Bellis Perennis (Canis Optima!)

Otherwise known as the common daisy, Bellis Perennis has become the first nickname of our not-so-common Daisy, the newest member of the family!

Yesterday, we welcomed one brown-eyed, wet-nosed, two-year-old into our home for a trial 2-week adoption.  But, we do not need 2 weeks to know if this is the ONE.  She just so totally is.

Behold the cuteness of Daisy Girl:

Sadie is now, officially, the happiest girl in all the realm.  And I am now, officially, the most vacuuming-est mom that has ever been.  My new scourge: dog hair. Ah well, the things you do for love.

Small Washington School Closes Because of Nice Weather

This story made me smile; it's just so Washington:

SEATTLE (AP) — In sun-deprived Washington state, the promise of nice spring weather has prompted a small private school to give students a day off to enjoy the sunshine.

Friday will be a "sun day" of sorts for 205 students at Bellingham Christian School in Bellingham, Wash.

Principal Bob Sampson announced the day off on the school's site.

Sampson says he wanted to give students a chance to enjoy the weather and re-energize. He says he surveyed parents and floated the idea with the school board before canceling school.

The sun day was also made possible because there weren't any days off because of snow this school year.

Friday is not the first time the school has given students the day off because of sunshine. The last time was two years ago.

**************

Truly, it is a glorious day.  If you have never been to Western Washington when the sun is shining, then you are missing out on one of God's great gifts.  I'm glad that the Bellingham principal sees things the same way.  I hope not one of those lucky-ducky children wastes the day inside playing video games!

 

I am also thrilled to report that our baby apple trees in the backyard have blossoms on them this spring -- for the first time!  Yay!  The blueberry bushes are looking great, with countless delicate, pale buds that look like poofy skirts from the Gay 90's.  The strawberries are making their own sweet show in greens, whites, and yellows.  And, I have planted my geraniums and marigolds and peas.  I love my rainy, grey winters here in the PNW; but, I love my vibrant, flashy springs, too!

Running for a Cause!

Please consider signing up or donating to World Concern's "Free Them" 5K/10K Fundraiser to fight human trafficking.  My whole family is signed up to run -- Sadie and Jason are tackling the 5K part, and I will grimly face the 10K.  I think it is in Fremont, so there will be hills. 

If you're interested at all in donating, here is a link to our family's fundraising page:

The Olawsky Family's World Concern "Free Them" Page

Thanks so much!

Like a Rag Doll

Yesterday evening at Safeway, we had finished loading our groceries into the car and I was returning the cart when a crunch of metal caused me and Jason to both look up.  A huge, old Ford truck was pulling quickly away from the Toyota Camry into which the driver had just backed.  Then, a woman was running across the parking lot, pushing her cart filled with groceries, screaming at the truck, "That's my car!  You hit my car!"  The truck continued to drive away, so the woman pushed her cart to the side and sped up after the truck, screaming the whole time, "You hit my car!  That's my car!"  I ran after her, and caught her grocery cart, pushed it out of the way to safety and started after her.  I guess I figured that, if the truck's driver didn't have the decency to stop at the moment he hit her car, he was not going to stop just because she chased after him.  I wanted to get close enough to see his license plate number so that I could help her file a police report for hit-and-run. 

The truck had to stop at the parking lot driveway to make a left turn out onto SE 140th, which is a fairly busy road in our neighborhood.  There was a car in front of it waiting also to turn, which allowed the woman to catch up to the truck.  She started beating on the passenger-side window, yelling repeatedly for the driver to stop, because he hit her car.  The car in front of the truck turned left onto the street.  Then, to my and everyone else's horror, the truck started to turn left, with the woman clinging onto the side window.  She managed to run a few steps with the truck, then, as it picked up speed, it began to drag her, and then -- Lord, have mercy and drive this vision from my mind -- she lost her grip and I saw her body bounce along the ground like a rag doll.  The truck sped off.

Thank God, she did not die.  Thank God, she did not lose consciousness.  Some good people on the other side of the street were able to drag her out of the road quickly.  She was cut up terribly -- flesh just torn from her legs and feet, blood pouring from her forehead and the back of her head.  Those of us on the Safeway-side began to stream over to offer what assistance we could, and to make sure that, when the police came, we were able to give our witness testimony.  Jason, on the other side in the parking lot, stood guard over her car and her shopping cart.  The poor woman was just crying and crying, "He hit my car . . . he hurt me . . . he hurt me . . . he hit my car . . . he is a bad man . . . he did not stop . . . oh, he hurt me . . ."  Someone found her cell phone and called her husband.  The firemen came, the sheriff came, police officers came. 

What I did not know at the time, but found out soon afterward, was that another man had just gotten into his car in the Safeway parking lot when the hit occurred.  As he watched the unbelievable scene unfold, he quickly sprang into action.  He turned right behind the truck onto 140th, stopped but a moment to help get the woman out of the road after she fell, then back into the driver's seat to follow that truck, cell phone in hand, so that the police were able to stop the truck driver within a half and hour.  "They got him," the sheriff apprised us with triumph; a cheer went up among the witnesses and bystanders.  The man who followed the truck came back at the end, to finish giving his report for the police.  Jason and I were able to shake his hand.  Hero.

The woman, whose name is Twee, had been reaching out a hand to me during the wait for her husband and police.  I grabbed her blood-soaked hand and held it gently, promising her that we were all there to help her and that none of us would think of leaving her.  I saw the cross necklace that she wore.  When I met her husband later, I told him to tell Twee that our family would be praying for her.  And so we have.

