Like mother, like daughter?

Anne-with-an-e has been writing a lot lately. She's been spotted regularly, hunched over the keyboard, tapping out a new story. A couple of us around here have observed that, lately, she looks a lot like me.

Today, Betsy saw her pour a cup of coffee, and walk away with it.

"Ummm .... Anne?" Betsy said, a worried look on her face, a meaningful glance at the coffee cup.

"Don't worry," Anne told Betsy. "It's for Mom. I'm just delivering it."

Haystack Full of Needles

Alice Gunther's first book, Haystack Full of Needles: A Catholic Home Educator's Guide to Socialization, is available now (for pre-order) from Hillside Education.

I'm going to gush about this book, make no mistake.

I've had the great privilege of seeing the book in progress, and have read most of it at this point, minus a few tidbits and the appendix. And I can tell you that this book is wonderful. It's beautifully written in the gentle, lyrical style that Alice is known for on her blog, Cottage Blessings. (If you haven't clicked through your feed reader to her blog for awhile, it's time. There's a breathtaking new design that makes me want to ... what? Move in. Yes. That's it. I want to live in that enchanting cottage and drink tea from that lovely cup on Alice's new website. Gorgeous. Ramona, looking over my shoulder, decided that when she gets a blog, she wants Alice's design "because it's so pretty.")

But let me head back in time for a moment. A number of years ago, I "met" Alice online through the Catholic Charlotte Mason discussion group. I first knew her there only as "Lissa's friend" but any friend of Lissa's was a friend of mine. And, it wasn't long before Alice was everyone's friend. She seemed so incredibly nice. And she really was nice. Our friendship grew, our children became penpals, and we have since encouraged one another in our homeschools, in our writing and in our lives.

But, back to the book. Haystack Full of Needles is such a pleasure to read. It will speak to you with the voice of a wise and loving friend, a woman you just know will overlook your most glaring faults, forgive your annoying traits, and peer straight into your heart to find the good in you. And you just know, deep down, that she does that with everyone, because she lives the faith she talks about.

And Haystack Full of Needles is everything from practical to inspirational. It offers homeschooling mothers many creative, concrete ideas for finding and/or starting support groups. It acknowledges the fear that is every new homeschooling mother's unwelcome companion and it doesn't shy away from the reality that children are individuals, and that sometimes there are individual problems and challenges. And, Alice deals with every, single "socialization question" I've ever encountered, and she does so with love, grace and humor.

This is a treasure of a book, and it deserves the enthusiastic endorsement it received from Laura Bergquist.

I knew I'd gush a bit.
I can't help it.
It's Alice.

(P.S. If you love her as much as I do, be sure to read this lovely interview, too, which I just discovered over at the Homeschool Blog Awards site, as well as her columns.)

Ramona in Air Conditioning

As we headed to the car, she said:

"Mommy, I was freezing all the way through Mass. Helplessly, I could do nothing. "

It's the year of St. Paul!

from Our Sunday Visitor:

The Year of St. Paul has arrived! Last summer Pope Benedict XVI announced that the Church would observe a celebration in honor of St. Paul the Apostle, from June 28, 2008, to June 29, 2009.

Lots more here.

So maybe I'll take them after all

Anne-with-an-e, Betsy and Ramona were talking about movies yesterday.

"Wall*E is out!" said one.
"Yeah!" said another.
"We should go," said someone small.

Someone tall (no, not really, just taller than the someone small) said, "Sorry, guys. We've had our movie quota for the summer. Too pricey. We're saving disposable income (ha! I like to pretend we have some) for the big trip."

Faces fell, but they took the news bravely.

But I've just read on Catholic Exchange that perhaps this movie is worth the disposable income. Perhaps it's worth it, too, for the conversations it will spark about disposable income. Perhaps we'll go. We'll just skip the popcorn.

Best Websites for Writers

Writers Digest offers its list of the 101 Best Websites for Writers. It's a pretty mixed bag, but there's some interesting stuff
there.

