Family Book Group

So last month, Sarah and I could not get to a book club we've joined; we held a book discussion on The Pearl by John Steinbeck at home, just we two. (I downloaded discussion questions.) We had so much fun together! Sarah suggested we have a family book study - some of our other people were game, so we chose a book and a date for the discussion and began reading.

The Professor and the Madman by Simon Winchester was our choice to read together...our discussion was last night. What a treat! Again, discussion questions were available on line (these just spur further talk about the book). There were four of us: Bill, Sarah, Christopher, and I. It generated sharing, and laughter, and philosophical ramblings.

In furthering a point, Bill read an excerpt from another book; Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness. We enjoyed that snippet so much, we chose it for our next book. Then we set a discussion date for next month. Everyone is free to jump in or out at any time. It's a great reason to come together; to hear what our adult children think; to get more parental love into their tanks. A great idea - thank you Sarah!

The Providence of God

 Our car had to be in the shop three times in three successive months - and it was not cheap. As a result we got behind on other bills...we're still trying to catch up. Yet through it all we were reminded of God's providence, for we did not go hungry. Ate a lot of rice and pasta, but did not go hungry. We were able to have a modest Christmas. We were able to visit my parents in January. We learned the importance of margin; without a car we weren't able to go,go,go - a relief, actually. That part taught us to forgo good things in favor of better; time with each other. We were enabled to pay the internet bill so Bill could keep working. It prompted a reassessment of areas we could cut back even more or eliminate entirely. And we learned of resources available near us; so many more than we were aware of before our absolute poverty was set before us.

Only in America are we poor; three-fourths of the world dream of having what we have. Running water; heat in the coldest part of the year; an actual house with an actual roof which keeps out the rain; family to love and be loved. Riches beyond measure - the incomparable riches of God!

The Providence of God made us aware that in Him we live and move and have our being. From gravity holding us upon the Earth to the very air we breathe: everything is a gift from Him. His immeasurable love gives us everything, and we take it for granted! We don't deserve it, and we can't earn it, yet we have it all - everything - simply because He loves us! Loves us unreservedly, unconditionally, providentially. He asks only that we love Him in return. I can't come close to loving Him in the same way, yet I'm trying. In the meantime, I'm - we're relying on His providence and are so grateful.

Where I'm From: Dad

 We had Dad's birthday party almost a month ago. I decorated the Fellowship Hall of their church in green oak leaves and acorns. I purchased a beautiful print of an oak, based on a watercolor painting by a young man named Antony based in Kiev. Bill and I matted and framed it; after the party was over I gave it to Dad as a gift. I also wrote a poem for him. Ages ago a meme of sorts went around social media of free-form poetry titled "Where I'm From...". Earlier in my blog I wrote where I am from; two poems, each representing one side of my family. Here is the one I wrote for Dad:

I'm from Somerset, Kentucky and Columbus, Indiana. From the big house on Chestnut, from which I couldn't leave on my own.

I'm from a mule-riding sheriff and my maternal aunt also my paternal grandma.

I'm from an uncle for whom I was named, who died from a Kamikaze pilot.

I'm from a Dad who walked to the hospital to have a brain tumor removed; and from the miracle that removed the tumor first.

I'm from bluegrass and big noses and a near-replay of a family feud.

From iron skillets, outhouses,and a home bursting at the seams from my parents' generosity.

I'm from beans and cornbread, cherry pie, and a full table.

I'm from big gardens and garter snakes - wrapped around the doorknob for Mom's "pleasure".

I'm from drowned baby ducks, and a little brother who also drowned.

From a one-room school and skipping a grade, and putting one over on my physics teacher.

I'm from a pink Chrysler and dyeing my clothes to match; and a hayride where I met my future wife.

I'm from forgetting my dress shoes on my hotter-than-Hades wedding day.

From faith and hymns and singing in a quartet.

I'm from tending chickens and teaching my children not to be chicken.

From near-misses and miracles and the miraculous journey of life.

And now I'm from teaching my great-grandchildren about the miracles of the journey,just as I taught their parents, and their parents before them.

The blessing That is My Parents

Last week my self-loathing reached a high again. Again I was overwhelmed with everything there was to do and only me doing it. So, of course, the necessary changes around the house and yard come too slowly. I felt inadequate, insufficient, invalid. And angry. So angry! Until my rages were affecting my children. Until I was saying hateful, hurtful things. Until I couldn't function anymore. So, in tears, I called my Mom and asked if I could come to them. Was I worried I would treat them the same way? Of course. I also know they have thicker skin than my young adults.