You may wonder why she was so tenacious in pursuing the man who hit her car.  Why, you may ask, would anyone put themselves at such risk, simply to avenge a cosmetic aberration?  Her husband had the key.  See, Twee was from another country -- somewhere in Asia, I did not find the specific one -- and she had had a very hard life of grinding poverty before coming to the States and marrying her husband.  This car that had been hit was her first new car -- a 2010 Camry with 26, 000 miles on it.  She had had it for only 4 weeks.  And so, I can only guess, when that man hit her car and drove off without any acknowledgement, it was a slap in her face rather than a dent in her trunk.  I imagine all the desperation and injustice of her youth came flooding back to her in that moment and every fibre within her cried out, "I will not be a victim again.  Not today.  Not ever." And I can understand that.

Please pray for Twee's speedy recovery.  And for justice to be served for the man who acted with no honor and almost took her life.

The Happiest Show on TV

From 1997 through 2002, I had two recurring events around which I structured my schedule: church on Sundays and Dharma and Greg on Wednesday nights. Go ahead: mock and deride, if you will.  I don't care.  D&G was my favorite show back then in those work-full-time-go-to-school-full-time days, and it remains in my top three all-time favorites today. 

On a week that has seen inexplicable horror and unimaginable evil, it is good to revisit things like D&G that are pure happiness and light. The powers that be have only released one season to DVD in the U.S.; however, some very good souls have risked copyright infringement charges and who-knows-what-else to post further seasons on YouTube.  Huzzah!

Dharma Finkelstein and Greg Montgomery: not only the best-looking couple ever assembled in the sit-com labs, but also the most innately sweet.  If you have never seen the show, the premise is this: Dharma is a happy-go-lucky, new-agey chick raised by hippie parents in that part of San Francisco; Greg is a lawyer in the Justice Dept. from an old-money family in that part of San Francisco; they meet on BART and get married on that same day.  Chaos and hilarity ensue. While the two sets of parents and their culture and values clashes are certainly amusing, it is the chemistry and joy that the two stars (Jenna Elfman and Thomas Gibson) bring to their characters that just made this show must-see TV for me from the get-go.  Dharma was created, as was revealed in interviews on the first season's DVD set, to be the antidote for the unhappy, tightly-wound career woman of the 1990's who was miserable in her personal life.  They wanted to make a character who was simply happy with who she was, absolutely in love, and able to spread delightful sunshine to everyone in her day-to-day life.  I think they succeeded.  And Greg was the perfect complement. 

So, when my heart is crying and the world is dying, I hold on to Jesus, yes, and fall to my knees.  But, I also turn my radio to 98.1 KING FM and listen to the soothing, interesting awesomeness of Sean MacLean as he hosts hours of classical music.  Or, I read and read and read. Or, and definitely increasingly this week, I pull up YouTube on the old laptop and watch the Happiest Show on TV.

We Are Advancing Constantly

Sadie will start 6th Grade mathematics (Saxon) this  month.  She is still technically in 4th Grade.

When we chose to homeschool Sadie two years ago, it was in part so that we could incorporate things like Latin and Greek into our curriculum.  Even Catholic schools do not teach those subjects at Elementary levels anymore.  In part, too, was the idea of not missing a huge chunk of Sadie's childhood -- after three years of sending her off to school in the morning, I was feeling disconnected with the person she was becoming.  Some moms make great classroom moms and get totally involved with the school experience.  I am not one of those moms.  The last great part of the decision was finding a schedule that really works -- for that optimal (optare - "to wish") balance of academic vigor, life-enhancing experiences, and plenty of dreaming down-time. I think we are getting very close.

I have set up the school year as follows: In September, we officially start a new academic year.  This is so that, if Sadie ever goes back into a traditional school, she will be in sync with the school calendar.  But, she will be "in school" year-round.  We do three weeks on, one week off, from September through August, with four special times of the year when she can have two weeks off in a row.  That gives us a typical 36-week school year, with a good dose of field-tripping and goofing-off time thrown in.

Because we are eschewing the 3-month wasteland of summer break, in September there is no "waking up the summer-slumber mind and snapping it back into academic mode" month of remedial learning.  In the words of Patton (the movie, at least, if not the man), "we are advancing constantly." Even on her "off" weeks, Sadie needs to do a little math, a little Latin and Greek, and a little memory work (be it poetry or geography or both!). This is just to keep her awake.  I have tried to give her time with absolutely no schoolwork, and have found that, when we start again, she inevitably tries to claim that she has forgotten how to conjugate ambulo into pluperfect or how to subtract fractions. This is because she is a weasel. So, math and Latin and so on we do -- and, if she does not fuss, it takes less than an hour and she can go climb up a tree and commune with the birds, or whatnot.

Also, by adhering to this schedule, we are still able to be ready for testing at the end of May.  At first I was worried that our strung-out timeline would make Sadie only 3/4 of the way through her grade level by testing time.  I have found, though, that homeschooling allows us simply to get through more things quickly, as well as thoroughly.  So, we can finish a 4th Grade science curriculum in April, or US History in May.  And math is just something that spirals around anyway, with piecemeal additions of new concepts interwoven with constant repetition of old ones.  Sadie did very well on her tests last year; I know she will do the same this year.  And the NLE, starting in 5th Grade?  Piece of cake (fingers crossed/knocking wood)!

I never thought that I would advocate for year-round school.  I believe with all my heart that kids need lots and lots of dreaming alone time and robust playing time and time out of their seats and into the world.  But, I am pretty sure -- and I'll have to wait for the years to bear witness as to whether I am or not, ultimately -- that this mixture is just right.  At least, it seems to be working for our family.  The seamless advance from year-to-year in our various curricula just plain works.  Far be it from me to wish to sentence any child to more time in public school; but, for homeschoolers or nontraditional and private schools, this schedule is something to consider. 