Writing in the margins of a Billy Collins poem

This one doesn't require a lot of commentary other than:
Oh!
Yes!
Funny.
Yes!
Sweet.

Marginalia
by Billy Collins

Sometimes the notes are ferocious,
skirmishes against the author
raging along the borders of every page
in tiny black script.
If I could just get my hands on you,
Kierkegaard, or Conor Cruise O'Brien,
they seem to say,
I would bolt the door and beat some logic into your head.

Other comments are more offhand, dismissive -
"Nonsense." "Please!" "HA!!" -
that kind of thing.
I remember once looking up from my reading,
my thumb as a bookmark,
trying to imagine what the person must look like
who wrote "Don't be a ninny"
alongside a paragraph in The Life of Emily Dickinson.
...

Yet the one I think of most often,
the one that dangles from me like a locket,
was written in the copy of Catcher in the Rye
I borrowed from the local library
one slow, hot summer.
I was just beginning high school then,
reading books on a davenport in my parents' living room,
and I cannot tell you
how vastly my loneliness was deepened,
how poignant and amplified the world before me seemed,
when I found on one page
....

Read the whole poem here. Listen to the poem here.

Find the round-up this week here, at Biblio File.

Find out more about Poetry Friday here.

Because Theresa from LaPaz asked

Here is the recipe for Texas Caviar that we served when Theresa and gang visited. Theresa asked for it, and I promised I'd post it. This is my sister-in-law Amy's variation on the recipe. Atticus disputes her on the cilantro quantities, but I'm with Amy.

Texas Caviar

1 can black beans, rinsed
1 can black eyed peas, rinsed
1 ginormous bunch cilantro
2 tomatoes diced
1/2 small red onion
2 or more cloves garlic, minced
1/2 small bag frozen corn
1/4 cup apple cider vinegar
1/4 cup oil (doesn't have to be EVOO, just good old canola)

Mix and let "marry" for two hours or more. Or, according to Amy, "if you're an Edmisten, start eating immediately upon completion."

Enjoy it, Theresa!

from The Catholic Company

The Catholic Company wants to get the word out about a few things, too. They wrote:

Win $250 for the cutest First Communion Photo

The Catholic Company, the market leader for online Catholic books and gifts, has just announced a First Communion Photo Contest. What a great excuse to pull those photos out of the photo book and show them off again. Bloggers, podcasters, and webmasters can also win a $100 gift certificate for referring the winning entry to the contest, so be sure to spread the word. Winners will be featured on View From a Pew, The Catholic Company blog.

And, if you're a blogger who would like to participate in their new reviewer program, listen up ... they're talking to you:

Bloggers, podcasters, and other webmasters can get free review copies of new catholic products by joining the Catholic Company reviewer program. Participants receive free products in exchange for an honest review posted on their blog or website. Visit the review program page for more details.

Family Formation

Recently I received an email from Deb at the Church of St. Paul in Ham Lake, Minnesota. They would love to get the word out about their Family Formation program. I have a tiny bit of experience with the idea and materials -- a dear friend of mine used to attend the Church of St. Paul (though she's now moved to another state) and she showed me some of the things they were doing there. I was impressed.

The program is based on the Church's teaching that parents must be properly equipped to teach the faith, and they can then, in turn, pass on the faith to their children.

This page of the Family Formation website highlights the Church documents that support family catechesis. This is good stuff.

For more information, visit their website.

June Carnival of Children's Literature

The June Carnival of Children's Literature is up and running at Susan Writes.

Head over and read some fun stuff about "Fathers in Children's Books."

Of course, Atticus Finch is one of my favorite dads in literature. But, since I was on the subject of Andrew Clements in my last post, here's another fun little book by him, that Ramona and our Atticus enjoy reading together.

Happy reading!

They've been reading ....

Hello, Red Fox by Eric Carle is a delight! How did we miss this one?

Atticus and Ramona brought it home from the library the other day and Ramona has been enchanted by it. She loved the optical illusions and asked in amazement, "How does he do that?" I told her that it's actually God's intricate planning that does it, but Eric Carle was nice enough to put together a book about it that includes a short explanation of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's color theory.

