when i looked to the moon it turned to gold

December 31, 2005 | Filed Under ordinary | Leave a Comment 

out with the old, in with the new. we sit, fighting sickness, in our cozy house enjoying silence, the hum of the computer, the swish of a car, the driver lonely and forgotten on this celebration night, the sniff of congestion, the blow of a nose. the neighbors’ blue lights twinkle at me through the glass from their twining spot on their front porch. it’s chilly but not cold.

my mother and i spent the day prematurely discussing potted plants and the placement of bricks as we sipped tea and watched the gilmore girls, disc after disc after disc after disc.

tonight the boys are sleeping, snoring, dreaming of tomorrows as we all do night after night. i had hoped to have them stay awake tonight with handmade noisemakers and party hats, sipping sparkling grape juice and munching on salty snacks in the living room. grumpiness and exhaustion took over, though. not to mention the sad failure on my part to construct noisemakers and party hats, to purchase salty snacks. next year, perhaps. we pray and hope for next year, for many more years with boys that sparkle with sunny smiles, boys who fill our hearts with pride and joy and remind us to follow paths of righteousness so that we can show them the way, the path, as well.

my study is a pile of books and paper, the 2006 resolution towards organization clearly overly ambitious. “we’re about to paint, no use organizing the place today,” i sniff, digging for a pencil, the address book, the ringing telephone. “tomorrow!” says the old me, the new me, the 2006 me, all of us.

nearly a year of blogging wrapped up (un)tidily in this last post of 2005. wrapped in golden paper with twirly ribbon glittering on top. happy new year, to the friends, the foes, to the bewildered, to the astonished, to the fantastic and to the dismal. take a cup of kindness . . .

more blessed to give

December 26, 2005 | Filed Under ordinary | Leave a Comment 

you’re all i want for Christmas,
and if all of my dreams come true,
then i’ll awake on Christmas mornin,
and find my stocking filled with you . . .

Nous attendions cet heureux temps

December 24, 2005 | Filed Under ordinary | Leave a Comment 

it’s soggy, ready for a christmas rain. the vines of henry’s dead zinnias, snapped in twos, threes at the first winter frost are now visible, the snow gone, the mud black beneath them as they wither in a quiet tangle. the street is a mirror, hazed as though the metal is chipping from the back. the drive is slush, gray, black, white in places. a gloomy eve of christmas, certainly. all of this winter weather and now we’re in a melancholy; no sun, no snow sparkle.

fitting weather, perhaps, to contemplate the birth of the Saviour, the Christ, the Son of God who came to deliver us from darkness, to save us from our own gloom, doom, ourselves.

(lorenzo scott “ordained holy family”)

what was the sky, the air, like for mary, for joseph as the first pulses of birth began, as they worked together to welcome Life to the world? was the world heavy and damp, waiting for something, for Breath and Light? did the star pierce through a haze and a darkness as the shepherds gently watched over their sheep, waiting for the Dawn, for the long arms of the sun to reach out and over the sleeping, dying world?

what did mary see in those eyes as they looked at her in the night, the morning, the afternoon? as she smelled his newborn head, counted the pudge of toes, wrapped him tightly and kissed him hundreds, thousands of times, did she understand, as i cannot, the magnitude of the wondrous gift she held in her feeble human arms?

what wondrous love is this? that the God of the universe who needs nothing of me, the wretched useless being that i am, reaches out and loves with depths of love that cannot be measured? that the beautiful Christ would descend to this darkness, and, seeking and saving, would beautify us for Himself?

***

I wonder, as i wander out under the sky
How jesus the saviour had come for to die
For poor orn’ry creatures like you and like i
I wonder as i wander out under the sky

When mary birthed jesus, ’twas in a cow’s stall
With wisemen and shepherds and farmers and all
And high in the heavens a star’s light did fall
’twas the promise of the ages, it then did recall

If jesus had wanted for any wee thing
Like a star in the sky, or a bird on the wing
Or all of god’s angels in heav’n for to sing
Well, he surely could have had them, for he was their king

I wonder as i wander out under the sky
How jesus the saviour had come for to die
For poor orn’ry creatures like you and like i
I wonder as i wander, out under the sky.