Drawing Sentences: A Guide to Diagramming

It always surprises me how very little most people seem to understand the structure of language.  More so, it surprises me how little they seem to care about their lack of understanding.  This is not limited to Americans.  I was questioning my Swiss friend about some points of German grammar, and she said that she really did not know how to answer me.  She just naturally speaks and reads it.  Which I suppose makes sense.  That is how most of us interact with our native tongues.  I guess it is just that I enjoy writing.  And, more than that actually, I enjoy reading well-written work, be it essay or story or novel.  My desire both to write better and to grasp why well-written pieces resonate the way that they do has led me to a lifelong fascination with grammar, syntax, and punctuation. And since I am the tyrannical pedagogical overlord of my daughter's education, my obsessions dictate her courses of study.  So, we are going to start diagramming sentences in composition.  Bwha-ha-ha! 

 

Luckily for me, this modern age of instant and complete gratification almost immediately put into my hands the ultimate sentence diagramming book: Drawing Sentences by Eugene Moutoux.  I promise you: I ordered this book before I even knew that the author was a professor of, among other things, German and Latin (derivatives).  Must be kismet!  We have not started to use it yet (next Monday is the day enclosed with a red heart on my calendar that signals the beginning of our journey); but, after simply thumbing through its awesomeness, I can confidently say that this book has everything you need to learn completely the art of diagramming.  He starts with the simplest sentences (e.g. "Ducks waddle.") and moves you systematically through the swirly-twirly grammar forest to such compositional virtuosity as this gem from Poe's "The Fall of the House of Usher": During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country, and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher. Whoa Nelly!  Could Poe himself diagram that twister?  We ought to be able to by the end of this course.

 

I am really hoping that this intensive study -- which will probably take us the rest of 4th Grade well into 6th -- will leave Sadie with a thorough understanding of the structural beauty that is possible with our wondrous language.  Also, I hope that she comes away from it with more than a nodding acquaintance with the arsenal of structural components available to writers to enrich and enhance their craft.  Frankly, that is my hope for myself as well. 

2,000 Years

Pie in the Sky!

Heaven.  Such a beguiling thought!  Do you sit and dream about how you will while away the uncountable hours once the shackles of time are thrown off and our tears of sadness are replaced forever by those of joy?  I love to think of Heaven, which is probably why Revelation is one of my least favorite books of the Bible -- too boring and scary.  I acknowledge that that will be the end of our beginning -- the ultimate battles to usher in the Millennial Reign on this battle-scarred earth.  But, one thousand years is nothing to eternity, and I like to focus my thoughts on the great Here-After, when sin and pain are put away, and we are who we were always meant to be.  Jason thinks I'm too pie-in-the-sky with my anticipations of Heaven.  Why, of course there will be pie!  How could our great and good God fashion a paradise that does not include pie?  I think that I am right, and Jason is wrong.  Jesus is our model for what resurrected life looks like.  He ate fish.  I will eat pie.  Ultimately, after the great End and the grand court display with the cherubim and seraphim chanting creepily about, what we will be left with is our Heavenly Father and His family.  And we all know that when family reunions are good, they are very good indeed.  And there is often pie!

I used to think that the line to see Jesus would cost me at least 10,000 years of waiting.  Then, it hit me that Jesus is not like Santa Claus at the Bellevue Mall.  He will be ever-present, because He is welcoming us into His home.  His Spirit will waft about like fresh perfume, no longer contained to the hearts of those who love Him.  And, I will know everybody!  No more lurking in the corner, wishing I were somewhere else, counting the minutes until the party is over.  There won't be any minutes to count!  What a party!

What I love to think of most (and this is where Jason thinks I veer too close to heresy or solipsism or whatnot) is that I will get to be with other people I love who love Jesus.  That is, I firmly believe that there will be firesides in cozy rooms in the mansion that my Father built, with rain pouring down outside the big picture windows.  And by those firesides, there will be glasses of wine and good fellowship with the likes of Flicka, Vermonster, Anita, Jane, Maud, Jack, Gilbert, etc.  And there will be laughter and stories and joy.  Jason seems to think it will be all Revelation all the time.  If it were, then I would want out.  But, I think too highly of my Heavenly Father for that.  He built us for joyful relationships.  He rescued us to be His family.  Every father loves to see his children in loving fellowship; how much more, then, our Father in Heaven?  You simply cannot have relationships within the framework of Revelation.  There is not much in that prophetic book that says "family."  I think that it is a description of a fixed point in Heaven's timeline -- another instance, like that of Creation and the Incarnation, of God's subjecting Himself to the tyranny of time in order to accomplish something important. But, once the end of the beginning is finished, once the Millennial Reign is done, once we truly enter eternity, then it's the biggest, best family reunion ever!

I have already told my friend, Flicka, that I'm counting on at least 2,000 years of drinking wine with her by that glorious fire simply to catch up on all the interrupted conversations and missed opportunities from our fleeting vapor of earth life.  Of course, there will not be such a thing as years by then; but, if there were, I'm thinking that I'm pretty spot on. 

Recapturing the True Spirit of the Season

 

OK, my dad is sending too much good stuff to my in-box lately.

 

Caesar. The ides of March are come.
Soothsayer. Ay, Caesar; but not gone. (3.1.1) 

Could This Be the BEST News Blurb EVER?

As seen by my keen-eyed dad in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch.

 

As Mr. Bennet would say, "For what do we live but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our turn?"

Bug Unplugged

Yes, we really just might be the bravest parents in America, perhaps in the whole of Western Civilization. We are preparing to journey into a realm trod not by modern man.  We are taking a bold step into the future, the consequences of which we cannot prophesy, but must countenance.  For, once we have made this move, there is no turning back.  Many call us foolish as they secretly survey us with envy and awe.  We have, indeed, empires in our purpose and new eras in our brains. We are traveling, internationally, with our Bug unplugged.

