope that one day I, too, can walk and talk with him. That he will wipe away every tear and I can sit at his knee and ask him about it all. And he will tell me.
In the meantime, I will spend my time walking and talking with God the best way I know how.
T'is The Blessed Hour of Prayer
'Tis the blessed hour of prayer, when our hearts lowly bend,
And we gather to Jesus, our Savior and Friend;
If we come to Him in faith, His protection to share,
What a balm for the weary, O how sweet to be there!
Refrain
Blessed hour of prayer, blessed hour of prayer,
What a balm for the weary, O how sweet to be there!
'Tis the blessed hour of prayer, when the Savior draws near,
With a tender compassion His children to hear;
When He tells us we may cast at His feet every care,
What a balm for the weary, O how sweet to be there!
Refrain
'Tis the blessed hour of prayer, when the tempted and tried
To the Savior Who loves them their sorrow confide;
With a sympathizing heart He removes every care;
What a balm for the weary, O how sweet to be there!
Refrain
At the blessed hour of prayer, trusting Him, we believe
That the blessing we're needing we'll surely receive;
In the fullness of the trust we shall lose every care;
What a balm for the weary, O how sweet to be there!
Refrain
Fanny Crosby (1820-1915)
If you need a little extra comfort, I highly recommend you read this post by Amanda of Wittingshire. Thank you Amanda for writing such an edifying post. It couldn't have come at a better time for me.
I Said...Think Pink!
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Okay, this is what I asked for: 
Cherry Hung With Bloom |
And this is what I got: 
Cherry Hung With Snow |
A. E. Housman aside, I really wanted spring to come. It is the middle of February and I am tired of winter. It has been warm enough around here that my lilacs were trying to bud. My irises were sending up green shoots. We haven't really seen snow all winter, but I am more than ready for spring. I adore spring. In my last post, I put up that photo of the lovely cherry tree and sighed small, dreamy sighs. It was so beautiful. The sky so blue. I am sighing now. *sigh*
This morning, however, I awoke to more than twelve inches of snow blanketing everything in sight. What was this?! This was not what I had in mind at all! So, with all respect for A. E. Housman, here is my cherry tree poem:
Is hung with snow along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Valentine's.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Forty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs two score,
It only leaves me thirty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Thirty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
Yeah, don't think I don't hear you doing the math.
Think Pink
Photo Meme: Tree (Thursday Challenge)
LOVELIEST of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
A. E. Housman (1859 - 1936)
Name The Puppy
I told you I would keep you updated on how things are going with our new Boston Terrier puppy, so here's the latest picture. *sigh* I am in grave danger of losing entire days gazing at his photo.
Four Weeks Old
According to the breeder, he weighs about a pound now and is being introduced to solid food. His mother still nurses her babies frequently, though, of course. While he was in a whelping box with his litter mates and his mother in the laundry room up until now, he and his siblings have been moved into the house and are being loved on at any given moment by one of the seven children living there. The puppies are actually in the family's school room and the children are allowed to hold the puppies while they work on their lessons.
We will be travelling to pick up our puppy in about five weeks, but we have still not settled on a name. We have a good idea for a name, but we thought we would see what names our dear readers might have. If you already know what name we are leaning towards, please refrain from announcing it. We really want to hear what other names our readers might come up with. We still wouldn't mind some input from those who know which name we are thinking of. Just don't give it away. We look forward to hearing from you!
Sweetness
One Week Old
As some of you may remember, we had a dog named Maggie who was very old and tired. We adopted her from a local shelter after being told that she was about two years old and was just overweight. Unfortunately, Maggie turned out to be closer to twelve years old and very, very sick. If you would like to read more about her and see her picture, you can go to this previous post. We had to have Maggie put to sleep last summer and I had a very difficult time wanting to talk about it. That is partly why I didn't blog much last August.
Last summer, though, we decided that we wanted to get a Boston Terrier puppy "next spring". Will had a Boston Terrier when he was growing up and felt it would be a good breed for our family. I was leaning more towards a Cairn Terrier because I am rather smitten with terriers in general. The more I read, though, the more convinced I became that Will was right. I even started looking at Bostons as being cute in a funny sort of way.
In October, we found a breeder we liked and began to develop a relationship with her. The family is a Christian, homeschooling family with seven young children. Well, I am sure the thirteen-year-old, much like my own, might resent being called young, but you all know what I mean.
Ever since they contacted me to let me know that the puppies had been born, I have been just too excited for words. The puppies were born on January 5th and are adorable. Of course, all babies are adorable. God made them that way for a reason. We wanted a male puppy and the one that we most admire is being held for us. The family is going to keep an eye on how the puppies develop, though, as far as their dispositions. We would rather not have the alpha male of the litter, but we don't want a shrinking violet, either.