So I've been at my parents' place. It hasn't all been sweetness and light. They bicker. Almost constantly. When I'm in a good place I can remind myself they've made this dynamic work for them for 60 years. When I'm not (and I'm not) I slide into my from-childhood attempts at peace-making. It's exhausting, unnecessary, and ineffective. Yesterday we were in my hometown. None of us has been there for about 25 years and we no longer know it well. It was easy to get turned around and wind up where you didn't wish to be. This frustrated my Dad, who got angry and loud; which in turn frustrated my Mom, who'd castigate him and give suggestions of how to get where we wanted to be in the same breath. I cringed in the back, occasionally putting in my opinion and wishing the noise would stop.

And texted Bill when I got in: "I should have just gone to hospital. There's no shelter from the storm here - there's just more storm."

Nonsense! Firstly, I never want to be in the psychiatric hospital again! Never. Secondly, since I've been an adult Mom and Dad have always been a safe haven for me. They just say, "Come ahead", and begrudge me nothing. I always leave with more than what I had when I arrived. They love me.

These are my parents. In two days, they'll celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary. In a week is my Dad's 80th birthday. (He's three years older than Mom.) We're having an 80th birthday party for him on Saturday; kids, grandkids, and the great-grandbaby. Then a drop-in time for his sisters and brother, and his church family. 

I won't be here for Dad's actual birthday; I was here for Father's Day, though. I wanted to get a picture of us in our Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes (we looked good!), and Mom's blood sugar dropped. She's an insulin-dependent, type 2 diabetic who didn't eat quite enough for breakfast. In our concern for her our picture was forgotten. There will be other opportunities, God willing.

Always a safe space. Everyone should have one.

What I wore

 

Tuesday, May 28, I was able to get cortisone shots in my poor, painful SI joints. Something comfortable and loose was in order. This outfit, given to me by my Mom, feel like pajamas. It's a bit big, even more of a plus for this occasion.

Normally, nautical/tropical/seashore is not my thing. And this is a very matchy-matchy garment (probably bought from QVC, knowing my mother). Yet it's comfortable; it will work wel as a bathing suit cover-up both at the gym and at the beach.

Mom felt it was too tight on her legs, which is why I ended up with it. I get other outfits for the same reason. Why doesn't she dress the body she has, rather than the one she used to have? You get used to buying a certain size and it becomes your default: you still see yourself in the mirror that younger size: hope springs eternal. What ever the reason, me and my girls are the lucky recipients of her hand-me-downs, 

I wore this to my therapist's appointment May 30th. It's actually a sleeveless, mock-wrap dress (wrap dresses are usually quite flattering on me, though this picture doesn't really reveal that).

I didn't feel in a good place at all that day; I dressed up hoping to improve my mood. You know, when you feel pretty, you're a little more confident, a little more loquacious, more inclined to smile. That day it was necessary.

The dress was purchased at Willow Tree Thrift Store in Monticello. All the proceeds from there go to their Domestic Violence Shelter. I believe the sweater came from ThredUp; an online consignment store. Fabulous site!

I've made a conscious decision, in the pursuit of frugality and sustainability, to ONLY buy pre-loved clothes. Helps our wallet - helps our planet ... win-win!

My husband once saw our daughter Monica in a lightweight, beige, swing-y skirt. She had paired it with a sky-blue, slim-fit tee and a pair of wedge sandals. Bill fell in love with the concept of that outfit. We've both been looking for pieces for me to make that look for over a year now.

The sandals came from Willow Tree; the tank from Goodwill. I don't shop at Goodwill often...more of their money goes to their CEO than to anything else. Sad. Yet sometimes between appointments I'll slink in there. It's been hard, though, to find a light-weight skirt with a twirl. Finally, ThredUp posted this beauty. I snapped it up.

The 6th of June I had an appointment with my bariatric nutritionist in Decatur followed by a date with Bill. Hence, "his" outfit for the first time. He approved.

There have, of course, been other outings. I'm still getting used to being in front of a camera. I don't do well either taking pictures or having my picture taken...and that leaves my children with no pictures of me. I'll be gone someday and a picture is all they'll have. They may as well actually have one, yes? May you leave a memory when you're gone.

Living the Good Life

 This Memorial Day weekend is a stay-home diy fest for us. After dropping beaucoup bucks to the plumber and the mechanic in the last three weeks, we discovered our toilet leaking. Maybe an easy fix, maybe not. Then yesterday, while we, the parental units, were heading home from Indiana, the son washing dishes to try to get the kitchen back to the way I left it used all the clean towels to stem the tide rushing out from under the sink. Needless to say, the kitchen in no way resembled the room I left!

Two leaks to deal with. I also have tomatoes, peppers, and strawberries waiting to be planted; a raised garden bed to assemble; a craft room to pull together (when the kids were little we had a centralized computer room. As they grew I thought I'd make that a craft/sewing room. Our dining room was smaller, well-lit, with not enough sturdy chairs to go around. Finally a lightbulb! We were able to procure a quite stable large dining table with eight wonderful chairs for $40 - WOW! The central room is now the dining room; the former dining room is now office/craft/sewing room. I am stoked!)