 

 On Monday, we leave for a fortnight of fun in London (and Chawton and Bath).  The catch is this: we are non-revving, which is airline employee lingo meaning we fly for (almost) free, but have to stand-by for a seat.  So, we really cannot know which airports we'll be stuck in and for how long until we get to our destination.  Jason has an intricate network of all possible routes on a spreadsheet.  He is our logistics guy. He'll get us there and back.

 

"Make sure the iPad is fully charged," counseled one friend blithely.  "Load up on lots of new movies," suggested another.  "Don't forget your DS stylus," warned a third, "you'll never hear the end of it." 

 

"No," I said in reply.  We do not have an iPad or Kindle Fire or whatever that new thing from Microsoft is for which they have produced some of the most obnoxious commercials in recent memory.  We are leaving the iPods at home.  And, I haven't been able to find the Nintendo DS for more than 6 months now.  We are traveling unplugged.  Sadie-Bug unplugged.

 

Foolish, you say?  Masochistic?  Inconceivable?  Nonsense, I say: visionary.  At least, visionary if your vision encompasses the glory days of the 1980's, which is when I took a trip, at Sadie's almost-current age of 10, with my father to England and Wales for three weeks.  Not having any new-fangled diversionary devices, I had to pay attention.  I also read books.  Get this:  I read the Narnia series for the first time whilst driving with my pop through the backroads of England.  Who is the lucky-ducky here, huh? 

 

Our Sadie-Bug, God love her, gets lost in screens.  Give her a screen, and you have said goodbye to any meaningful interaction with Bugster until you have wrested said flickering, back-lit monster from her grasp.  If we brought her iPod, loaded with movies, she would never look out the window on the train from London to Bath, or talk to us, or pay attention.  Even if we packed the device away, she would sulk and pout until it was hers again.  Better just not to bring it.  We are bringing books.

 

And, speaking of books, I'm in a rush to finish Amity Shlaes's new Coolidge biography, appropriately titled, Coolidge.  I had originally ordered it to be my travel book to London, but then Jason and I had a big set-to.  Coolidge is more than 400 pages and hardcover; Jason gestured -- wildly and futilely -- at my neglected Kindle lying forlorn and uncharged in the basket at the foot of our bed.  "This," he cried in hoarse desperation, "this is why I bought you the Kindle!  Upload the damn book on Kindle, and don't go lugging that doorstop all over England." 

Petulant, I whined in return, "But I don't like to read books on Kindle.  I like to read real, paper books.  Waaaaaa!" 

 

"I know," he replied in exasperation, "Kindle sucks for everyday reading.  But, for traveling, and traveling light, it is your best option." 

 

"I don't wanna!  Waaaa!" 

 

"Fine," he glowered at me, "And I suppose that's not the only book you're planning to bring." 

 

"Well," I gulped, "I was going to bring one more."

 

"And that is . . . ?"

 

"My new Roger Scruton book," I whispered, too ashamed to meet his eye,

 

"You mean the hardcovered 400+ page tome that is resting on your nightstand right now?"

 

Teensy-weensy now, "Yes."

 

"Aaaargh!"  His eyes rolled, and his face darkened even more, and he turned away from me in disgust.

So, for peace, peace, when there is no peace, I have decided to read the Shlaes book before we leave.  It is rather good.  She does not write the most lucid prose I have ever read, but she knows how to pick out an interesting story to illustrate her point.  So far, I'm a little disappointed in Calvin Coolidge, though he has long been one of my favorite presidents.  It's mostly this: he went immediately from reading law after college into politics, with little private enterprise between.  That is annoying.  Still, his character was always sound, and his politics grew more so the longer he served in office.  His handling of the police strike in Boston whilst he was governor of Massachusetts was sublime. 

Here is something interesting about Coolidge's political rise:  It seems that the longer he was in office, the more conservative he became.  The more conservative he became, the more people loved him.  And the more they loved him, the more they voted for him and his ideas.  This runs completely counter to the common wisdom that moderates will rule the day.  Of course, the makeup of the American electorate was different back in the early part of the 20th century, at least in some ways.  There was a huge influx of immigrants, many of whom spoke English (the Irish), but many of whom did not (the Italians).  There was much more wide-spread poverty than today.  And you had the terrible, unconscionable effects of culturally acceptable, institutional racism, too.  Yet, even with all these problems, America was different.  Something wholesome and good was at its core -- a youth and optimism that, though things are tough, this was still the best place to be.  You did not look at your neighbor with a predatory eye, coveting his goods, expecting him to provide for you.  Attempts at class warfare fell flat, because most Americans did not see any reason why they or their children could not be the next Stearns or Morgan or Mellon.  We have grown old and rotten at our core.  I am beginning to suspect that Coolidge's greatness just reflected the greatness of America at the time.  We get the leaders we deserve -- and, as Mencken would point out, we get them good and hard.

 

But, enough of that.  My point here is that we are traveling unplugged.  The Luddite in me rejoices!  Yes, the blogging, high-speed Internet-connected, jumbo jet-flying Luddite within!  LOL!  But, we will not be completely without screens, alas.  Apparently, British Airways features an extensive library of movies and TV shows on their in-flight entertainment system.  The challenge will be this:  through how many pages of math and how many Latin and Greek flashcards can I march Sadie before I give in to the temptation of peaceful reading promised by the beguilingly blank screen in front of her seat?

 

 

Bill Grogan's Goat

I lead preschool and Kindergarten worship for the 11 AM service at our church (the wonderful Calvary Chapel South).  This gig sort of fell into my lap (read: no one else signed up), and this is now the third (or fourth?) year that I've tortured the kiddos with my lack of musical talents and amused them with my abundance of goofiness. Lately, a little guy who is somewhere twixt the ages of 3 and 4 has been badgering me to sing a certain particular worship song: Bill Grogan's Goat.  Now, I had never heard this chart-topper for the preschool set before, but I was assured by my young petitioner that it was most excellent in all ways of godly praise.  So, I told him a couple weeks ago that I would look the song up and try to learn it so that we could sing it during worship time.