“unseen and unseeable”

December 21, 2005 | Filed Under ordinary | 2 Comments 

the house is nearly ready for christmas, another vacuuming or two (or five or six most likely), a little more organization, and we’ll be ready for company, for more snow, for turkey, for fruit slush, for santa. i’m still in the midst of a sewing frenzy with hopeless hopes of finishing tonight. i hate it that i put things off until the last minute.

the front garden is a pumpkin graveyard, full of the sorry things, once autumnal, earthy, etc., they sink heavy and frosted, a little bit squished looking, in the weirdly drifted snow. having been gleefully flung (frozen) from the balconies by ernie and henry when they were putting the storm doors on the house i was sure we’d have a splattering or two in the yard below but there was only a dent here and there. we really should bag them up and put them at the curb since we’ve no compost pile, no garden to speak of in the works for spring, summer. and yet there they sit in a sunlit sparkle of snow as i put off the clean up. i’ll be sorry, waiting until the last minute, when they’re mush and pumpkin water on a warm april afternoon, stinking up the yard, the neighborhood, sending the neighborhood association, the city council storming up my sidewalk, kerchiefing their noses as they demand we dispose of the rottenness. certainly i’ll be sorry and muttering as the the pumpkins bleed and ooze on my birks, my pants, my winter white hands. and yet somehow there are too many other things to do, like stitch and [complain], brew espresso and squeeze too much chocolate syrup into the thing, read old stories to new boys, wrap presents until they shine and dazzle, utilize mistletoe, bake cookies, stuff stockings, multiple viewings of the polar express, etc., etc.

“the most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see.”

“unseen and unseeable”

December 21, 2005 | Filed Under ordinary | Leave a Comment 

the house is nearly ready for christmas, another vacuuming or two (or five or six most likely), a little more organization, and we’ll be ready for company, for more snow, for turkey, for fruit slush, for santa. i’m still in the midst of a sewing frenzy with hopeless hopes of finishing tonight. i hate it that i put things off until the last minute.

the front garden is a pumpkin graveyard, full of the sorry things, once autumnal, earthy, etc., they sink heavy and frosted, a little bit squished looking, in the weirdly drifted snow. having been gleefully flung (frozen) from the balconies by ernie and henry when they were putting the storm doors on the house i was sure we’d have a splattering or two in the yard below but there was only a dent here and there. we really should bag them up and put them at the curb since we’ve no compost pile, no garden to speak of in the works for spring, summer. and yet there they sit in a sunlit sparkle of snow as i put off the clean up. i’ll be sorry, waiting until the last minute, when they’re mush and pumpkin water on a warm april afternoon, stinking up the yard, the neighborhood, sending the neighborhood association, the city council storming up my sidewalk, kerchiefing their noses as they demand we dispose of the rottenness. certainly i’ll be sorry and muttering as the the pumpkins bleed and ooze on my birks, my pants, my winter white hands. and yet somehow there are too many other things to do, like stitch and [complain], brew espresso and squeeze too much chocolate syrup into the thing, read old stories to new boys, wrap presents until they shine and dazzle, utilize mistletoe, bake cookies, stuff stockings, multiple viewings of the polar express, etc., etc.

“the most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see.”

be intimidated by smart women

December 21, 2005 | Filed Under ordinary | Leave a Comment 

our criticized, yet fantastic, blog, got me a college girl, on which we discuss the need to formally educate women, whether they intend to choose a career as a homekeeper or not (among other things!), has just gotten a pretty good shout out from the online periodical salon.com.

thanks, emily!

more rapid than eagles his coursers they came

December 14, 2005 | Filed Under ordinary | Leave a Comment 

early, henry wakes and, using his sweet voice, asks for play and toast.

there’s a new snow over everything, just as the curb was becoming black from the traffic and the grass, embarrassed, was apologetically, soggily, smeared in patches in the yard, a few new inches drifted down in the night while we dreamt, not yet of sugarplums, jingling bells, scratching hooves, a jolly old elf.

the house is cozy at last! puzzled, frozen, we began bumping the aged thermostat upward towards 90 and, though the boiler, the great green philistine in the belly of the house, was still growling and firing and hot, the house was cold and terrible.

once again, a handy, loves-to-be-schocked-while-rewiring-stuff father to the rescue, and we’ve been digitized! at last the house stays warm — all of the house, even the lonely and iciciled guest room which (nearly) formerly housed drifts of glittering snow who had, most assuredly, long worn out their welcome.

in an effort to truly become midwesterners (read: keep our feet from losing toes to a frozen blackened gangrene) we’ve purchased new boots. we bought them at farm king. we wear them proudly and, though this mama in particular looks most ridiculous in them, does she care? no, she doesn’t. because while all of you titter and snigger, her feet (cushioned in an indubitable pink cloud) are smug (snug) as they are understanding of your inability to express your jealousy properly.