So this is my most exciting news. News to get me through the winter blues. I'll keep you updated.
Tommy Can You Hear Me?
Aw, Pete, don't ruin it for me. The little bit of joy I got over the holidays came from my husband's kind gift of a new iPod. After placing it into its "force field of protection", uploading my CDs to it and slipping it into its own cute, little sock, I happily went about listening to my new Iron & Wine and Guster CDs. In my bed, I lie in the darkness and feel the music become one with the night. I have only want of the stars above me to complete my delirious, child-like happiness.
Then, one day recently, I read an article online entitled "Headphones deafen you, Who star tells iPod fans". What? This can't be true. Pete, tell me it ain't so. Well, being the curious type, I went to the source and read the actual diary entry on Pete's site. Obviously, the diary entry was more fluid than the news article and I felt like I could give Pete back a little credit for being an intelligent human being. I am still not convinced that I should throw my iPod and it's little earphones to the wind.
I am a married woman homeschooling two rapidly growing children. The thirty-six hour breaks I take from my iPod are not self-imposed. They are called running a home and staying connected to my family. I was out in the kitchen the other day and thought maybe I would listen to my iPod while cleaning up a bit. Once I got the dishwasher and the washing machine going, though, I found I couldn't really hear the music anymore. Being the sensible sort, I put my iPod away for quieter moments. This is why you may find me lying awake in my bed pretending there are stars above me and listening to old bluegrass hymns in the middle of the night. It is also why I have to pretend my husband isn't snoring rather loudly beside me.
There are a lot of things that come to mind while reading Pete's diary, but I think I would be stating the obvious. This one quote had me thinking, though.
I have unwittingly helped to invent and refine a type of music that makes its principal proponents deaf. It takes time, but it happens. This is, I suppose, no worse than being a sports person or dancer who knows they have a limited working span, and their body will suffer. The rewards are great - money, fame, adulation and a real sense of self-worth and achievement. But music is a calling for life. You can write it when you're deaf, but you can't hear it or perform it.
I could pick it apart, but I won't. I have only one thing to say. If anything in your life becomes more important than the one thing that can truly complete you, you are always at risk of losing everything you have. If, however, you have God in your life, you can lose everything and still have exactly what you need.
Winter
I KNOW it must be winter (though I sleep) ---
I know it must be winter, for I dream
I dip my bare feet in the running stream,
And flowers are many, and the grass grows deep.
from Winter Sleep
By Edith M. Thomas
Tea Time
A Proper Tea is much nicer than a Very Nearly Tea, which is one you forget about afterwards. ~A.A. Milne
As some of you may already know, I grew up with a very English, maternal grandmother and, therefore, a mother who was quite enamored with her heritage. Whenever I became ill, I was cautiously nursed along to full health with tea and toast. Tea was something everyone could drink. Even a small child could properly drink tea. While coffee was considered an adult drink that my father secretly would allow me to sip when my mother wasn't looking, tea was almost as common as water. So common, I am afraid I quite took it for granted as a child. Of course, summers with my grandmother were spent playing croquet, going for long, brisk walks and having tea and scones. The scones were not something my mother regularly made, so tea was made somewhat special because of them. That and the fact that my grandmother collected odd tea cups and saucers so that choosing a cup for tea was always a pleasure in and of itself.
My grandmother came over from England with her family when she was a child. She and her family came in the autumn of 1909 and made the crossing from Liverpool to Boston. My grandmother's family was from Keighley, Yorkshire, England. Her mother's side of the family was native to the Yorkshire area, but her father's side, being McKniffs, was from Ireland. My grandmother was just shy of ninety-four when she passed from this earth.
I grew up in New Hampshire and was quite delighted when a New Hampshire tea company offered to send me a large tin of the tea of my choice for my drinking pleasure and, perhaps, a pleasant nod to other bloggers in their direction. Through several e-mails to and from Marshall Malone, Portsmouth Tea Company's president, I learned that he and his wife were actually "southern transplants" living in New Hampshire. Of course, this caused me to be somewhat dubious. I was uprooted from New England to the Carolinas as a teenager and had never even seen a southerner drink hot tea. On one of my first restaurant outings with friends I was served iced tea in an exceedingly large Mason jar and wasn't sure quite what to do with it until my friends noticed my bewildered look and informed me that I was supposed to actually drink from the jar. I thought perhaps it was a quaint pitcher and that my glass would come along shortly. I smile now when I think back to those early days when I still thought a hush puppy was only a brand of shoe.