If you haven't shared this one with your kids, head straight to the library. You're in for a treat.

Anne-with-an-e and Betsy have been enjoying Andrew Clements, of Frindlefame. Frindle is a perfectly executed book about a smart kid, a smart adult and I'm-not-saying-another-word, because I don't want to ruin it for anyone who hasn't read it. Read it. Laugh and cry. And say things like, "I want to write a book like that."

What Anne and Betsy have been enjoying lately are some of his young adult novels: Things Not Seen and Things Hoped For. I have yet to read these myself, but the girls loved them. They're in my stack. My stack is currently very, very tall. It teeters. Wish me reading time.

We met LaPaz Home Learning!

(Update: fixed the pictures -- I think. Please let me know if they're loading ....)

On Friday, I mentioned missing Poetry Friday because we'd had some visitors.

The special guests who arrived on Thursday were none other than the Lapaz Home Learning family, trekking across the U.S. on their way to Alaska! (I was teasing her when I said she'd just have to go through Nebraska, but was thrilled that she took me up on it.)

After what could have been much better directions from me (i.e., directions that would have led them straight to our house rather than halfway through the town and back again -- I'm directionally challenged, and usually say things like, "Well, I know exactly what the street looks like, but I'll be darned if I know its name ....") our esteemed guests found our home, arriving in the middle of a downpour. They were quickly ushered into the house for -- what else? -- coffee.

We sat down to the brew and Theresa's husband, Ed, very kindly gave us the gift of his new book, Cuban Exiles on the Trade Embargo: Interviews. It looks great, and the story behind how it came about was so interesting, too, and we indulged in a bit of writers' chat. Very fun. (Ed had the notable experience of having his book accepted by the very first publisher to which he submitted it. Congrats again, Ed, on its publication!)

Theresa and Ed:


I, being the picture of gracefulness that I am, promptly dribbled coffee down the front of my shirt, betraying my nervousness and self-consciousness about meeting new people. But all of that quickly faded away (and I don't think I spilled anything else the rest of the visit, not even my wine) as the conversation was relaxed and flowed easily.

The kids and I had planned to take the family to a park to stretch their legs, but those plans were set aside due to thunderstorms, so we lazed around, gobbled up Atticus's delicious grilled dinner, talked, enjoyed a great many chocolate chip cookies, moderate amounts of beer and wine (not WITH the cookies, of course), more talk, and finally commented on how all the kids must be getting along tremendously because we barely heard them all evening other than some screaming, running and door slamming.

All the kiddos --
Betsy, Superboy, JBug, Ramona, Anne-with-an-e:


They stayed overnight and were on their way on Friday morning.

Theresa and Ed are wonderful, fun, funny people, and we thoroughly enjoyed our time with them. Superboy and JBug are cuter in person than they are on Theresa's blog and I am so grateful for the internet and for the amazing homeschooling community that it helps to create. What a blessing! If the Gonzalez family is ever tooling through Nebraska on their way anywhere, they know they have a place to stay. No longer would it be with "people we don't really know."

It will be with friends.

Morning coffee:



Betsy and Anne helping Superboy load up and getting their last dose of dog time:

Poetry Friday: I missed it

We had great fun with some visitors last night (but that's a separate blog post) and I completely missed Poetry Friday. But you can still head over to Semicolon for a great round-up!

CE's new Theology of the Body channel

Catholic Exchange has a new channel, and it's a great one:

The new Theology of the Body (ToB) channel is on a mission to share the beauty of John Paul II's teachings (which are really just clarifications -- if the beautiful writings of JPII can be referred to as "just" anything -- of Church teaching on marriage, family, marital relations, and everything else that is attached to our physical being.)

Read more about the TOB channel here, and go here for the mission statement. Now, get over there and check it out.

And, when you come back, here's an old post about Ramona's intuitive take on the ToB.

Busy, busy, busy and the next Food Network Star

I've been so busy with life, and writing and celebrating Betsy turning twelve (twelve?! No, it can't be!) that I've had no time to blog.