True to my word, I Googled the song.  Turns out, it has little to do with God and much to do with a man who got very angry at his goat.  Undaunted, I copy-pasted both lyrics and chords.  A wee rewrite later, and this dandy ditty (which, in some versions, could veer into the realm of gory) obtained a few verses of redemption to earn it a place in the worship song roster.  Inspired by the vivid lyrics, I then drew some pictures that illustrated the actions, so the children could follow along while we learned the song.  Here is what I came up with and what I began to teach the kiddos last Sunday:

Bill Grogan's Goat (Redemption Version)

 There was a man (there was a man)

Now, please take note (now please take note)

This man named Bill (this man named Bill)

He loved his goat (he loved his goat) 

 One day Bill's goat (one day Bill's goat)

Was feeling fine (was feeling fine)

Ate three red shirts (at three red shirts)

Right off the line (right off the line)

Bill took a stick (Bill took a stick)

Gave him three whacks (gave him three whacks)

And tied him to (and tied him to)

The railroad tracks (the railroad tracks)



The whistle blew (the whistle blew)

The train drew nigh (the train drew nigh)

Bill Grogan's goat (Bill Grogran's goat)

Seemed doomed to die (seemed doomed to die)

 That goat he groaned (that goat he groaned)

As in great pain (as in great pain)

Coughed up those shirts (coughed up those shirts)

And flagged the train (and flagged the train)

 That train it stopped (that train it stopped)

As on a dime (as on a dime)

Bill Grogan's goat (Bill Grogan's goat)

Was saved in time! (was saved in time)

Bill watched the scene (Bill watched the scene)

With great remorse (with great remorse)

Ran to his goat (ran to his goat)

His voice all hoarse (his voice all hoarse) 

"Dear goat will you (dear goat will you)

Forgive forget?" (forgive forget)

The goat said, "Maaah!" (the goat said maaah)

Which means, "You bet!" (which means you bet)

So that is all (so that is all)

Our story's done (our story's done)

A lesson learned (a lesson learned)

And so much fun! (yes so much fun!)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jinxing My Good Health (Hopefully)

You know how you never really want to say aloud that something hasn't come to pass because you might jinx it into happening after all?  Well, here's my best shot:

I have not been sick in like forever.  Not a sniffle nor a sneeze.  No itchy throat or aching head.  No excuse to stay in bed all day drinking hot things while the rain pours down outside.  No sweet indulgences in self pity.  No one taking care of me and cooing over me and worrying me back into health.  Nada.

It's been more than two years since I've had a sick day.  Boo-hoo.  I've always been in complete sympathy with C.S. Lewis's contention that "ideal happiness" comes very near on this terrestrial plane in a convalescence from a small illness whilst sitting comfortably with a good book. He chose a window overlooking the sea and Italian epics.  I would choose a mountain cabin in the rain and something British-wrought.  Our sentiments are essentially the same.  Namely, I think, he and I are both looking for that absence of guilt that comes when one is recovering from illness (no matter how trifling), and the bliss of long periods of solitude, interrupted only by the most solicitous of inquiries.

And, unlike little Peggy Ann McKay, I am fully willing to succumb to a small cold any day of the week, even on a Saturday.  So, I'm stockpiling Theraflu  . . . and waiting . . .*

*To those of you to whom I might be rather closely related who think that the entire subject of this post is "inane," I only wish to point out that its premise is first cousin to the one which would lead a viewer of High Sierra (1941) to look longingly upon Humphrey Bogart's character's bullet-riddled arm and wistfully declare, "I wish I had a gunshot wound."  So there.

 

Budget Woes

This weekend, we are going to work on our household budget, as per one of my 2013 goals.  I am so depressed.  There are few things more anathema to my soul than number-crunching.  I hate the petite-bourgeoisie-ness of it all.  My m.o. is to throw money around in a haphazard and extravagant way and then hold my breath to see what happens next.  Jason, on the other hand, is elated.  This is right up his alley.  In fact, finally cornering me after 13 years of marriage on a budget is the icing on top of the cake that was baked when he finally got his last tax form in the mail this week and could proceed with his yearly romance with the IRS.  Ugh.  It's just one of those rare times right now when I realize how different he and I are. 

But, we're the same on the really important things: religion, politics, the raising of our Meck-child.  Many would add "money" to the really-important-mix, on which we are rather different; but, I think we can overcome that.  It boils down to this: I wish he earned a little bit more; he wishes I spent a little bit less.*  We're like Obama and Boehner!  If we can reconcile this fiscal pas-de-deux, then certainly there is hope for our country. 

I spoke with my friend, Anita, on the phone yesterday while she was in the midst of balancing her checkbook.  She was perplexed, exasperated, and on the hunt for a missing $45.**  I listened to her fretful quandary, clucked my tongue with compassion, and considered her later with amazement and no little bit of awe.  Such a fuss for $45!  Were it I instead, I would have added or subtracted the fiendish compound, written a row of ????? in the ledger, closed the checkbook, and proceeded happily on my way.  And that is why my beleaguered, fiscally responsible husband lives daily with ill-concealed irritation at his silly-pants wife.  And why I must get better.  But, by gum, it ain't easy.  It sure ain't easy.

*This is just my being a little silly.  Jason is a spectacular provider, and, if anything, I wish he worked less hard and took it easy a bit more.  I just hate to budget and wish that money flowed like water.  Of course, Jason would probably point out that you cannot get flowing water at an instant if you do not plan out a system of pipes and plumbing.  To which I eloquently reply, "Pbbblt!"