Before I knew it, though, the UPS man was at my door with my package of Irish Breakfast tea. Preferring my tea strong and able to withstand a more than generous amount of milk, I had debated over choosing the Irish Breakfast or the Milk tea. Mr. Malone assured me that he was quite fond of the Irish Breakfast tea himself and so sent it along to me. My girls and I were quite anxious to try our newly acquired tea and, unwilling to take the time to make scones, we took out a bag of Pepperidge Farm Chessmen and set about making a pot of tea. I have to say that we were quite delighted with our tea that day. And the next day. And the next. I'm afraid we will be ordering more tea from the Portsmouth Tea Company before we know it. A cup of it sits to the right of me at this very moment.
The Irish Breakfast tea is strong, although, instead of the suggested steep time of three minutes, I couldn't keep myself from steeping the leaves for a full five minutes. Having said this, the tea was not bitter in the least. It was full of flavor and stood up well to milk. For those considering converting over from coffee to tea, I think you will find this tea worthy of consideration. To Mr. Malone, I thank you heartily for sending along this wonderful tea. It will complement my great-grandmother's recipe for scones quite well. Here is her recipe:
Scones
2 cups flour
3 Tbl. sugar
2 tsp. baking powder
pinch of salt
6 Tbl. shortening
1/2 cup milk
raisins
Sift dry ingredients together. Cut in shortening. Stir in milk. Add raisins.
Roll into circle about 1/2 inch thick. Cut into pie wedges. Brush tops with a
beaten egg. Place on ungreased cookie sheet and bake at 400* for 8-10 minutes
until golden brown.
On a side note, I believe that the Malones are a homeschooling family. I can't think of a more delightful business for a homeschooling family to undertake. Unless, of course, they opened an antiquarian book shop that also served their delicious tea.
Small
Photo Meme: Small (Thursday Challenge)
A Little Visitor
This little cousin of Jenny Wren, the Carolina Wren, paid us a visit yesterday. Caroline somehow made her way through the screen on our back porch and found herself quite excited upon finding she could not make her way back out again. Our cat was extremely excited, too. Sam quite forgot he had a cat door that would allow him to join Caroline. He just sat there on the other side of the sliding glass door, making little chip-chip-chipping sounds, and swishing his fluffy white tail across the wood floor. We, of course, took pity on poor Caroline, closed the cat door, and opened the back porch door. It makes us wonder if she was looking for a nesting place between the roof and the ceiling of the porch. When we first moved to our home, there wasn't a door off of the back porch. Nature seemed to find it a cozy haven as we found several nests between the partially exposed roof and the plywood ceiling. We also found a rather large black snake sitting next to our four-year-old one day. You can see why I insisted on a porch door.
AMONG the dwellings framed by birds
In field or forest with nice care,
Is none that with the little Wren's
In snugness may compare.
No door the tenement requires,
And seldom needs a laboured roof;
Yet is it to the fiercest sun
Impervious, and storm-proof.
So warm, so beautiful withal,
In perfect fitness for its aim,
That to the Kind by special grace
Their instinct surely came.
And when for their abodes they seek
An opportune recess,
The hermit has no finer eye
For shadowy quietness.
These find, 'mid ivied abbey-walls,
A canopy in some still nook;
Others are pent-housed by a brae
That overhangs a brook.
There to the brooding bird her mate
Warbles by fits his low clear song;
And by the busy streamlet both
Are sung to all day long.
Or in sequestered lanes they build,
Where, till the flitting bird's return,
Her eggs within the nest repose,
Like relics in an urn.
But still, where general choice is good,
There is a better and a best;
And, among fairest objects, some
Are fairer than the rest;
This, one of those small builders proved
In a green covert, where, from out
The forehead of a pollard oak,
The leafy antlers sprout;
For She who planned the mossy lodge,
Mistrusting her evasive skill,
Had to a Primrose looked for aid
Her wishes to fulfil.
High on the trunk's projecting brow,
And fixed an infant's span above
The budding flowers, peeped forth the nest
The prettiest of the grove!
The treasure proudly did I show
To some whose minds without disdain
Can turn to little things; but once
Looked up for it in vain:
'Tis gone--a ruthless spoiler's prey,
Who heeds not beauty, love, or song,
'Tis gone! (so seemed it) and we grieved
Indignant at the wrong.
Just three days after, passing by
In clearer light the moss-built cell
I saw, espied its shaded mouth;
And felt that all was well.
The Primrose for a veil had spread
The largest of her upright leaves;
And thus, for purposes benign,
A simple flower deceives.
Concealed from friends who might disturb
Thy quiet with no ill intent,
Secure from evil eyes and hands
On barbarous plunder bent,
Rest, Mother-bird! and when thy young
Take flight, and thou art free to roam,
When withered is the guardian Flower,
And empty thy late home,
Think how ye prospered, thou and thine,
Amid the unviolated grove
Housed near the growing Primrose-tuft
In foresight, or in love.