It's another busy week, and I have a big writing deadline looming in the not-too-distant future, so my check-ins may be spotty.

But, if you watched the Next Food Network Star, were you surprised to see who got sent home? I can't say anymore, because my sister may be reading this, and she hasn't watched it yet. Watch tonight, sis, so we can talk!

Who wouldn't want to be a cat when

this is what you get to do on a Sunday afternoon?

"Pleasure-ty" is my new favorite word

Ramona asked for a snack and wanted to prepare it all by herself. Since part of the snack involved the use of a sharp knife, I suggested that I handle the dangerous task, and she could take it from there.

"Okay," she said agreeably. "That fits my pleasure-ty."

Poetry Friday

For Poetry Friday today, two poems that connect nature and human suffering. First, a spare and beautiful haiku from Basho, and second, a really interesting piece by Henry Timrod about the way nature can soothe and shield, or, seemingly, accuse.



In the cicada's cry
No sign can foretell
How soon it must die.

~~ Basho

The Summer Bower
by Henry Timrod

It is a place whither I’ve often gone
For peace, and found it, secret, hushed, and cool,
A beautiful recess in neighboring woods.
Trees of the soberest hues, thick-leaved and tall,
Arch it o’erhead and column it around,
Framing a covert, natural and wild,
Domelike and dim; though nowhere so enclosed
But that the gentlest breezes reach the spot
Unwearied and unweakened. Sound is here
A transient and unfrequent visitor;
Yet if the day be calm, not often then,
Whilst the high pines in one another’s arms
Sleep, you may sometimes with unstartled ear
Catch the far fall of voices, how remote
You know not, and you do not care to know.

(Read the rest of the poem here and click here for an interesting NYT piece on Bob Dylan and Henry Timrod.)

The Poetry Friday round-up is at A Wrung Sponge today.

Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord

and may perpetual light shine upon her.

Ann Ball, rest in peace.

Rerunning the Rhythms

Summer is here and everything is changing. So, I'm re-running an old-but-always-pertinent-to-me post about routines, lack of routines, and settling into the unsettling lack of routines.

Oh, happy summer days!
**********

Rhythms

I was complaining to my confessor that my summer routine was sorely inadequate. Everything (or so it seemed on that dark day) that I fashioned, constructed and implemented during the school year was slowly dismantled through the lazy days of summer. I whined that Atticus and I are both night owls by nature, but that when (post-summer school) we indulged such inclinations during his weeks off, our morning prayer routine suffered. I was looking for someone to blame ... if not Atticus, then I'd take the fall. I was sure I'd be told that our inexcusable sloth must be rectified and that we should strive for a more orderly and disciplined summer routine. Father questioned me:

"He's a teacher, right?"

"Yes."

"And so this happens every summer, right?"

"Yes."

He was silent for a moment and then he said,

"Why don't you just accept the rhythms of your life?"

Huh?

Accept the rhythms? There's a concept. I was so intent on flogging myself for falling off the routine wagon that I couldn't see the obvious. There was a predictable, recurrring "routine" of seasons in our lives. Accept them as such? What a novel idea. What a sound idea. What a sane idea.

I let the idea mill around my summertime head for awhile. Slowly, the beauty of it began to permeate not only my view of summer but my entire outlook.

"It's not as if we neglect our children, our home, and our duties in those languid days of July," I thought. "It's not that we metamorphose into spiritual slugs, incapable of maintaining any contact with our Creator. It isn't that we don't have a routine ... we just have a different routine," I realized.