I also wish to put a bouquet on daughter Helen's grave...Monday we're committed to visiting Mom White to straighten her meds and her bank account. Busy, busy. I'd much rather be going camping, or at least a picnic. Sadly won't happen. Oh, a budget meeting has to be squeezed in there, too, since Friday was payday.

In other news, I've lost nearly 80 pounds. I am greatly enjoying playing around with a new (to me!) wardrobe. I think I'll begin a "What I Wore" feature in here. But not today. Strictly muck-about work clothes today, with a bandana on the head. I don't want to share that look!

In spite of the challenges, we're living the Good Life. Leaks mean we have running water. Gardening means we have access to fresh fruit and vegetables which many don't have. I'm organizing a craft room: we have a house large enough to have a room dedicated to creativity (we have a house!) and I have the leisure to pursue that creativity. Yes, I have a daughter in Heaven; and I know for a fact this innocent is in Heaven. Plus, I have 5 other young adults and we're blessed in that none have flown the nest yet. My mother-in-love has the beginning stages of dementia so that we need to provide some extra help; and we still have her. There's also a steady income and the determination to make the most of it. These are all benefits the vast majority of the world just don't have.

The Good Life, indeed. Hope your Memorial Day is more relaxing than ours!

Women in the Far-Right Movement

I recently subscribed to The Guardian, thinking a British news source would give more unbiased reporting of US news. I was vastly incorrect. Take this article, for example: it is implied in the first paragraph by MacKenzie Ryan, the author of this "unbiased" account of alt-right women which The Guardian chose to file under "US Politics", that she will be reporting information from people who track how the far right mobilizes, self-reports, and recruits. Yet nowhere in her article does she give actual qualifications in this area of the people she cites. We have a Professor of Media and Communications; an Assistant Professor of Philosophy; and a PhD student who is also a researcher (subject[s] researched is not shared with us). Nor does she include any interviews with actual women she considers to be far/alt-right.

"[Far-right women] have a lot more power than you think". That's Dr. Sandra Jeppesen, Prof of Media, etc. at Lakehead University in Ontario. Yep, Canada. At least she, presumably on the liberal side of things, recognizes that conservative women are not "held down" or "submissive". There's power there!

Ryan says alt-right women are mobilizing against inclusive education. I think she's been misinformed. Women (and men) of a more rational bent are not against inclusion, but against the forced infliction of a deeply flawed theory of education. 

We're told some women on the far-right are wealthy and in social media production, because, as Tracy Llanera (Assistant Prof of Philosohy, University of Connecticut) is quoted, they are "the acceptable faces of conservative propaganda". I'm sure there are no wealthy, social media producers on the far-left at all; least of all those that might be the faces of liberal propaganda. Or if there are, we're not told of them; perhaps the other side of the story comes in a following article? Although that hoped for balancing article isn't mentioned either.

Jeppesen claims alt-right women don't go into politics for altruistic reasons. Alt-left women do, I suppose. No hidden agendas with them. She says women, like men in the far-right "movement", believe there's a crisis and they have to commit to extraordinary action. Surely this is true of all people who see a crisis? And the action may be "extraordinary" in different ways. My husband and I saw several crises in the world. We responded by: remaining true to our faith; staying married through adversity; having more than 2.4 children; keeping one spouse at home with our children; homeschooling our children; teaching our sons how to respect women as something precious without denying their own masculinity; teaching our daughters how to be independent without ditching their own femininity; never using credit; living within our means; reducing, reusing, recycling; continuing to grow, do, and think for ourselves. In other words, when we saw the culture of the United States, we became "counter-cultural".  

Ashli Babbit was killed in the Jan 6th debacle on Capitol Hill (that would be the one in 2021, not the one that happens annually in the Capitol). Jeppesen says Babbit was promoted as a "martyr" to the conservative cause. "Women make better martyrs in 'the alt-right'." ?? Was Breonna Taylor a lesser martyr to the "alt-left"? And why are we quantifying martyrs? One person dead for any cause other than Christ is one person too many.

Ryan then begins to "discuss" Moms for Liberty; a group with "a fervent membership of conservative mothers". Llanera is quoted, "Mothers protect their offspring, out of the private sphere where they are most relevant." What?! Every woman is most relevant in their private sphere! Unless they don't have a private sphere. Emily Dickinson:

          How dreary - to be - Somebody!

          How public - like a Frog -

          To tell one's name - the livelong June -

          To an admiring Bog!

The Bog doesn't love you like a "private sphere" would. To the Bog, you are...irrelevant.

The PhD student Ryan cites, Iowyth Ulthiin, is working toward her doctorate at Toronto Metropolitan University and researches...something...at Lakehead University. Canada again; even the same institution. I don't understand how this article can be filed in US politics when two of her three sources are Canadian? I don't understand how this can be classified as US news at all. It's clearly an opinion piece. An editorial from someone who neither did any real research nor any active, clear reflection on her subject at all.