Summer
Photo Meme: Willtiful (Thursday Challenge)
Summer seems like a blur to me. A somewhat colorful blur, but a blur nonetheless. I fear that I am quite exhausted by the whole ordeal. When I attempt to wrap words around the past summer, I end up speaking in terms of events, destinations, hours on the road, loads of laundry, accommodations, flight plans, gas prices and junk food consumed.
When I was a child, summer lasted forever. Long afternoons were spent reading books out of doors with my faithful dog nearby. Days were strung together in a warm haze playing with my sister and brothers in the woods and fields surrounding our home. A week or two was spent having tea and scones with my grandmother. I felt a peaceful security while camping in the cool, New England woods in a large tent with my parents and siblings so close and the soft pine scented breezes blowing through the canvas. Every summer, we drove to visit my (great) Auntie Geri and Uncle Leon and their friends Pops and Grace at their cottages at Hampton Beach. When we wanted to go swimming we found ourselves at Sandy Pond or Forest Lake. These things filled my summer with riches I find myself inadequate to describe.
I don't remember worrying about what I was going to wear, where I was going to sleep, or what I was going to eat, although, I will confess to wanting to know how much longer it would take before we were "there yet". It wasn't until I was an adult that I realized that I never even bathed the entire week we were camping. I just took a swim every afternoon in the cool, sparkling water of the lake.
What is the difference between then and now? I know that most of us believe the difference lies in the fact that we are adults now. We have to keep the laundry going, make sure we have reservations, feed our families while traveling. And, yes, we have to know how long it will take to get where we're going, if for no other reason than to report back our ETA to the children every few miles. I have thought about all of this and something has become clear to me.
When I was a child, it wasn't about where we were going or what we were doing. It was about who we were doing it with. It was all about knowing that my grandmother would play game after game of Yahtzee with me every afternoon I was with her. I couldn't wait to go to her house and spend time with her. I always slept on a cot near her bed and woke to her musical alarm clock. "Oh! What a beautiful morning..."
I couldn't wait to meet Pops at the Hampton Beach playground where he would let me come in and play even when I grew too tall to "officially" be allowed in. Oftentimes, I would spend the time with him talking about things I sadly have forgotten and watching the thick, sweet smoke curling away from his cigar. My Auntie Geri would take long, early morning walks on the beach with me filling my tin pail with all manner of precious seashells. My memories of the beach are mixed with the smell of fresh paint from the summer my Uncle Leon painted the cottages.
I remember sitting around the campfire in the dark of night roasting marshmallows with my parents and siblings. Later I would listen to the night noises outside our tent and the snores of my father a few feet away from my cozy sleeping bag. I would wake to find my father cooking scrambled eggs and homefries over the fire.
My sister and brothers and I would spend rainy summer days playing in the enormous attic of our old, Victorian home scaring one another, getting reacquainted after months spent in classrooms separated from each other. In good weather, we would tramp through fields of grass taller than we were playing hide and seek. Occasionally, we would find a bobolink's nest in the deep grass.
When I was a child, it was about the people and relationships I had with them. I know that I can't become a child once again, but I think that, if I blink a few times and clear my eyes, I can see the people and not just the sandy suitcases and the prices at the pump.
A Day Late...
Freedom is not an unlimited license, an unlimited choice, or an unlimited opportunity. Freedom is first of all a responsibility before the God from whom we come. ~Alan Keyes
Can You Guess What I Am?
Sorrow & Thanksgiving
I have two beautiful girls. While crouching around in the cramped, hot attic today trying to find the boxes of summer clothes for my girls, I stumbled upon a great cache of little girl clothes. I have been handing down my girls' outgrown clothes for years, but I knew there were a couple of boxes still up there that I could never seem to locate. Today I found about five boxes of clothes. Big boxes. They were right there like they were mocking me for not having seen them before. Boxes full of baby and toddler clothes. Sweet little church dresses, colorful play dresses, little bubble outfits with snaps for easy diaper changing. Oshkosh overalls with little flowers embroidered into the material. And matching shirts. Onesies and thick, cotton training pants. My little girls' clothes.
How did these manage to escape the grand parade of handed down clothes that is still marching out our door and into other homes? I know. I know all too well and therein lies my heartache. These were clothes for my next baby. For the one to come. For that sweet little child that would smell of something not quite of this earth. Something like the smell of warm sugar cookies and that heavenly smell that you aren't sure whether it begins with you and ends with the baby or begins with the baby and ends with you. Or if it has a beginning or an end at all.