**I followed up with Anita and am happy to report that she found the missing $45!  Huzzah!

Paxton or Pullman?

Working together, Jason and I scored 100%!
(I don't know whether to continue being proud or start feeling ashamed.)



 

How will you do? http://www.bobborst.com/popculture/paxton-or-pullman/
Of course, they did not ask the ultimate Paxton or Pullman question:
Brain Dead (1990): Paxton or Pullman?

Rejecting the Suburban Car Paradigm (TM)

I sold my car, Hailey, this month.  Thankfully, she went to two dear friends, Josh and Kadie, who will love on her and treat her right.  I feel rather Mr. Bennet-y about the whole thing, as I never imagined she would be sold with so little cost and inconvenience to myself.  But, they needed a new(ish) car and I had one to sell, and we all know and trust each other and everything went swimmingly.  Tra-la-la!  What a glorious turn of events!

So, I have coined a phrase to describe this new era in my life here in the 'burbs: "rejecting the suburban car paradigm."  Nearly everyone believes that you cannot live a full and complete life in the suburbs nowadays without a car.  Sadie and I are out to prove them wrong.  We'd put less than 200 miles on Hailey since August; I would start her once a week to pull her out a few feet to get to my Sunday School supplies in the file cabinet in the garage.  Other than that, Sadie and I have been effectively without a car all this fall and winter.  And, much like the ancient Persian couriers so esteemed by Herodotus, neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night shall stay we courageous suburban cyclists from our course.  And Sadie has (almost) stopped complaining about her eccentric, bicycle-loving mama to any and all marginally sympathetic ears.

I have found a new bike.  Heart! Heart! Heart!  It's a suh-weet Trek FX WSD 7.3:

 

I'm hoping to pick it up today from Bicycles West.  My current bike, Petunia, is way too small for me.  The frame of the FX (tentatively named Jack Black) will be 17".  Petunia is only 13".  When my legs are fully extended while pedaling her, the bend in my knee is close to 90°!  It's amazing I haven't blown a knee (or two!) out on these WA hills over the past four years.  Also, while at Bicycles West, I'm going to have Sadie's bike's mountain bike-style tires replaced with thinner, faster road tires.  Maybe she'll have an easier time keeping up with her old mom then.

 

So, here's to a new chapter in our suburban lives!  Bike on!

Conundrum

I'm reading Emma again, which, of course, has that famous conundrum of "courtship."  It turns out that Jane Austen was a rather prolific writer of conundrums* herself -- little riddles that are clever plays on words.  Her whole family was so witty and brilliant that, were she not simply fabu, you might just hate her a little.  Anyhoo, while I was biking home from Sadie's swimming class this afternoon, I thought up a wee conundrum myself.  It's a reaction, really, to a preposterous but trendy thing whose hefty price tag the other day caught me so off guard that I actually laughed at the person who quoted it to me.  See if you can figure it out:

My first is, in short, a scientist's den;
My middle is simply to cheer;
My last is the work of an ennuye pen;
My whole is now something quite dear.

*This appears to be an English-coined word based upon some sort of Latin term that came out of Oxford in the 17th century.  Since it is not direct from Latin, we pluralize it using the English -s.  At least, that's what the OED tells me, and I BELIEVE!

Well, I Did It!

With this last post of the year (which is, admittedly, rather a cheat), I have, in 2012, tied with my second most prolific year of posting on this blog . . . which was 2006!  66 posts of varying subject, quality, and length.  I think that I will never match my "best" year, which was the inaugural year of 2005.  Remember 2005?  When blogs were new and fascinating and all the rage?  Before the vile machinations of the Devil known as social networking came to be?  Blogs were hopping hot spots -- with even lowly folks like your humble blogstress getting lots of visitors and readers and feedback.  The constant back-and-forth really spurred me into action, which is how I managed to write 93 posts in 2005!  Don't think I'll ever see the glory days again -- which is, rather, fine by me.  I am very grateful for anyone who still swings by and reads a bit and even leaves a comment (yes, I'm thanking you, vermonster!).  But, why I post here now is pretty much all for me.  Adorable Trivialities is still a great place for me to let off steam or flesh out a pesky, irritating idea, or banish a demon or two.

So, thank you Blogger for keeping this service open and free and uncensored.  Thank you for bringing into reality G.K. Chesterton's previously impossible-sounding dream: that every man would have available to him his own public forum in which to write and publish the news and views dear to his heart.  It's been a fun eight years of writing, and I hope it lasts at least another eight!

This Will Be My Resolution: To Seize the Day!

Anyone who knows me knows that my favorite singer/songwriter is Canadian wünderkind Carolyn Arends.  And, even though she is pursuing a Master's in Theology, she still manages to write very good and thoughtful songs and essays.  She has not gone Theron Ware yet, and I pray that she manages to complete her studies unscathed by the sad disillusion that overcomes so many who grapple with the deep from these shallows.  If anyone can dissect the butterfly's wing and not destroy the beauty, it's Carolyn.  But, I'll feel better when she's achieved her goals and gets back to the business of answering Art with art.  

That said, one of her most well-known songs from the 1990's is "New Year's Day."  That song's been playing in a loop in my thoughts today, as it does every December 31.  So, while my main resolution will accord with the song's chorus (namely, to make every day New Year's Day), I still would like to offer up a list of goals for 2013.  Maybe, by penning them in such a public forum, I'll actually keep one or two this year.

1. To get my finances in better shape.  I need an overhaul in my operating system.  The time is now. 

2. To sell my car and go forward on two wheels or two feet.  I hate to drive; I'm not good at driving; and my car mostly sits and takes up 1/2 of the garage.  I could easily survive, nay, thrive without a car, and so I will.