So long, Guardian! I'll have to keep searching for truly balanced articles about the US. It's a shame I can't get unbiased reporting about my country within my country.

New Year, New Goals

The beginning of a new year. I used Jen Fulwiler's  Saint Generator, and was chosen by St. Paul the first Hermit. His patronage is of the clothing industry and weavers. Fascinating, as  I hope to include sewing and woven jewelry into my projects this year.

I also used Jen's Word of the Year Generator. My word is PURPOSE. I love it! I know my purpose is to get my family to Heaven and my chief commitment is to family and home. I pray daily that my kids...anyone...may only see Christ when they look at me. And now that I'm healthy and have energy I can bring order and peace to our home.

My purpose is also to be a fitting helpmeet to my husband. I feel a great urge to pray with him daily and to do more to help with expenses. I hope to make a boatload of sellable crafts and set up a booth at craft fairs, bazaars, etc. As I get more proficient with more complex items I may set up on Etsy - but that will be a few years down the road. I'll need to start small and build up. I'd like to recruit some of the kids to work with me and perhaps pay them with the proceeds. That too will take some time. We'll see how it goes.

I also chose a Focus Word: LEAN. Since gastric bypass surgery I've lost about 80 pounds. I continue to lose weight and am determined to reach my goal of 135 pounds by April 13th (one year out from surgery). About 30 pounds to go - it is doable. I wish to exercise daily; core exercises every other day with other targeted areas on the off days. A walk daily with Bill and the therapy pool as often as possible. My body will get toned and lean; I'll be strong enough to answer any call of God and will be taking care of my temple.

LEAN has other meanings as well. I plan to lean into our Father, relying on His Strength and Providence. To do this I need to speak with Him daily, get to Mass regularly, try to add a daily Mass or two to my schedule, Lectio Divina, continue my Adoration hour (it's SO fruitful!), volunteer when needed, practice hospitality. Add these in a little at a time so there's no overwhelm. Make good habits.

It's obvious I need some kind of schedule. There's always appointments to get to, Monica has school, meals and prep time need to be added...it may be challenging but it will be doable.

I also want to blog this journey. Sunday is a good day to do that: one day a week is a good starting goal.

Whew! Exciting plans! I'm a turtle, though, not a hare. Slow and steady wins the race. One goal at a time will be implemented. That way all will be accomplished well. I'll refer to my list of goals often, I think. Otherwise I'll forget my motivation and lose my way. It's a "long and winding road" that leads to God's door, but I'm on the way. One foot in front of the other and I'll finish the course. Walk with me.

Freedom from...is this a sin?

"He does not ration his gift of the Spirit."       --John 3:34

"Thou hast multiplied, O Lord my God, thy wondrous deeds and thy thoughts toward us; none can compare with thee! Were I to proclaim and tell all of them, they would be more than can be numbered."       --Ps 40:5

I never thought my eating habits were a problem. When I cooked for the family (which, admittedly, was rarely) we had a meat, a starch, and a non-starchy vegetable. Since I often was nearly bedridden, my husband or , again rarely, one or more of my daughters cooked; the servings of starch went up and the vegetables pretty much... disappeared. Now I really can't complain, right? He's doing this wonderful service for me, which shows he loves me, because most of the time he's wiped out too. Brain work, requiring concentration and attention to details, many times is more taxing than physical work. So we'd end up in a "carb coma" for a short time, needing a nap, and wake ready to nosh. Eating much more than intended, and much more than necessary, on a particular day. Is this a sin?

I was/am? also an emotional eater. Angry with one of the kids? Stuff that emotion down with some chips. Frustrated with Bill? Push it in with some cheese and crackers, A LOT of cheese and crackers. Simply bored? Popcorn, nicely buttered, is always a panacea. The list goes on: grieving, exhausted, sad, happy, energetic, lonely, need a reward...all were "satisfied" with unhealthy, in nature or in portion size, food. Is that a sin?

Yes. They both are sins. The first: "Do you not know that you are God's temple and that God's Spirit dwells in you? If anyone destroys God's temple, God will destroy him. For God's temple is holy, and you are that temple." (1 Cor 3:16-17) 

The second is a sin because I'm not relying on the Lord, I'm trying to fill a God-sized hole with food; it doesn't work. "For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit... ." (Rom 8:5)

Our family is quite fond of the Aubrey/Maturin series of books written by Patrick O'Brien. In _Blue at the Mizzen, before telling Captain Jack Aubrey about a naval attack on Valparaiso, Chile, the naturalist, spy, and ship's doctor, Stephen Maturin says, "I tell you most solemnly that I must be fed." "Well, if your god is your belly, I suppose you must worship it," said Jacob.