When I first found the boxes and brought them down from the attic, I was so happy for my friend. She just had her sixth child and I knew that the hand-me-downs were starting to get tattered in that family since the last five babies were all girls. I kept telling my friend that I thought I had some stuff up in the attic. And, of course, I did. I said it casually since I have been handing down clothes for years without too much thought. I have seen God bless me in so many ways that it wasn't difficult to know that he would always provide for me and my family. Everything I have is God's and I often consider the fact that he might redistribute things at any time, but I don't worry about it. Why would God quit taking care of me now? This doesn't have anything to do with my faith that God will provide for me in any situation. If I were to tell you of all the ways God has blessed me and carried me through the storms, I wouldn't be able to finish this post. Perhaps I should think of posting about such things in the future. It certainly would keep my blog more frequently updated.
My sorrow comes from the fact that, as I sort through these clothes, I see my babies nursing, cooing, smiling, crying, rolling over, sitting up... Looking back at me with their sweet blue eyes and chubby cheeks. My sorrow comes from the fact that ten years ago I had my last baby and I didn't even know it. She was born on Fathers' Day. There was no sorrow that day. I woke up a little after nine that Sunday morning and four hours later, I had a ten pound three ounce baby girl. Chubby little Clara. A little sister for Lily.
I wish I could be as happy today as I go through these clothes. Some of them still smell vaguely of the soap I used back then. That's just not fair. But it is what it is. I am washing them for my friend. Washing out the smell of my babies. Some things you just can't get back.
I Will Remember You
Remember
Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
Christina Rossetti
Where The Soul Of Man Never Dies
To Canaan's land I'm on my way
Where the soul (of man) never dies
My darkest night will turn to day
Where the soul (of man) never dies
(lead)
No sad farewells
No tear dimmed eyes
Where all is love
And the soul never dies
(tenor)
Dear friends there'll be no sad farewells
There'll be no tear-dimmed eyes
Where all is peace and joy and love
And the soul of man never dies
The rose is blooming there for me
Where the soul (of man) never dies
And I will spend eternity
Where the soul (of man) never dies
The love light beams across the foam
Where the soul (of man) never dies
It shines and lights the way to home
Where the soul (of man) never dies
My life will end in deathless sleep
Where the soul (of man) never dies
And everlasting joys I'll reap
Where the soul (of man) never dies
I'm on my way to that fair land
Where the soul (of man) never dies
Where there will be no parting hand
Where the soul (of man) never dies
Sam
I thought that, since Pipsqueak so kindly shared a picture of her beautiful Smudge, I would share a picture of our beloved Sam. And, yes, his eyes came that way. We really don't know exactly what he looked like when he was born because we adopted him from a shelter when he was two months old. Somebody apparently dumped Sam and his sister in a bag and dropped them both off in a dumpster behind a mall. I don't understand some people.
Thoughts of Home
The security we crave would teach us to rest our hearts in this world and pose an obstacle to our return to God. Our Father refreshes us on the journey with some pleasant inns, but will not encourage us to mistake them for home.
--C. S. Lewis
Real Life
I know, I know... I haven't been very faithful in posting lately. Someone please flog me.
When I first started this blog, I wanted it to be an outlet for the side of me that I felt I had been neglecting for too many years. In my younger years, I had dreams of becoming a writer and a photographer. I preferred writing poetry to prose and I loved toting my Pentax K1000 around with me wherever I went. I have a few poems and many photographs that are near and dear to my heart from those years. As the years flowed forward, though, I quit taking the time to write down the little word songs in my head. I always thought that I would remember them later, but with two small children running around my thoughts were nearly always replaced with more necessary mental and physical activity. Fortunately, the camera was never so displaced during those years. I have beautiful shots of my children as they experienced the world for the first time. I am thankful for these.
As my children have grown a bit older, though, I have found myself wondering and longing for the dreams of my youth. Of course, they seem so much more enchanting than climbing mountains of laundry, collecting tumbleweeds of dog and cat hair, disrupting the natural cycle of dust in my home and other such futile tasks. I wanted to create a place where I could separate myself from these things. A place where I could be "me". And, so, here I am.
The problem is, I am not only more than a mountaineering, tumbleweed-collecting, dust displacer. I am the mountaineering, tumbleweed-collecting, dust displacer. I have been cutting myself into parts that are never equal to the whole. The simplified and idealized version of myself doesn't acknowledge the parts of me that are just as valuable and create a clearer picture of who I really am.
Why did I ever want to create an outlet for only a part of me? I know that there is that part of me that has been neglected for a long time, but it has been by necessity. It does not mean that it is dead or that I have to separate it from the whole for it to survive. How on earth, could it survive without the whole?
