7 Quick Takes

Hosted actually at This Ain't the Lyceum

1. We have a garden in the backyard.  We've planted beans.  The shoots have grown tall, lovely, full of beautiful red flowers.  They tower over the rest of the garden, and create a fantastic visual display.  However, there are no beans, only blossoms.  It takes a special sort of bee to visit and pollinate these flowers, and that one is not anywhere to be seen.   I've thought about taking a q-tip and trying to cross pollinate the bean plants, but it might damage the flowers, meaning that even if the right bee were to show up, they would be unable to make the plant germinate and bear fruit.   The plants remain a showcase of the garden, and yet, they cannot feed us. They will wither and die because they were made for a symbiotic relationship that for whatever reason, isn't happening.   (Sigh).   

2.  We cleaned out three laundry bags full of not fitting anyone clothing, just from the upstairs!   Now I have to hit the main floor and it's rather like trying to take a spiritual inventory.  You discover your sins if you start to look.  It's possible to work really hard, and discover you engage in systemic sloth.   I don't want to will to do something, so it waits until it is a galactic project.    Why do I like galactic projects?  

3.  The sacred and luminous surround us, if only we look.  

I read Facebook, I follow the news, there are people everywhere declaring their despair; over Encyclicals, over Supreme Court decisions, over actions past and present, over riots, shootings, debt, the rage and outrage, the roar and gnashing and wailing of teeth is visible.  

Being a peacemaker, means seeing both sides of the issue, not proclaiming a single victor and telling the other side, "Suck it."   Being merciful means extending charity where it is not deserved, because we would want it given when we have failed to live up to expectations, or to being what is good, true and beautiful.   Being humble, means not demanding my will, but Thy will be done.   

It's not easy, because even when a soul is in a state of grace, that "my will" will show up and say....But God didn't mean that...or God couldn't want this...and seek some form of rationalization for whatever it is to be my will, rather than "thy."  If we want a peaceful, merciful, charitable nation, we will have to start being more peaceful, (which does not mean flaccid or mellow).  If we want a more merciful nation, we will have to practice being more merciful (not chortling when our opinion is affirmed at those disappointed), and not taking glee in others' pain or comeuppance. 

It isn't easy to be charitable (giving, and being cheerful about it), but it is what we're called to be in all things and at all times.  If Saint Maximilian  Kolbe can sing songs of praise in isolation in the concentration camps at Auschwitz, then we can sing with full hearts no matter what vexes us.  So we don't have an excuse.  We'll have to will it.   That means, yes, another galactic project.   

4.   Which brings me to this song from our wedding.  I'm busy trying to find someone to transfer everything to a digital copy from our video (VHS) cassette for our 25th Anniversary. Watching the movie brings back a lot of memories.   It also stuns the children to see their father and me young.   We were...I will scan photos of us when I get done with getting a digital copy of everything...in the meantime, this is my favorite song from our wedding, even if it's not sung by those who sang it for us.  

  

So sing.   Sing loud.  Sing full.  

5.  But back to the mood of the nation.  What can we do?  To mend the nation? To heal the wounds of our society that seem to be constantly picked open, rather than dressed and made clean?   To make the public discourse of life, whether on the internet or in real life, a source of peace, joy and hope?  

    1) "Jesus if you will it, you can make me clean." (We need to ask).  

    2) Prayer and fasting.  (because some wrongs can only be cast off with such penance). 

    3)  Almsgiving.  (Redress for all the wrongs we've inflicted, past and present).  

(I confess, I'm not very good at fasting if diets are any indication, nor am I a great almsgiver, and even prayer life has sluffed off with the summer).   Will work on it...all of it

6.  I'm really glad I'm an adult now. I'm not sure I could take being a teenager now, with everything digitalized and immortalized.  I was stupid as a teen, so I'm glad my stupidity is not as well known as it would be if I were a teen now.

Also, none of my teens have held part time jobs, because all jobs are done through the main office, and they want only adults, never teens.   They also want full time, never part. To me, holding a job was part of being a teen, learning about working a job.   I'm sorry the first three haven't had the opportunity.  

7.    What am I reading?  The House of Brede!  It's taking a bit of discipline not to run through the pages because I like it so much.  I tend to gobble a book I like, but it shouldn't be done with this one, or I'll miss something important.   