Our god has been our belly. We are to "abstain from every form of evil." (1 Thess 5:22) "I appeal to you, therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship." (Rom 12:1)

"Nevertheless,He did not come to abolish all evils here below, but to free men from the greatest slavery, sin, which causes all forms of human bondage. (CCC #549)

Book Girl

"A woman who reads is a woman who taps into the fundamental reality that she was created to learn, made to question, primed to grow by her interaction with words. A book girl is one who has grasped the wondrous fact that she has a mind of her own, a gift from her Creator, meant to be filled and stretched, challenged and satisfied by learning for all the days of her life. A woman who reads is one who takes ownership of herself, aware that words give her the holy power to seek, to grow, to question, and to discern. She knows that to read is to begin an adventure of self-formation in partnership with the Holy Spirit that will shape the choices she makes, the dreams she bears, the legacy she leaves in the great tale of the world."

Sarah Clarkson Book Girl p 34

I have always been a book  girl. I don't remember a time when I could not read. My parents are both readers and I probably picked it up by osmosis, following their fingers across the page as they read to me. I was given the impression that this reading business was fun; but not only that, it was important. What child doesn't want to do important things?

I distinctly remember my first days in kindergarten. I was excited; I'd been told I'd learn new things! We learned the Pledge of Allegiance (to this day I distinguish my left and my right from how I stood facing the flag in that classroom). We had a game, song-time, then we settled down to work. On the alphabet. I was baffled - this wasn't new! I did it for the first week, until I felt safe enough with Miss Gibbs (the gentlest of souls but I was a wary child) to admit to her that I already knew my alphabet. I already knew how to read. I said this with some trepidation as I didn't want to get kicked out of kindergarten because I knew more than the other kids.

I grew up in a rural Indiana community with about 0.1 percent diversity of any kind. Miss Gibbs was my first exposure to an African-American. She was beautiful, with a well-modulated voice, quiet and warm, and with infinite patience. I loved her dearly. Didn't even mind when she married over Christmas break and became Mrs. Whalen (though it was hard to remember the change). Knowing the alphabet already was certainly possible but she was, understandably, a little skeptical that I could turn all those letters into reading.

She sat on one of the little chairs, pulled me close to her side, and asked me to read a book to her. She chose, I read. After three books, she was convinced. From then on, at alphabet time, I was given worksheets to practice printing, or math worksheets, or sometimes coloring pages. I wasn't kicked out of kindergarten and I did learn new things!

I devoured words. I've read, through my life, anything I could get my hands on. Cereal boxes, of course. Dad's Andre Norton, Mom's current fiction. They didn't curtail my reading. If I had questions, we could discuss. I think I read Valley of the Dolls when I was 10. That was shortly followed by Flowers in the Attic and Salem's Lot. Yuck. That was when I realized that just because it was a book didn't mean I had to pick it up. I stay away from horror, movies and books. The books are more detrimental to me; I put my own images to the words which is much more realistic than the gore pictured on the screen. I read Mom's romance novels throughout my teens, until I was glutted. Then I had a realization. I was growing increasingly restless, not only with those books but also with my life. I wasn't catching a stranger's eye across my algebra classroom. Nor was any handsome rogue eager to rip my dress away from my heaving bosom. And I had a sneaking suspicion that if one tried it, I would knee him in the groin and run away. 

I came to the realization that I was dissatisfied with my life because of the words I was stuffing into my head. They were giving me unrealistic expectations. My ordinary life didn't measure up. I'm so glad the Holy Spirit led me to that realization. Otherwise I would have kept up my steady diet of the stuff of unreality as a means of "escaping" my ordinary life. This is the siren call of soap operas and porn magazines; any addiction really. Unrealistic expectations.

So I cut out romance as a genre of interest (recently I've let it back in, a book here or there, if highly recommended by a trustworthy source). Discernment. Knowing what suits your life, your season and circumstances, your available time...it all matters in the reading life. I can't go willy-nilly through the library stacks pulling out random titles. I have to have a plan. I have a to-be-read list as tall as I am and getting bigger by the day (I put asterisks by titles I really want to read before I die). Then I choose my books to look for by what I want to get out of them in the next month. Am I having trouble praying? I'll choose reading to address that need. Just a bit of fluff? A mystery to read in waiting rooms. I usually have several books going at once, a practice I learned from my husband. And I've learned (though I still feel a little...guilty) to abandon a book if it's going nowhere for me. I once read The Catcher in the Rye for "fun" : I loathed it. And I thought, but this is a classic; I must have missed something. And I read it again! Nope, hadn't missed anything, still hated it. There's no more of that. I've tried 3 times to get through War and Peace; the last time I was more than half-way through. I cannot do it. If I've abandoned a book 3 times at 3 different seasons of my life it's time to throw in the towel.  Some people can do this innately; I had to teach myself, to give myself permission to put a book down without finishing it. I have a page at the back of my book journal that simply says DNF (did not finish). I put the title there with a line or two of why the book wasn't for me. 