And so my acceptance of the rhythms of our life took root and began to flourish. The outlook spilled over into the entire year, and I happily accepted all kinds of rhythms:

The anticipation of September, sharp pencils, and fresh plans

The rebirth of my energy in the fall

The slowing-down and waiting of Advent (made possible by observing the liturgical calendar, instead of trying to keep pace with the world, which is hurrying madly through December)

The long winter read-alouds and snuggling, the blahs that are inevitable in February, and the fact that dancing can obliterate the blues

The rebirth of my energy in the spring

The "Happy to see you come, happy to see you go" feeling at the end of another school year

Our summer life

When we admit it, we know that we all live in that ebb and flow. Much as we would like to control our lives -- to find the perfect schedule and put it into practice -- there is nothing real about that. Life is ever-changing. Anyone (and this would be those of you currently breathing) who has aged a year knows it. Every age, each new stage of life, every bit of growth, brings challenges, delights and overhauled routines. And the same is true of each week, month or season, with variations due to the circumstances of our lives and vocations. Teachers, farmers, tax accountants, work-at-home writers, caterers, retail managers, priests and pastors, mothers of new babies: they (we) live with certain rhythms and predictable-yet-ever-changing-and-unpredictable routines.

And, once I accepted that novel, sound and sane idea, I stopped complaining to my confessor.

(Correction: Lest it sound like I'm now the perfect non-complaining, non-whining confessee, I need to add that I no longer complain about our rhythms. I've moved on to complaining about other things.)

**********

May your summer be unpredictably happy.

Duly Noted

I have been scolded asked by Betsy to issue a correction.

Back when I posted about If All the Swords in England, I said that Ramona was the one who had dubbed it "Sif All the Words in England."

I was wrong, wrong, wrong.

It was Betsy! All the time, it was Betsy!

Error noted.
Correction issued.

We now return to your regularly scheduled blog. Mistakes and all.

More food! Better food! Lazier food!

We watched "The Next Food Network Star" last night. Yes, even Ramona gets to stay up and watch the culinary excitement. We don't do American Idol, but ... food? We're there.

Anyone else watching this?

We each decided what our "culinary point of view" would be if we were to compete on the show. Atticus said his would be, "You can cook anything once you learn a few kitchen basics." He's right. I know he is, because he's actually taught me to cook a few things.

Anne-with-an-e's would be "Literature in the Kitchen." She would present dishes to go along with her favorite books. (Sigh. I'm so proud.)

Mine would be -- you guessed it: How to cook using the fewest possible pots, pans and utensils. (And, I would fervently hope that Alton Brown wouldn't dislike me from the first moment, as he did with Lisa. Ouch.)

Here's another recipe that I've lazied up, by throwing it into a 9"x 13" instead of using loaf pans. My kids love this, so I make it year-round.

Lazy Mom's Pumpkin Bread

3 c. sugar
4 eggs
2 c. pumpkin
1 c. oil
3 1/3 cups flour
2 tsp. baking soda
2 tsp. baking powder
1 1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. cinnamon
1 tsp. nutmeg
1/2 tsp. allspice or ginger

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease 9"x13" pan. Combine sugar, eggs, pumpkin, and oil and mix well. In separate bowl, combine dry ingredients, then add slowly to the first (or, do as I do, and throw it all in to make it happen faster.) Mix well, pour in pan and bake for about an hour.

Feed to children for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Think about what you can make for dinner tomorrow night that will involve only a crock pot and paper plates. Pat self on the back, but realize that Alton Brown would not be impressed.

Even Lazier (and you didn't think that was possible) Monkey Bread

I've posted several times before about the extremely easy monkey bread that we make.

It's gotten even easier. The recipe is here, and here's the change: Instead of that pesky business in which you mess up a whole mixing bowl, you can mix this stuff right in the pan.

Yup. Just put the biscuits directly into the pan, pour the melted butter over them, sprinkle on the sugar mixture and stir it all up. Rearrange it a bit to get one even layer (you had to do that anyway) and pop them in the oven.

I know I may seem just a little too enamored of shortcuts in the kitchen, but I blame it on my dishwasherless status. I am all about fewer bowls.

The baby born twice

Amazing story. Beautiful baby.

h/t: Atticus

Poetry Friday: On Turning Ten with Billy Collins

I've been thinking about my children this week.

"Oh, (snort!) really, Karen? There's a new one. How novel! How original!"

Oh, stop.

Granted, I talk about them a lot. As if, you know, they're my life or something. Weeeell, yeah.