Quick Takes Friday

1.  Happy Mother's Day

I must call my mom sometimes two and three times a day.  Just because she's in Texas doesn't mean I don't want her imput when I'm on the mental proverbial ledge because kid one after ice cream and going to the park said something awful to kid two in the car who began crying which woke up the baby and made that ten mile distance the longest drive in the world; I also call her when they show up at the beginning of an all school mass at the back where I am with the youngest four and stay to assist with the littles so I can actually recall something of both the Gospel and the homily and I feel broken with joy from blessings.  These sort of things often and oddly enough happen usually on the same day.

Basically, I call because she's my first best friend.  

2.  What I'm Reading

It always feels good to me to have a stack to read. I go through jags where I read the way I eat chocolate, and then I go through periods where opening a book "feels" like a chore.  Right now, it is the later, but I've decided it must be done.  Ergo, The Disorganized Child and The Red Tent are sitting at my bed. We'll see if I feel like Fiction or Non Fiction tonight.  

3.  What I'm Praying

The daily rosary, but I'm behind by a decade of yesterday's.   Prayer too, sometimes is breathlessly easy.  Sometimes, it is very difficult to get through this discipline, but it's always better if I do.   It's like exercise, I'm always shocked how much better I feel if it gets done.  You'ld think by now, I'd know to just do it.

4.  What's Going On

We have a ninja night time freeze tag party coming up with up to 24  fourteen/fifteen year old girls.  Should we discover that it is raining and the outside is not available, pizza and either Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, Kung Fu Panda, Spirited Away or some other Ninja but Not Really movie will be shown.  My 18 year old has decided he's going to be busy that night...anywhere else but here.

5.  Faith Report

Followers of this blog know we started treating her for ADD with medication.  So far, things are going pretty well. She made 100 on a science test --without the extensive grilling by an older sibling or me.  This is huge progress.  The material we always knew was going into her creative happy sparkly brain is being accessed.   Yeah! Yeah! and Yeah Again!  I am keeping a daily Faith log for when we go back to the doctors in a month of any changes good and bad that might indicate a need for tweaking this process.

6.  Tomatoes Tomatoes Tomatoes

My bathroom is returning to normal.  There are still 16 or so plants surrounding the tub, but the beans have been planted, as have the carrots and the first six tomatoes.  Last year we didn't get to plant much because of time constraints on my husband with work and the fact that I don't garden well, but this year, it looks good.

7.  Six impossible things before Breakfast

As a mental exercise, I came up with six things that I hope happen sometime in the next few years but would be impossible before breakfast.  It's fun for coming up with goals, and for exercising the brain in imagination.  Writing always takes me to visit my brain which often is thinking of things but not telling me. 

So here are my six seven impossible possibles before breakfast:

1) finish my book
2) start writing another book --I've outlined in my head and just have to do it.
3) go to Greece and put my feet in the Adriatic, and take a boat from there to the island of Rhodes.
4) get in shape by going for walks with my three middle children.
5) Get my Ph.D. maybe in assessment of learning disabilities, as I see that that is a critical area where we do not have enough people who a) are versed with assessment tools and b) able to use them in the educational setting in a way that is affordable to ordinary folks.  
6) See a whale in the wild.
7) Raise all ten to be happy, healthy, holy and educated.

These goals are mostly only impossible before breakfast today.   
       

I'm in the Washington Post today!

This is the second time I've made it! Yes I'm proud. Yes I'm bragging. Click the link anyway. Yes the photo is really from our backyard. I've been taking off pruning duty since I killed a squash.


http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/08/03/AR2008080301672.html

My Husband's Growing Obsession

When my husband started volunteering to run errands, I should have recognized something was up. “The kids need to get haircuts this weekend and I have to go grocery shopping.” I’d say. He’d gallantly offer, “Why don’t you stay here and relax while the babies nap and I’ll get the haircuts and the shopping done.” Three hours later, he returned. I figured it had just been a crowded day at the barbers and that they’d eaten lunch, but then I discovered the skeletal shopping delivery (milk, bread, peanut butter and diapers). I thought he stayed outside the rest of the afternoon to avoid explaining the groceries. Then the kids came in and asked for food.

Over time, our garage began to grow cluttered with specialized equipment that in my horticultural ignorance, I could not identify. Catalogs advertising heirloom tomato plants and hedgers and designs for plots began to litter our bedroom. A plastic green house was set up in the bathroom to grow vegetables from seeds, rendering my tub unavailable for human use for six weeks. Then things began to get out of hand.