So, today, I am here to tell you that I am a homeschooling mom of two beautiful girls. That I am a wife. That I engage in seemingly futile work like laundry, vacuuming and dusting. That my house is never clean and I am more often teaching math lessons than taking photographs. That I am more likely to write a grocery list than a poem. That you will find me more often at our church building than at a photo gallery or a poetry reading. That this is not just a photo blog or a poetry blog or homeschooling blog or a mommy blog. That this is about my life and, from now on, it is as real and complete as it can be.
Bliss
I joined a few DSLR groups online only to find that I am far more ignorant than I had ever suspected. The thought of having one of my lenses incorrectly calibrated now causes me alarm. A few months ago I had no idea a lens could suffer such a plight. I didn't know that I was going to have to download and install updated firmware on my brand new camera, either. Of course, that required purchasing a digital media reader/writer. I now go to bed with visions of filters, lenses, master flash units and monopods dancing in my head. And what is the deal with tri-support legs on a monopod? Doesn't that make it a tripod? Apparently, not.
And, now, my latest frustration: Adobe Photoshop CS. In the past, I have used several programs to edit my photographs without having really mastered any of them. Now, I am intent on mastering this one. I laugh as I find myself wallowing deeper in my own ignorance. I ordered two books today, though, that should be helpful. And now there are visions of pen tablets dancing in my head. When will it end?
Okay, so maybe I am having a little fun.
Out of the Box
Well, I have put up a gallery for my photographs and added a link to it over there to the left, for future reference. There are some pictures that I took with my trusty, old Pentax K1000 and had to digitize, a couple taken with my newly acquired Canon EOS 20D, but the bulk of them were taken with my Epson PhotoPC 3000Z. I have had my Epson for four years and my Canon for only a few short months, so most of my favorite digital images are from my Epson. I am anxious to take more pictures with my new Canon, though. The images are so much better in quality.
Something that has become quite apparent to me is that I take an awful lot of pictures of children. This has given me cause to think. (As if I needed one.) Among the obligatory pictures of birthday parties, holidays, vacations and visits to relatives, the ones that tend to jump out at me are the ones of the children. I shouldn't be surprised since I have always enjoyed being with children. I taught in a Montessori school and worked as a nanny before I had children of my own. The thing is that I think it goes even deeper than that.
When I was a child, I was considered quite serious, anxious and shy. I now attribute that to the fact that I was almost overwhelmed with sensory input each and every day of my life. My seriousness came out of the fact that I was in a constant struggle to maintain myself in the face of what amounted to a cacophony of sights, sounds, smells and feelings. Even though I was the youngest in my class, I was considered more mature than my classmates mostly because of my silence.
I have always had a very detailed memory of my childhood from the time I was about two until I became an adult. I don't believe the people who claim that you cannot remember anything earlier than three or four years of age. I remember things that had nothing to do with my parents and my parents are often surprised to know, so they are not family memories that were somehow implanted into my memory later in life. I am so familiar with my childhood that it often seems as though I can time travel.
Before I had children of my own, my photography seemed to revolve around attempting to capture what ended up being almost haunting images. It was like I was trying to capture the way I perceived the world because I knew by then that most people didn't experience things the way I did. When I had children, suddenly I was completely absorbed by them. I took pictures of them constantly trying to capture them in little time capsules. Taking pictures of them seemed to be all that really mattered, as far as my photography was concerned. Recently, though, I have come to realize that I am blending my desire to capture the world as I've experienced it with capturing the experience of childhood itself.
One of my favorite photographs is of my nephew wrapped tightly in a hammock while we were on a camping trip in New Hampshire. I see myself in that photograph more than most. His small, serious face. The comfort of being wrapped cocoon-like in a quiet place. The way the sun dapples his face in warmth. A place to daydream uninterrupted. I am still trying to find these things.
Tranquility
Here is continual worship;---Nature, here,
In the tranquility that thou dost love,
Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around,
From perch to perch, the solitary bird
Passes; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs,
Wells softly forth and wandering steeps the roots
Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale
Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left
Thyself without a witness, in these shades,
Of thy perfections.
William Cullen Bryant
A Perfect Moment In Time
Cicada Invasion 2004
It's hard to get away from the cicadas around here. Our dog is eating them as fast as she can, but they only make her hack in her sleep later. From inside our house, with the windows closed, we can hear what sounds like the mother ship coming in for a landing back in the creek.
Play
COME to me, O ye children!
For I hear you at your play,
And the questions that perplexed me
Have vanished quite away.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Natural
Nature is a greater and more perfect art, the art of God...
Henry David Thoreau
Spring
Spring is here.
Why doesn't my heart go dancing?
Lorenz Hart
Heraclitus
Heraclitus
Translation of Callimachus' 2d Epigram
They told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead,
They brought me bitter news to hear and bitter tears to shed.