Through the years I fed many interests and learned much with words. From all the poetry as a girl, confidence-building as a teen, college degree in Bible, other cultures while single, marriage and family, child-rearing and homeshooling, different abilities and love languages. I read my way into the Catholic Church. Books have shaped my life. Let them shape yours.

     "Ah, how good it is to be among people who are reading."

                            Rainer Maria Rilke Letters to a Young Poet

Rain in the first world

 A couple of weeks ago, we got rain. Deluge, build-an-ark rain. The water table was already high; flood warnings out for the nearby Sangamon River. The front stalled above our house and dropped inches of rain. Epic proportions. 

Our basement flooded. The two lowest boards of our staircase dropped; disappeared. Not just under the water - no longer part of the stair. There was now a two-foot drop at the end of the staircase, though we didn't know this at first. Bill went down to explore, scraped his leg badly as his foot dropped into nothing. Bill is prone to cellulitis infections; it was obvious he couldn't go down again.

My turn. I put on my pink camo rain boots and headed down. Held tight to the rails and cautiously lowered my left leg down into the water. My boot instantly filled. Hmm. These boots are calf-high. Time for a different tack. I backed up the stairs, emptied my boot, and steeled my courage. In swimsuit and water shoes, armed with a walking stick, I tried again. Down the stairs and into the abyss. Shocking cold water. Up to my hips! Oh my!

It's never flooded this badly before. We have a submersible sump pump and a back-up; neither seemed to be working. In fact, the back-up was also submerged. Worse, the water was half-way up our furnace/air conditioner (which sits in a lower recess) and 2/3 of the way up our hot water heater. Bill had already turned the electricity off to the basement, of course. As I made my way slowly through the water by flashlight, hunched over from the low ceiling, growing increasingly chilled, my throat started to close. I could feel panic rising in my chest as I inspected the damage. I finally turned and rushed through the drag of the water from a full-blown panic attack, banging my head on some duct-work on the way out. The walking stick helped lift me to the now-bottom step, though I painfully wrenched my knee in my haste.

It took a week or so for the water to recede; but we're still using fans (no air conditioning) and washing dishes and showering in cold water (no hot water). We don't have money at the moment to have someone check the appliances out before bringing them back online, and didn't have a safe way for them to access the machines even if we had the extra funds.

Enter my parents. More specifically, my Dad. An industrial engineer by trade, he can fix anything. In my naivete, I thought all men had this gift. Bill didn't even bring tools into our marriage. I was gifted a tool kit at one of my bridal showers; we had that and a socket set Bill inherited from a great-uncle that neither of us knew how to use. He has since gained knowledge from on-line videos and we've slowly amassed more tools, however... My Dad is a Godsend. Thanks to him, we now have two sturdy new steps on the basement staircase. The back-up sump pump has been repaired; the submersible sump-pump has been replaced. My Mom has offered great comfort and distracting chatter. They've bailed us out more than once and we love them beyond measure. We  thank God for them daily.

And each time I take a cold shower I think of those who would love to have a shower, no matter what the temperature. Or those who have to carry water; they have no ready tap in the house. I think of my first world problems, and am grateful. 

Wherefore art thou?

 Been thinking of Romeo and Juliet tonight. Some people say it's an incredible LOVE STORY, in capital letters. I've always considered it a tragedy. A tale of rebellion, obsession, and suicide. They first defied their parents to even meet each other. That very first rebellion led to their deaths. Some will say, "Yes, but they got to LOVE." Uh-huh. A possessive, obsessive "love"; insular, yet uncommunicative. They killed themselves grasping at that love. They each thought they'd found their soulmate. 

Nonsense. You don't just find a soulmate; you make one. There is not one someone out there made just for you; someone with "Your Soulmate" tattooed on their forehead. The only Soulmate made just for any of us is our Sweet Jesus. You're compatible with many people: it's how you view them, how you treat them that makes them your soulmate. Cultivate your own virtues so you can see their's.

You meet someone; you hit it off. Pretty soon you're giddy in love; ready to say "yes" to anything. Most of us get married in that state. Are you soulmates? You think so. The endorphins are roiling; you're over the moon with love and happiness on your wedding day! But it doesn't stay that way. It's too exhausting to wake on top of the world every day. The honeymoon ends and the marriage starts. THAT'S when you begin to make your soulmate. 

In the forge of quotidian duties soulmates are fashioned. You're no longer in a transient, giddy relationship; you've settled into a stable, secure, abiding kind of love. Or should. If you don't get distracted by circumstances, or give up when the road is rough. Some of us go into marriage with an "escape plan" in case our partner doesn't "measure up" over time. This leads to - foments - divorce. A wedding should be a solemn exchanging of a VOW. A heart-meant oath to choose this person and to keep choosing this person day after day. A party on the beach or whatever trivializes that choice. It dances around the Sacrament of Marriage, mocking it all the way.