Not that "they're my life" in the way I used to scorn, the way I used to think would be a total abdication of my Self and a complete submersion of anything that was truly "me," truly "other," truly important. I used to think that women who ordered their worlds around their children were lost and sad. But now that I have these three incredible human beings in my life, I see that I was lost and sad before they were a part of it. They have enriched my life beyond measure, and that's a pretty good reason to order my world around them for the eighteen or so years I'll get to have them. And when they're gone, my world will not fall apart, as I used to think worlds did for stay-at-home mothers with empty nests. No, I will not suddenly find that I submerged my identity for their sake. No, I will be richer -- I will have a different, and better identity -- for having spent time with them. And I'll be grateful for lives well-lived. Theirs and mine.

What started this whole train of thought?

It might have started with Ramona and Betsy, a couple of days ago. I was sitting on my bed, writing. Ramona came, tentatively, into the room, with a stricken look on her face. Tears were imminent.

"What's the matter, sweetie?" I asked, as she climbed onto the bed and curled up next to me.

She looked mournfully into my eyes and then bravely shared her sorrow: "Betsy doesn't believe in fairies anymore!" she blurted out, and began to sob.

Oh, my. That is a blow for one so young. Her own sister, too. How did this happen?

It must have been that time I looked away for ten minutes. And when I looked back, my Betsy had been growing up. So. Betsy has banished fairies from her life. That's bound to happen sometime after the age of ten, I suppose. And Betsy's nearly a couple of years past that marker. But, I miss my nine-year-olds of days gone by. I now have two former nine-year-olds, and I miss the magic of that age, you know? The charmed existence of one who is intoxicated by a world ripe with imagined possibilities and enchanted creatures around every corner.

And so, when I found this poem, a few tears welled up. Billy Collins doesn't usually make me do that. He usually makes me laugh, or want to buy him a cup of coffee, or run to Atticus and say, "Listen to this one!" But, upon reading "On Turning Ten" I just wanted to hold my children and heal all the wounds that will come their way.

About this poem, Billy Collins said:

that he’s never written the perfect poem. But there’s one, “On Turning Ten,” that comes the closest to being perfect.
...
“I wrote this as a comic satire on the habit of poets to take themselves very seriously on their birthdays when those birthdays can be divided by ten,” says Collins.

“There are a lot of poems written about being 30 and 40 and 50. And I thought let's have fun with this and write a poem about turning ten.”
...
“But as I wrote the poem, the poem kind of got away from me,” adds Collins. “And I started to get into the kind of seriousness of this young 10- year-old dealing with mortality for the first time.”

(Read the whole article and interview here.)

from On Turning Ten:

You tell me it is too early to be looking back,
but that is because you have forgotten
the perfect simplicity of being one
and the beautiful complexity introduced by two.
But I can lie on my bed and remember every digit.
At four I was an Arabian wizard.
I could make myself invisible
by drinking a glass of milk a certain way.
At seven I was a soldier, at nine a prince.
...
It seems only yesterday I used to believe
There was nothing under my skin but light.
If you cut me I would shine.

(Read the whole poem here, at Billy-Collins.com)

The poem still works on that delightful satirical level. I love it for that. And I love it for what it became, too. (And I love anyone who gives children credit for being real human beings rather than just messy little creatures who need to grow up.)

And, just as I smile and sympathetically nod at the boy in this poem, I can both laugh and cry at Ramona's sorrow over a sister who no longer believes in fairies. It's sweetly amusing, but that doesn't mean it isn't lamentable. It is.

It is.

Wounds will come. Children will know them as such long before they can articulate why it hurts so much. And so I will continue to order my world around these lovely people -- fairy believers and fairy scoffers both -- to help salve wounds, share laughter and, with grace and help, remind them that one day we'll reach that place where, truly, no matter what, every day, when we are cut, we will shine.

**********
Sarah at Just Another Day of Catholic Pondering is hosting the Poetry Friday roundup today.

The Pray-er is [IN]

You may have noticed that I rarely post prayer requests here. You may have thought one of the following:

"She doesn't seem to pray much."