I wept as I remember'd how often you and I
Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky.
And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest,
A handful of gray ashes, long, long ago at rest,
Still are thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales, awake;
For Death, he taketh all away, but them he cannot take.
William Cory
My father-in-law has died. I want to tell you all I know about him, but I am too tired inside just now. I love him. He used to call and ask for my husband when he and I both knew that Will was not home. I would tease him that he just liked talking to me until it slowly settled in that he actually was calling to talk to me.
When my girls were babies, I would step out onto the deck of our condo where I could keep an eye on them without having to worry that they might coo loud enough for their grandfather to abruptly end the conversation saying that I needed to take care of my baby. It wouldn't have taken much of a coo to provoke this response from him. That was just the way he was. I remember leaning on the deck railing watching the sky slowly turn pink as the sun slipped below the buildings in town and talking to him about so many things. Listening to him about even more things.
When we moved to our present home, the girls turned two and five that summer. It wasn't as easy to leave them to their own devices when Grandpa Sparky would call. I became adept at putting videos in the VCR and looking sternly at the girls as I stepped back to their playroom to listen to whatever my father-in-law had on his mind.
As the girls got older, a stern look was enough to allow me to step away to the room that had been transformed from their playroom into their bedroom. I would lean against the ladder of their bunk beds and look out the window watching the sky turn ruddy as the sun slipped behind the trees in our neighborhood. Standing back there, listening to him and occasionally teasing him to get him to let go of something that was upsetting him was comforting. Sometimes he would be angry about something and I would have to divert his attention or, if all else failed, I would tell him how much I loved him. This never seemed to fail to quiet him. He would often brusquely tell me that he loved me, too. And I did love him in all his ways.
I would often be left standing in the dark looking up at the stars through the tree limbs from the bedroom window. I would always tell him that I loved him when we would say our goodbyes and he would always tell me that he loved me. Sometimes, I wasn't sure if he really did or if he just felt obligated to say the words. A part of me knew, though, that he never felt obligated to say those particular words.
The last time I spoke to my father-in-law was about a week before he died. I told him that I loved him and he told me that he loved me. That is enough. That is everything.
Willtiful Things
Discarded
This is a picture I took towards the end of last October. It was the day that we brought Maggie home from the shelter to live with us.
A man drove out into a heavily wooded, mountainous area of the county just as the nights were starting to turn frosty. When he thought he found a suitable spot, he dumped Maggie and another dog out on the side of the road and drove quickly away. A woman who lived nearby saw him and went out to check on the dogs. She called the shelter and they came to pick the dogs up.
It makes me sad to this day to think that someone would just dump a pet in the middle of nowhere. Maggie is an old dog, but she is the most grateful, loving and obedient dog I have ever had. Sometimes I just don't understand people. I am not a person who goes nuts about animals and their treatment because I think there are more horrifying things that happen in this world every day to human beings. I just don't understand how human beings can be so callous in so many ways.
Twelve + Thirteen
Lily will be twelve this summer. While going through the pictures in this plastic tub, I came across a picture taken when I was thirteen. My best friend, Dee Dee Fortin, took it and it is dated May 1979. I looked long at this picture. It was familiar, but suddenly I was seeing it through a different lens. My mother had redecorated this room and moved my sister into a different bedroom so that I could have a bedroom all my own. I remember her bringing wallpaper books home to peruse as she redecorated the entire house. We lived in an old Victorian house on the nicest street in town. A street lined with huge elm trees and wonderfully different, but equally nice houses from the same era.
I vaguely remember how it all came to be, but I really have no recollection at all of choosing wallpaper with columns of what appear to be blue cabbages up and down them. Neither do I remember choosing a glaringly blue carpet or a powder blue bed ensemble with more ruffles than any dress a Southern belle might wear. What I do remember is coming home from school one day, when I was twelve, and my mother opening the door to what was now my bedroom. I remember the feeling of freedom it evoked. No little sister muss and fuss. Just me and my Donny and Marie eight-tracks playing as loud as the player could manage. (Mind you, these were given to me by a friend who was a Donny and Marie fanatic and, at the time, I was under the impression that one must play what one has available. I actually much preferred Rod Stewart.) I felt like I was in some heavenly realm and I never wanted to go back to sharing a room with anyone. Of course, when I went off to college it became a necessity. I then married Will and now only occasionally dream of having my own room.
I decided to set this picture aside to show Lily what I looked like when I was about her age; hoping to give her some insight into the fact that I was not always a thirty-eight-year-old mother. When the girls came home from their piano lessons, I brought out the picture to show them. There I was, posed on the window sill of my bedroom. Thirteen. Skinny. Wearing my favorite shirt and framed by columns of blue cabbages. I was wondering what Lily's response would be, but unprepared for it. Lily was speechless. I looked at Clara and Clara spoke what Lily was unable to.