jude has two new words: “yes!” fomerly communicated with an exaggerated nod of the bald head; and “ho! ho! ho!” which he exuberantly laughs after being asked, “what does santa say?” such cuteness should be outlawed — nothing is accomplished with constant entertainment in the house!

if you’ve not raced to the theater to purchase your ticket to narnia, do so today! a few minor disappointments (mostly favorite lines from the book that were not included in the script) and an altogether too short experience, but we were happy for the most part.

most fabulous was the white witch — she was perfect, cold, hard, and wore the most wonderful costumes. henry did not move in his seat (save to drink coke and eat popcorn) for the duration. children with weaponry of all kinds — what more could henry want in a movie? he’s been aslan all week — “listen to aslan roar!” “watch mom! aslan’s going to eat the bad, creepy witch!”

lastly, the students are ready for their recital! if you’re local, come and support them (and us!) in their musical endeavors.

“get up . . . be inspired”

December 6, 2005 | Filed Under ordinary | 3 Comments 

winter, white. the snow falls again. the street stripes in gray and white, not yet black, the new snow is gracious and forgiving of the grime from the cars that zip by without caution or care.

dressed warmly, or attempting to do so and not quite succeeding, we chop down our own christmas tree and drag it through the snow to the wagon for a necessary ride, standing behind the tractor towards to the shaker, the workers, genderless, models for carhartt, rosy, though chapped, cheeked, unsmiling. they yank the trees from the wagon and shove them into the shaking machine. wordless, they carry the tree to be measured (where we are greeted by a toothless bleached blonde woman passing out candy canes) and then, effortlessly, with ungloved fingers, they twine the tree to the top of the car. we drive away, looking twice, a slow drive over ice towards grandmama’s and hot chocolate.

the tree, undressed, stands in the corner. throughout the day we toss on a few more ornaments, the twist and sparkle of garland, the twinkle of lights, a glitter of mirrored ball. the boys are gentle with the tree, touching carefully so as not to be pricked and scatched, removing ornaments for close inspection, carefully, though haphazardly, replacing them and running off to the next thing that needs doing by little hands and feet.

my bones are cold. i spend the day consuming many cups of tea, coffee, cocoa. in between the whistles of the kettle, i’m not sure what goes on. the fruit of my hands hibernates, or so it would seem. the laundry is not caught up from our recent drive southerly. the upstairs of our house is a stunning series of piles, the homes for which sit empty, lonely and waiting. duty overwhelms creativity, i’m afraid, and, feeling lost, nothing is accomplished but that which is necessary. so sad to have no time for “reflection, immobility,” for bouts of inspiration and symphonic readings. someday, perhaps. hopefully sooner rather than later.

“get up . . . be inspired”

December 6, 2005 | Filed Under ordinary | Leave a Comment 

winter, white. the snow falls again. the street stripes in gray and white, not yet black, the new snow is gracious and forgiving of the grime from the cars that zip by without caution or care.

dressed warmly, or attempting to do so and not quite succeeding, we chop down our own christmas tree and drag it through the snow to the wagon for a necessary ride, standing behind the tractor towards to the shaker, the workers, genderless, models for carhartt, rosy, though chapped, cheeked, unsmiling. they yank the trees from the wagon and shove them into the shaking machine. wordless, they carry the tree to be measured (where we are greeted by a toothless bleached blonde woman passing out candy canes) and then, effortlessly, with ungloved fingers, they twine the tree to the top of the car. we drive away, looking twice, a slow drive over ice towards grandmama’s and hot chocolate.

the tree, undressed, stands in the corner. throughout the day we toss on a few more ornaments, the twist and sparkle of garland, the twinkle of lights, a glitter of mirrored ball. the boys are gentle with the tree, touching carefully so as not to be pricked and scatched, removing ornaments for close inspection, carefully, though haphazardly, replacing them and running off to the next thing that needs doing by little hands and feet.

my bones are cold. i spend the day consuming many cups of tea, coffee, cocoa. in between the whistles of the kettle, i’m not sure what goes on. the fruit of my hands hibernates, or so it would seem. the laundry is not caught up from our recent drive southerly. the upstairs of our house is a stunning series of piles, the homes for which sit empty, lonely and waiting. duty overwhelms creativity, i’m afraid, and, feeling lost, nothing is accomplished but that which is necessary. so sad to have no time for “reflection, immobility,” for bouts of inspiration and symphonic readings. someday, perhaps. hopefully sooner rather than later.

i’m closing my chocolate factory forever

December 5, 2005 | Filed Under ordinary | 3 Comments 

delicious. and too large for the page. and mama doesn’t have time to figure out shrinkage today. enjoy.

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