"She doesn't seem to care one bit about all the heartwrenching calamities out there."

"I wish she had a heart."

"Gee ... I wonder what Ramona's thinking?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, my friends, if you have thought any of the above, let's talk. Except about the Ramona part. That person can go read my last post.

On the subject of prayer:

Sometimes it all threatens to overwhelm us, doesn't it? The disasters and tragedies, the accidents and crimes, the husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, and friends who are in Iraq, or elsewhere in the military, the chronic illnesses, the medical conditions, the aged, the troubled marriages and families ... so many things to pray for.

And yet, I don't mention a single one of them here.

But they are here. I just have a paralyzing fear of leaving someone out.

I don't like to start mentioning specifics here, for several reasons. One is that some things are too personal for a blog. Everyone understands that. Easy. Another is that to choose to post a few, but not others, makes me feel that I'm dubbing some requests blogworthy, others not so much. (Incidentally, I don't feel that way when I read a specific request on someone else's blog. I just assume they felt moved to post at that moment. So, please know that I'm only this neurotic about my own blog, not about yours.)

So, anyway, anyway ... close to home, or far away, the requests do come in, and I do think about them, and they are attended to. Just not here.

But, how does one attend to so many requests? We're all overwhelmed at times by our own needs and those of others. So, what to do?

One easy way to address them, and to keep the promise to pray, is to pray something -- anything -- immediately. A spontaneous prayer. A Memorare. A quick but heartfelt, "Lord, have mercy."

Then, one of several things can happen to keep it going:

I assign particular requests to particular kids. We always gather together to pray at night, and the list of those for whom we pray is always growing, ever-changing.

Anne-with-an-e puts requests on her prayer chain. For her, this is a literal prayer chain. She made a paper chain, and each new request becomes a link. The chain is hanging in our dining room (because, as you know, I have a fabulous sense of style when it comes to interior decor.)

The other thing I do is write down prayer requests in a little notebook that I keep handy for just such things.

Prayer requests shouldn't overwhelm us. They're a part of this trudge through life. We just have to keep striving for them to become as natural as breathing.

We want to:

Rejoice always, pray constantly, give thanks in all circumstances, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you."

~~ 1 Thess. 5:16-18

Yes, there's a lot to pray for. Yes, the world is often a sad, sorry, terrible place. But, it's also full of tiny glimpses of Heaven that come to us in the form of friendship and phone calls, daughters and hot fudge sundaes, marriage and babies, and a million other little bits of the Divine that are allowed to permeate our lives.

This sad, sorry terrible place is the place God gave us to work out our salvation with fear and trembling, and it's worth praying for. Worth thanking Him for. Worth starting a paper chain for, keeping a notebook for, and keeping promises to Pray. Right. Now.

"Every moment comes to us pregnant with a command from God, only to pass on and plunge into eternity, there to remain forever what we have made of it."

~~ St. Francis de Sales

Now. I'm off to see what Ramona's thinking today.

Ramona, the Chocolate-Loving Writer

Her latest nuggets:

*****

Ramona was looking over my shoulder as I created a blog widget that lists our favorite history books. She read the words, "If all the swords in England" and promptly composed a little poem:

If all the swords in England
flew at you
Do you think another day
would fly at you?

*****

A writer's repast:

For her bedtime snack last night, Ramona asked if she could please have a hot fudge sundae with a Hershey bar on the side.

Works for me.

For me, I said. Alas, she had to choose one or the other.

*****

Her descriptive powers continue to develop:

"Mommy, when you're chewing this gum and you drink milk, it makes your mouth sizzle with flavor! It makes the roof of your mouth feel just like a candy cane!"

*****

On homeschooling and lunch:

"I'm so glad we homeschool! You just never know what they might give you to eat in those places."

Another interesting read

Here in The Atlantic, entitled In the Basement of the Ivory Tower.

This is a really well-written piece by an adjunct professor somewhere in America. He nails it, but he doesn't really have any answers. Understandable, since we seem to have forgotten too many of the questions.