Soulmates are MADE in the daily. Working together through children and chores and chaos. Always wanting the best for and believing the best of the other. Couples who cannot do this often decide on a "civil divorce". The very idea is hogwash! Firstly, it's an oxymoron. Divorce involves ripping one flesh into two bodies - there is NOTHING "civil" about that. Secondly, a civil divorce is granted by the State. What has the State to do with love or the lack of it? It shouldn't have anything to do with it. Marriage is initiated in the eyes of GOD; and only He should be the One to end it. His Church will grant an annulment of marriage in a relatively few cases. It does not grant the dissolution of marriage.

I KNOW that Bill and I are soulmates. We've been through fire together. High-risk pregnancies, the discovery of a mental illness, disability, harsh money woes, too many illnesses to count. And we continue to choose each other. Every day. He's my best hope of getting to Heaven and I am his (he's knocking  off a LOT of Purgatory time just doing life with me).  We've been through things that could have torn us apart if we hadn't clung to our REAL Soulmate, the ever-living God. He's ever-living within us. That's how we've managed to stay in our marriage  for a quarter-century.

You see, marriage is a triangle. The spouses are at the bottom two corners; God is at the narrow point at the top. As the spouses move closer to God, they move closer to each other. Up the triangle as it narrows. When you find God, you find the other. A cord of three strands is not easily broken (Ecclesiastes 4:12). Romeo and Juliet chose death before divorce. A tragedy either way. But they were doomed from the start; they were missing a Strand.

Catching up

 It's been a long hiatus; we've been very busy since 2019!

Recently I checked out of Facebook; BIG time-suck; too many targeted ads. Yet I just signed up for Twitter. Since I'm an old(er) person, I feel quite savvy right now! I'm hoping (fingers crossed) that it won't compel me to be on devices all day, yet give me news of the world. 

The kids are great! Working or in school (community college - go Cobras). Sweet Bill is, as always, my one and only; my heart. We've had health issues - mental and physical. Monetary issues - oh, the joys of being a home-owner! And a car driver! Plus, seven people on one income...I wouldn't change it for the world! For God always provides, but only, it seems, at the very last minute! 

Even when it's not well with my circumstances, it is well with my soul. I need to do some soul-work, but the Triune God is patient. Thank goodness! I'm a slow Saint-in-the-making. I hope to one day be the patron saint of Hot Messes!

Catholic Writers Guild

I was privileged to attend the live conference of the Catholic Writers Guild this year. It is held in tandem with the Catholic Marketing Network and this year was in Lancaster, PA. I am currently working on a memoir of my child -bearing years; over the course of 6 pregnancies I spent 1 1/2 years on bedrest! I also converted to Catholicism, and received 2 medical diagnoses that could have been devastating. The book will tell how we managed and, I hope, be a tool for women put on bedrest in their own pregnancies.

I learned much at the conference. I signed up for a non-fiction critique group July 31, and really scrambled to get 10 pages of my manuscript ready to go. Arriving at the group, the leaders had no idea who I was, and had not received my manuscript! We agreed O could audit the session. It was God's hand! As I listened to the conversation and took notes, I realized, my work is not ready to be critiqued. It needs real reworking. I intend to join the Guild, join the online non-fiction critique group, and submit my manuscript a piece at a time then.

The first day of the conference was informative and interesting. I may have found a niche for myself. I wish we could have stayed longer. We took it as a girl's trip, with my mom, two daughters (we celebrate each girl starting her period by including her on a trip: one more daughter to go), and myself. My eldest daughter and I attended the conference; she is a poet. There was a poetry critique group scheduled, however, my daughter was the only signee. She was rewarded with an hour of one-on-one time with the leader, an established poet. An excellent confidence builder for my girl! But my mom had to be home for another obligation, so we  had to leave the second day of the conference. And, although there is ample opportunity for Mass, we didn't get to attend this time. We had a lovely time anyway.

I am now in a fibromyalgia flare because we drove from IN to PA in one day. I can't get my mom to understand my limitations. We did break up the trip back; after 8 hours we found a motel. We were heading to IL and 12 hours driving was a little more than mom could do. So I am in pain and fatigued. Apparently, the conference has been in Schaumburg, IL in the past. Perhaps it will be moved back. Lancaster was difficult to negotiate, we found. Still, a good time.

Quiet Kids

Help Your Introverted Child Succeed in an Extroverted World by Christine Fonseca. This book provides specific strategies to teach introverted children how to thrive in a world that may not understand them, that seems designed for their extroverted peers. The book shows how to develop resiliency, self-confidence, and enhance the positive qualities of being an introvert. It addresses academic performance, bullying, and social anxiety. I had high hopes for this book, because all but one of our large family are introverted (the remaining child is an ambivert). However, I had an extremely hard time getting through it. It includes self-reflection guides, tip sheets, checklists, workbook  - style tasks, overviews, q & a sections... What text there was seemed dry to me. The tip sheets were helpful, but the rest of the book just didn't hit me where I am. Too bad.