"Mommy, you had boobage!"
Now I think I remember why that was my favorite shirt.
The Friday Five #2
1. What was the last song you heard?
Try by Nelly Furtado.
I love the lyrics:
All I know / Is everything is not as it's sold / But the more I grow the less I know / And I have lived so many lives / Though I'm not old / And the more I see the less I grow / The fewer the seeds the more I sow / Then I see you standing there / Wanting more from me / And all I can do is try / Then I see you standing there / Wanting more from me / And all I can do is try / I wish I hadn't seen all the realness / And all the real people are really not real at all / The more I learn the more I cry / As I say goodbye to a way of life / I thought I had designed for me / Then I see you standing there / Wanting more from me / And all I can do is try / Then I see you standing there / I'm all I'll ever be / But all I can do is try / Try / All the moments that already passed / We'll try to go back and make them last / All of the things we want each other to be / We never will be, we never will be / And that's wonderful, and that's life / And that's you, baby / This is me, baby / And we are, we are, we are, we are / Free / In our love / We are free in our love
2. What were the last two movies you saw?
I watched most of The Hunt for Red October on Wednesday night, but I started falling asleep on the couch and had to go to bed. The last time I went to the theater to see a movie was last summer when Will and I took Lily to see Sea Biscuit. Lily feels that this is pathetic and that I need to get out to see more movies, but I am usually satisfied with waiting until they come out on video.
3. What were the last three things you purchased?
Well, Will and I purchased a new vacuum cleaner. Basically, I researched what I wanted and he brought it home for me. I now have a purple Dyson that really sucks. (Sorry, I couldn't resist.) Since Will's birthday was this week, the other two purchases that come to mind are the two dozen roses that I helped the girls to order for Will and a multi-player computer game that I thought Will would enjoy, Battlefield 1942. He is already addicted to Tribes II. I thought maybe it was time for some variety.
4. What four things do you need to do this weekend?
There are too many things that I need to do this weekend. I suppose, if I whittle my list down to four things, I might actually accomplish one thing.
I need to clean the living room.
I need to clean the bathroom.
I need to go to church on Sunday.
Shoot! That's enough for two days.
5. Who are the last five people you talked to?
Since Will, Lily and Clara just walked in the door and we all exchanged greetings, that leaves me to ponder who else I have talked to recently. I apologized to Maggie when she barked at me to let her in the back door. Does chatting online with someone count? Will's brother, Paul, messaged me a bit ago asking what we were having for supper over here. He was having hot dogs and I was having Chinese leftovers. I guess he figured there wouldn't be enough leftovers to go around, so he stuck to his hot dog story.
The Friday 5
What was...
1. ...your first grade teacher's name?
Mrs. Desrosiers. I was so shy in her class that I would refuse to come up to the table at the front of the room with my reading group to practice reading. I really loved Mrs. Desrosiers, but I will never forget the day that she literally pulled me out of my desk and dragged me to the front of the classroom so that I would finally learn to read. Once I was up there and my dignity returned, I realized that reading was not only easy, but also great fun! I remember that we used the 1962 version of the Dick and Jane first grade reader, Fun With Our Friends, and I remember seeing the word "said" a lot. Looking back on this, I have to say I love Mrs. Desrosiers even more today. She wasn't young when I was in first grade, but I would like to find someone in her family to thank.
2. ...your favorite Saturday morning cartoon?
(Okay, so it wasn't exactly a cartoon, but it was my favorite Saturday morning fare.)
3. ...the name of your very first best friend?
Elizabeth, my sister. When I was in first grade, though, I considered a girl named Tracy my best friend. She used to meet me at my house and we would walk to school together. My mother told me later that she was from a poor family. I do remember my mother often taking the time to brush Tracy's hair and put it up in bows, but I never remember thinking she was poor or neglected. I just remember her being my best friend.
4. ...your favorite breakfast cereal?
(In case you're interested, the Snorkeldorf character was my favorite.)
5. ...your favorite thing to do after school?
When not watching Batman re-runs, I spent a lot of my time lying around in the grass on warm, sunny days reading books, daydreaming and occasionally weaving mats out of iris leaves. I also loved to ride my bike and try to find interesting places to go to. During the colder months, I spent time outside sledding and ice skating until the sun went down and then I would lie around the house reading, daydreaming and writing stories.
I have a picture of my first grade teacher and my friend, Tracy, taken when my mother came to visit one day at school. I will upload them tomorrow, if I can find them.
Me (with Mrs. Desrosiers)
Tracy (wearing glasses)