(Thanks to Atticus for passing it on to me ... we've gotta get the man a blog.)

What a great piece

by Mark Shea, entitled, Freedom is Scary. He writes:

It is a scary thing to realize that there is no Catholic position on many of the shibboleths and tribal loyalties that define our lives on a day-to-day basis.

The faith has no particular ideology concerning economics, ghosts, diet regimens, psychic healing, politics, TV shows, music or smoking. But to the tribes that care about such things, your opinion or lack thereof marks you as Us or Them.

Read the whole thing here.

The Carnival of Children's Literature

is up and running at Here in the Bonny Glen.

Lissa bravely threw it together at the last minute and it promises to be, as always, a good read.


Thanks, Lissa!

Crashed

What

Vacation
Bible
School

does
to
my
children.

Poetry Friday : An informal survey involving Emily Dickinson, a niece and a phone call

Quick!

When I say the following name, what do you think of?

Emily Dickinson.

What was the first thing that popped into your head?

If you're me, it was "poet."

If you're my niece, it was "recluse."

If you're my sister-in-law, you'd call me up and ask me to answer your impromptu survey, and then you'd have far too much tact to use my answer against your own daughter. You'd never say something like, "Aha! See? Most people are going to think of her as a poet before they think of her as a recluse." Instead, you'd go about your business and let your daughter write her literature night presentation any way she wanted. Because you are a tactful and kind mother. But, you also are a curious sort and thus the informal survey. Because it's just nice to know.

And, getting back to me, being a curious sort myself, I had to ask others, too.

Ramona's answer: A poet

Betsy: A book (as in "There is no frigate like a ....")

Anne-with-an-e: A robin's nest (as in "If I can help one fainting robin unto his nest again, I shall not live in vain.")

Atticus: Tapioca.

Okay, so he was kidding. His real first thought was: Poet.

And, one other sister-in-law (I've got plenty of 'em) was asked to weigh in by the original mom in question. Her answer? Bees.

So.

My informal analysis of the survey results is that if one is a fan of a particular Dickinson poem, or a particularly Dickinsonian theme, one will answer accordingly with the poem or theme. If one has too many favorites to name (or, if one is five years old), one will respond "poet" and will be shocked -- shocked, I tell you -- should anyone respond differently at the mention of our dear Emily's name. If one is wanting the rest of us to mind our own business, write our own presentations, thank-you-very-much, and stop bothering her, one is my niece.

Which one are you?

In closing, I'll include a Dickinson selection that seems fitting to all of the above, and especially to my niece, who was admirably unmoved by her mother's plea to reconsider and present Emily as poet first, recluse second. (My niece closed the valves of her attention on that one.) And now, my only wish is that I'd been able to see the presentation, which, alas, was far away in another state (literally, not figuratively.)

The Soul Selects Her Own Society

The soul selects her own society,
Then shuts the door;
On her divine majority
Obtrude no more.

Unmoved, she notes the chariot's pausing
At her low gate;
Unmoved, an emperor is kneeling
Upon her mat.

I've known her from an ample nation
Choose one;
Then close the valves of her attention
Like stone.

Poetry Friday is being hosted today at Wild Rose Reader.

Why I Love Our Read-Alouds, Part 937

Ramona asked me if I would read Anne of Green Gablesto her. We started a couple of days ago, and when we reached the passage in which Anne describes herself as being in the "depths of despair" Ramona asked me what the "depths of despair" were.

"Well," I said, "'despair' means being terribly, terribly sad, so the 'depths of despair' would be the saddest a person could possibly be. Have you ever been in the depths of despair?"

"I," replied Ramona, "am in the depths of despair whenever you have to go out and I can't be with you. That's how much I love you."

She gazed up at me in a very Anne Shirley way.

And I?

I felt as if I'd just seen the White Way of Delight, the Lake of Shining Waters and had been told by Matthew and Marilla Cuthbert that they were going to keep me.

My latest Anne-with-an-e fan (Ramona, not the cat.)