3. Finish my first novel.  Doesn't matter if it ever gets published or even read by anyone outside of my family and friends.  I just have to finish it so that I can . . .

4. . . . Go to bicycle mechanic trade school!  I promised Jason and Flicka that I would not go until I had finished my book; but, oh how I long to learn this trade!  I have always enjoyed working with my hands -- and, knowing what I know now, wish I had gone to trade school years ago instead of college.  It's time for a second act in my life, and that act will involve fixing bikes.  Yay!

5. Plant a better vegetable garden.  My half-hearted attempts these past couple of years were lame and depressing.  This year, I want to do it right -- which means putting in a bit more effort in learning about growing veggies in the Northwest.  Thankfully, there is just the book for neophytes like me: Growing Vegetables West of the Cascades. 

6. Run the Seattle Half Marathon in under 2 hours.  Or, maybe, the Seattle Marathon in under 4!  My real goal is to run a marathon by the time I turn 40, so I have another year and slightly more than a half to do that.  But, who knows?  This running thing has taken off for me -- and I love setting and achieving new goals!

7. Do a triathlon.  Just a small one.  Maybe the sprint that takes place at Lake Meridian. 

8. Write an advanced German curriculum for Sadie.  She'll finish up Second Year Elementary German this year.  I want to introduce her to more complexity than her online course has provided.  So, I bought a couple years' worth of high school German textbooks and will develop a curriculum based off of them.  Viel Spaß mit Deutsch!

Here are a couple of things I'm looking forward to in 2013 (which I think will end up being, overall, another fairly miserable year -- not to be a gloom-and-doomer, but rather a realist):

1. Our trip to London in March!  Jason's been hoarding Hilton Honors points for years -- and now he's blowing a whole stack of them on our first family adventure off the North American continent.  We're non-revving, too, which means that, even with the crapulence of the American dollar, we ought to have a few pennies left to enjoy 10 days in the Land o' Literature.  This is Sadie's big birthday extravaganza, so we'll be heading to the Warner Bros. Studio in London to see where they filmed the Harry Potter movies.  Because he loves me, Jason is also allowing for at least one day trip outside the city to an Austen-oriented outpost.  Ought I to choose Bath or Chawton?  And how fun it will be to visit the replica Globe Theatre and get a sense of the Bard's world!

2. We're getting a dog!  Sadie finally wore Jason down.  I used to be against getting a dog, too, until I started running.  Seeing all the happy people with their canine companions jogging jauntily about made me rather lonely in my solitary slogging.  So, I changed my mind first -- provided we get a pup with long enough legs to keep up with me for miles at a time.  Then Jason, realizing that everything has gone to hell anyway so why should he stave off any longer the particular ring of perdition that dog-ownership would be, at last affirmed that he, too, would not be opposed to welcoming a four-legged member into the family.  When we get back from London, we will pursue this goal seriously.

3. Spending time with my friend Flicka.  I don't know when I will spend time with her and her absolutely amazing family.  I just know that I will.  So, I'm looking forward to it. 

4. Teaching Sunday School.  Out of all the good things in my life (and there are too many to count), teaching the munchkies on Sundays is one of the very sweetest.  Here is the latest example:  In the middle of preschool worship yesterday, little Sawyer (age about 3) sidles up to me and whispers, "I was wondering if maybe you would like a hug."  I whispered back, "I always want a hug."  And so, small arms were promptly placed about my neck with a hearty squeeze.  Don't tell me that anything this world has to offer is better than hanging out with children.  Sarah Smith of Golders Green and Jesus both knew it well.

Happy 2013, everyone!  I hope that this year brings you unexpected joys and manifold blessings!  And may God help us all.

I am Jonah

Jonah is my favorite Old Testament book.  Does that surprise you?  Well, I have my reasons, and I am ready in season and out of season to give a defense of my overlooked and under-appreciated Jonah.

From Jason Davis's website

Even though it’s classified with the "prophets," Jonah is more of a straightforward narrative.  And what a rip-roaringly good tale it is! I love that Jonah starts out right away with his disobedience. That comforts me. Here is Jonah – a prophet of God. He lives in daily communication with the Most High. Yet, when God tells him to do something he doesn't want to do, Jonah runs away like a little monkey boy. Here I am – God’s daughter through Christ. I live in daily communication with the Most High through His Holy Spirit. Yet, when God tells me to do something I do not want to do, seven times out of ten, I cower and whimper and try to avoid Him. But, even I am not so foolish as to think that a sea cruise to Tarshish will get me away from the presence of the Lord. But, Jonah does – which is funny. This is a very funny book.

So, here we have Jonah, riding on a boat to Tarshish, where he has convinced himself that the Lord will never find him. We all know what happens next: God sends out a giant storm; the pagan sailors freak out, start throwing cargo overboard, and pray desperately; their gods do what they can do – which is nothing; Jonah's snoozing down in the cargo hold. The sailors rouse him with cries of "Hey, you! Get up and call on your God that He may consider us, so that we may not perish!" See, God is not only interested in getting through to Jonah, but to these sailors as well.

 

Jonah arises and plays it cool. The sailors decide to cast lots to see for whose cause the trouble of the storm has come upon them, and the lot falls on Jonah. He sings like a canary. "I am a Hebrew; and I fear the Lord, the God of heaven, who made the sea and the dry land!" The sailors are even more terrified. As the storm rages, they start haranguing Jonah -- "What should we do with you who have caused this calamity? Why have you done this to us?" So, Jonah tells them to toss him overboard.

