Milestones

Guess whose turning four on Saturday?

And speaking of growing up, guess who just lost his first tooth? "I can't quite get over it," he kept repeating all day. Funny how emotional Jared and I both were about one lost tooth. (One down, 79 to go.)

The Chair Without Distinction

I have few thoughts to share this week ("thank God!" you are probably thinking). My sweet husband spent the majority of our evening putting our upstairs bathroom toilet back in its allotted place. Now at least we don't look so trashy with a toilet sitting in our back yard, though perhaps it gave the neighbors something to talk about.  In case you are interested, a couple weeks back, the Dynamic Duo thought it really funny to flush not one, not two, but three Duplo Legos down. You do see the problem. I cannot even begin to share with you the antics that went into getting those blasted pieces of plastic out but I do believe there was some hoisting of the toilet on a tree limb, as well as threats of utilizing acid. Ultimately, our kind neighbor Tom was able to assist Jared in the retrieval of the final piece. It was a Duplo bee in case you were wondering.  Jared has a few stories and I am sure a few choice words about the whole matter. Personally I think he and Tom should have celebrated with at least a beer. But tonight, he and I did enjoy some Whitey's ice cream. The twins have been banned from the bathroom. Kidding. Kind of.

I found this poem weeks ago and immediately loved it because you do know of course that about every inanimate object that fills this house was more than likely bought at a garage sale, thrift store, church rummage sale, or given to us, though I cannot testify to either the usefulness or practicality of anything I drag home. But mostly I love the second stanza. It is my hope that I can become the the kind of person, and that our home can be the kind of home, which offers a bit of solace and comfort to all those around, friend or stranger, so that any burdens being carried might become a bit lighter. Peace and goodness on this Wednesday.  

The Chair Without Distinction
Luci Shaw

October 1, 2007

This, in praise of inanimate objects,
of the piece I brought home last year
from the church rummage sale.
A useful color in basic fabric,
a button missing among its worn tufts.
Sturdy, not graceful. Dependable,
not particularly easy. In a corner of
the room, out of the way, people sit on it
when the space gets crowded. They chat
with friends, coffee cups in hand,
then rise and move on without
noticing. Why should they notice.

Blessed are those who simply sit
and wait for people who need
to take the weight off their feet.

Poetry Wednesday

Ain't we lucky we got 'em

Good Times. (If you don't get the reference in the title, you are too young. My own husband said, "Webster?" Oh please.)

Ruthless with a hose.

Painting our papier-mache bee.

Russell loving on his baby. 

Enjoying a Thursday at Wildlife Prairie State Park with our dear friends the Nelsons.

Taking little brother Russell under his wing.

That's my girl. With her ever-expanding vocabulary, her most favorite words are: "Boys. Outside. Happy." And of course when she says, "Hi Mommy," it melts my heart.

Taking advantage of more summery weather at the park and playing a little baseball.

Good-natured and Untidy

"Metropolitan Anthony Bloom...was asked...how a person might be humble. 'It is too much to ask for,' he replied. 'Just try to be grateful.'"- from The Ladder of the Beatitudes by Jim Forest

I am a list maker, though not a very good one. Ages ago I would take time to pick up pen and paper and write things which I deemed important down. These days I usually, albeit unwisely, try my best at a mental check-list. If I am feeling overly energetic, I might squash my tendency toward procrastination and scrawl something down on the inside of a kitchen cabinet door hued brilliant green with peeling chalkboard paint now made jagged by little fingers who cannot resist tugging loose edges. A couple months ago, Leslie kindly lent me her copy of Ann Voskamp's book One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are. While embracing and cultivating a spirit of thanksgiving by creating a concrete list of those things for which I am grateful was not something unfamiliar to me per se, the notion of disciplining my mind to unearth things to be grateful for within the irritating events of my daily life, though seemingly obvious, was revolutionary. Suddenly it was clear to me that I was responsible for my joy, that my lack of thanksgiving in all things was extinguishing my joy; and not only mine but of all those precious, innocent ones around me. By potentially killing the joy and allowing anger, despair, impatience, and lack of self-control to reign freely within our home, I was in danger of leading my children astray by my sins. And yes, it would be better for me to have a millstone hung around my neck and be drowned in the depth of the sea than to cause my children to stumble. And so in addition to verbally offering thanks, I have launched a list. Inside an ordinary blue blank-paged notebook held together only by staples, I am endeavoring (ever so poorly) to veer away from my typical pattern of storing things in my head and to physically write down words which will serve as my memory; a list of specific things for which I am grateful. Things like the color orange, Winnie-the-Pooh, cookies received on May Day, bacon from the Geests' fried crisp, dandelions handpicked by my boys, a white kitchen sink, shade, picnics, coffee with my husband, friends. Simple reminders to give thanks. At all times. In everything.

From "The Leaf and The Cloud"
Mary Oliver
Poetry Wednesday

When loneliness comes stalking, go into the fields, consider
the orderliness of the world. Notice
something you have never noticed before,

like the tambourine sound of the snow-cricket
whose pale green body is no longer than your thumb.

Stare hard at the hummingbird, in the summer rain,
shaking the water-sparks from its wings.

Let grief be your sister, she will whether or not.
Rise up from the stump of sorrow, and be green also,
like the diligent leaves.

A lifetime isn't long enough for the beauty of this world
and the responsibilities of your life.

Scatter your flowers over the graves, and walk away.
Be good-natured and untidy in your exuberance.

In the glare of your mind, be modest.
And beholden to what is tactile, and thrilling.

Live with the beetle, and the wind.

I received the preceding selection from Mary Oliver's larger work "The Leaf and The Cloud" in an email today. I consider this a gift (thank you, Sarah). And if you have a moment, you can read an article published in the May edition of a local magazine here about the Trappist monks who crafted my father's casket. Sarah wrote the article and related that if she would have had more space, she would have concluded her piece with this selection. Peace and Goodness.