With Every Letter

This is a historical novel by Sarah Sundin, the first of the Wings of the Nightingale series. Set in WW II, Lieutenant Mellie Blake is training as a flight evacuation nurse. Lieutenant Tom MacGilliver is an engineer stationed in North Africa. They participate in a morale boosting program, writing to each other anonymously. They both have reasons to keep their identities secret, but they both need real friends. Through the letter writing campaign a friendship develops. Could it be more? Should they meet? Then they're both stationed in Algeria. Will their friendship bloom once they meet or will their fears of the past keep them from meeting? This book really resonated with me, as writing letters is how I got to know my husband in the days before computers were ubiquitous. Living in two different states we were "set up" by my college roommate, his colleague. I gave her permission to give him my address but not my phone number. And so we began. By the time we met, months later, we knew each other quite well. It's a system I would recommend.

Kindness: Wonderstruck

This challenge is to express kindness to someone in your life whom you don't naturally connect with or who intimidates you. Demonstrate God's goodness and love in a practical way, reflecting on how your actions affect your attitude with this person.

Well. Sometimes the person who intimidates you is someone quite close to you. It can sometimes be hard to naturally connect with someone with whom you have natural connections. My mother.  I love her dearly, but I often feel marginalized by her. It has gotten better as I have gotten strong enough to stand up for myself. But I have bipolar disorder. If I am struggling and have to deal with her, I allow her power to make me feel an inadequate child.

This happened recently as I went through a depressive episode. She reduced me to histrionic tears by criticizing my choices. I resolved not to contact her until I was stronger. Then this challenge....

So I called her. I asked leading questions. I even pretended interest when she told me about the TV shows she was watching as we spoke. (She rarely gives me her full attention, even when we're face to face. Another way to make me feel unimportant.) But I showed her kindness, no matter what she said or how she said it. I hung up from our conversation a bit frustrated, but not inconsolable. Actions do affect attitude. And that's the wonder of kindness.

Appreciation: Wonderstruck

This challenge was to express gratitude to three people who have made a difference in my life; who have been couriers of God's wonder. I chose my parents, my husband, and my mother-in-law. I chose to thank each of them with a handwritten note.

My parents were the primary shapers of my faith. They got it going and molded it well, I think. I don't think I ever really thanked them for that, even in the note that told them I was converting to Roman Catholicism (or in their minds, turning my back on my faith). So I wrote a note detailing exactly what I thank them for in regards to faith. It went out in today's mail.

My husband helped guide me to the fullness of faith in the Catholic Church. He continues to guide and guard our family. I couldn't be more proud of him, nor love and respect him more.

My mother-in-law gives me an example of a truly simple, yet deep belief. Perhaps because she's had to rely on God for the most mundane things all her life, she just knows she will be taken care of somehow. She was just diagnosed with cancer; she's facing it with a serenity I am envious of. I needed to thank her for the gift of her example.

These are the wonders of appreciation. Thank you, Lord, for each of these people. Please bless them.

Hope:Wonder Struck

The challenge for today is to bring hope to the hopeless. Bring someone the wonder of restoration. I'm not sure I accomplished this challenge.

I gave myself a couple of days. Saturday I spent raking leaves with some of our Boy Scouts. I determined to remain upbeat and smiling. Boys talk about all sorts of things!

Sunday I had to go grocery shopping (we rarely hit the stores on Sunday: it is our Sabbath rest day). I kept my manners in the crowded stores, and my smile. Coming out of the last store, I realized I'd not only left the accessory on so the kids could listen to music, but also my lights. The battery was dead.

The hopeless I helped turned out to be my own 10 year old. This daughter took our enforced stay in a parking lot very hard. I spoke to her calmly, told her what was being done to get us out of there. Got all of us some food once the towing service had given us a jump. Later, during our family rosary, this same child crawled into my lap (big as she is) and fell asleep. So I cradled my youngest, babied my my baby, and delivered hope. Challenge met after all.

Beauty: Wonder Struck

Today's challenge from Margaret Feinberg's Wonder Struck ( and it is two words, not one as I have incorrectly been writing) is to use a camera to record the wonder of God's beauty, grace, love, joy, and peace around me. #livewonderstruck

These photos were all taken with my tablet and are attached. The first shows the wonder of rest and the grace of God in the blessing of my husband.

The second photo are three of my children being silly at the dentist's office. The wonder of joy and family.

Third photo: remaining children. Sisters; beauty and grace.

Fourth photo: the joy of new haircuts!

Fifth photo: the beauty of our Advent tree representative of peaceful, yet eager anticipation for His coming... And His coming again. That is how to live wonder struck!