 I like that the sailors do not want to do that. They try repeatedly to row toward land in order to save Jonah. They seem like decent fellows.  Finally, they give up and give in, praying that the Lord will not hold Jonah's death against them. They throw him in the sea, and the storm instantly ceases. The men feared the Lord exceedingly, and offered a sacrifice to the Lord and took vows. God uses Jonah's disobedience to draw a whole crew of pagan sailors to Him! What a good and crafty God!

Who doesn't like the next part? Now the Lord had prepared a great fish to swallow Jonah. And Jonah was in the belly of the fish three days and three nights. Three things stand out. First of all, God is so startling and creative. Who else would have thought of a fish? Also, He is kind.  That rascally Jonah, all grumpy and hard of heart, was running away from God and essentially giving Him the raspberry. Does God strike him down and find another prophet to do His bidding? No. God is infinitely patient with Jonah. Patient, but not without delivering a bit of comeuppance to His wayward servant. Jonah was stuck in a fish, after all. Lastly, it is significant that it was for three days. Three days, Jonah sat in that fish’s belly, breathing in the noxious fumes of decaying sea life, bathed in stomach acids, pouting and gnashing his teeth in rebellion. It took Jonah three whole days to decide that God was God and he had some repenting to do. I know I’m stubborn, but I ain’t got nothing on Jonah!

From Ford Jordan.com

At last, the old reprobate decides to call upon the Lord for deliverance. He repents and promises to fulfill his vows and be a good boy from now on. So, the Lord spoke to the fish, and it vomited Jonah onto dry land. Nice! Of course, there was no hot shower and fresh set of clothes waiting for Jonah on the beach. Picture him with me, will you? Hair and beard plastered with regurgitated stomach acid and half-digested remnants of seafood; his headpiece all askew; his clothing reeking of things too nasty to contemplate. Without skipping a beat, the Lord says, "Arise, go to Nineveh, that great city, and preach to it the message that I tell you." So, stinky old Jonah trudges his way to the city and walks about it crying, "Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!"

God, whose wisdom is deeper than anything man can fathom, had a very good reason for not letting Jonah get freshened up after his gastrointestinal sojourn: the pagan people of Nineveh worshipped both the fish goddess, Nanshe, and the fish god, Dagon. They were riveted by the stench and convicted by the revelation of a God who could control so easily the mighty beasts of the sea. Jonah's humiliation was used by God as a vehicle for the Ninevites' salvation. They believed God, proclaimed a fast, and put on sackcloth. The king himself sat in ashes and sent out a decree commanding that everyone turn from wickedness in the hope that God would relent and turn away His fierce anger. Then God saw their works, that they turned from their evil way; and God relented from the disaster that He had said He would bring upon them, and He did not do it.

 So far so good -- a nice feel-good story with an amusing fishy twist. But, that is not the end of Jonah. And it is for the end of this book that I hold it in such esteem, because it reveals so fully the long-suffering goodness of God, and, to my discomfort, drives home my own tendency toward hardness of heart. You see, Jonah got angry with God, specifically because of His mercy toward Nineveh. There is a darkness in this that is almost too awful to contemplate, because it is too familiar: I knew that You are a gracious and merciful God, slow to anger and abundant in lovingkindness, One who relents from doing harm. Therefore now, O Lord, please take my life from me, for it is better for me to die than to live!

To which the Lord mildly replies: Is it right for you to be angry?

Though I don’t think I’ve ever been this extreme, there is residual hardness in my heart –though I know well my own hopeless cause outside the blood of Christ – that makes me understand Jonah’s words too well. It is a hidden, visceral understanding that I’m ashamed to acknowledge. I know it's there, and God knows it's there. And I praise God mightily when He responds to Jonah (and thus to me) with an incredulous, but gentle, "Is it right for you to be angry?"

What does our prophet do next? He goes up onto a hillside overlooking Nineveh, hoping yet to see the wrath of the Lord consume the evil city. I know God is Spirit, but I still see Him shaking His head at this; don't you? Again, though, instead of smacking Jonah down, God provides mercy. He causes a plant to grow up, shading Jonah's head from the harsh sun. Jonah takes this gift as his due, but it does not cause him to reconsider his hatred of Nineveh. I am convinced that that is the reason that God next prepares a worm to chew up the shading plant and cause it to wither. So, the wind and the sun beat down upon Jonah, nearly causing him to faint.

Jonah begins to whine again: It is better for me to die than to live! God replies, Is it right for you to be angry about the plant? The prophet, clueless as ever, avers, It is right for me to be angry, even to death! I love Jonah’s honesty in recounting to us a story that never casts him in a good light. And, even though he is wrong, wrong, wrong throughout this whole narrative, he never loses faith that he can be completely himself with God and yet still be loved by Him. Jonah keeps up the conversation, and he trusts that God will continue to abide with him.  And so, in the face of Jonah's whining and anger, God delivers His heart's cry:

You have had pity on the plant for which you have not labored, nor made it grow, which came up in a night and perished in a night. And should I not pity Nineveh, that great city, in which are more than one hundred and twenty thousand persons who cannot discern between their right hand and their left -- and much livestock?

The end of Jonah always makes me cry with self-awareness of how small I am in stature and spirit. I like to think that Jonah cried, too, at the piercing revelation of his own failings to mirror the great and good heart of the God he served. The narration stops abruptly after God's rebuke. And that is the last reason that I love this book. Because, that is life, isn't it? It does not consist of episodes that end tidily with an over-arching thematic denouement. All each story in a life can end with is the goodness of God proclaimed yet again, because it is the only stable element of the human condition. We are bad people learning to serve a holy, good, and wholly good God. And so, though I believe that Jonah did repent again, because he did, after all, write out this adventure for posterity, I do not know for sure how he replied to God. And, by leaving the story as he did, Jonah was telling us that what he said or did after that was not important. God's love, God's mercy, God's grace -- those were final words of this amazing tale.