Having ignored the warning signs, his habit became so consuming he no longer sought to hide it. For Mother’s day, he landscaped the front entrance and mulched the trees that line our driveway. He put in a garden commemorating our son’s high school mascot and colors to celebrate Father’s Day. When my birthday rolled around, I got a garden as a gift, complete with a contemplative looking Greek goddess statue. I had hinted how much I’d like a real dining room table. Staring at the white plaster half naked woman in my back yard, as my husband talked rapturously about the newly planted shrubs and the color alternation and which shrubs required more shade and how much dirt it took to create the raised bed effect, I wondered how much this present set us back.

Not wanting to seem ungrateful for his time or labor or gift, I began an investigation into the past three months of bills to determine the scope of his growing obsession. I went online to discover the twelve signs of gardening addiction. Did he frequently have dirty finger nails? Check. Had he recently bought sun block for himself, asked about the water bill or considered getting a name brand hardware store credit card for rewards? Check. Check and check. Did he listen to radio programs that discussed lawn care? Check. Had he talked about renting a back hoe to create a bigger plot? Check. Was he resentful of the lawn service that mowed the grass weekly? Check. All the signs were there, it was time for an intervention.

“Dear? I know how you love to garden…” I began with a practical approach.
“See how the new shade tree will cover the more fragile flowers. And it should enhance our property value.” He said happily.

“But we’re on a strict budget…I’ve been totaling the expenses, we’re spending more on soil than food …”

“I’m growing food. Have you tasted the German Queen tomatoes? They’re heirloom. They look ugly but in my opinion, there isn’t a better tasting one…here, have a cherry.” And he popped a freshly picked tomato in my mouth.

Undeterred, I held up the credit card charges, having highlighted the garden related expenses. “We were going to save for some furniture, grown up stuff? Stuff we wouldn’t have to cover with a table cloth to serve food to company?”

“Like the rocks I got from the quarry? They frame the pond better than just a hedge I think.” He popped a yellow pear tomato in my mouth.

“How much did that cost?” I asked after I finished chewing.

“No interest for twelve months. You need to savor the experience of the tomato, try eating it slowly.” He popped another in my mouth.
“You’ve been to a quarry?”

“To buy rocks.”

“Wait, quarries have payment plans?”

He breathed in the fresh air as the sun cast beautiful deep shadows on our lawn, framing the whole yard in a lovely pink glow. “Oh,” he sighed, “I just love gardening. It’s relaxing to me.”

“Well yes but…” I was failing, reaching for another tomato even as I spoke. “But it’s getting a bit much don’t you think? I mean, you are paying for rocks.”

Handing me two more tomatoes and a few for himself, he sighed.
“Okay, okay, I’ll cut back I promise. I won’t go to the hardware store or the nursery unless I check with you first.”

Satisfied, I returned to the inside of our home, feeling like I’d just grounded a kid for studying too much. He looked dejected as he wound up the hose and lovingly cleaned his trowels to let them air dry before storage.

Going cold turkey gardening proved difficult, as his beautiful beds needed watering, feeding, trimming and in the case of the tomatoes, harvesting. Daily trips to care for our grounds proved too powerful an enticement to resist, so he did the only thing an admitted addict can do to cope with said obsession, attempt to convert additional followers.

First, he conscripted our daughters for watering duties. “Daddy said I could play with the hose!” Then he went after our sons with the lure of power tools. Imagine the thrill of an eight year old son being allowed to cut away dead wood with a saw. “Glorious manly work at last!” His smile said to me.

Converting the watchdog of the operation was a problem. Gardening has never been a relaxing experience for me, I kill plants. I never plan to, I just do. I overwater, forget to provide adequate shade and constantly wonder why they die in my care. If plants are so temperamental and fragile, how do they survive without competent help? My husband put my skills for destroying flora wherever I touch to their best possible advantage and made me the official weeder of the grounds. I’m good. I’m real good, and I get first pick of the German Queens as compensation.

So now we are a steady growing colony of gardeners and I have come to at least appreciate these lovely grounds he’s creating. It’s become a family weekend event, with kids gathering sticks, digging up baby potatoes, arguing over who grew the watermelon. And I smile at it all, wearing my garden gloves and talking about how black mulch sets off the side of our home better. Not only did he create a codependency in me with regular fixes of heirloom tomatoes, sugar snap peas that really snap and unbelievably tender squashes, he also bought me a few nice table cloths.

So I’ll live with the quality press wood furniture a little longer, at least until winter anyway.