Sometimes it takes an illness, an injury, or something worse to make us stop and be thankful for all the blessings we do have.
the source of all blessings
To live well, is to work well.
— Aquinas
Greg is our go-to man. He has very nearly completely rebuilt our house. He’s a great guy — the kind of guy you want your kids to meet. He’s smart, works hard and is committed to family. Yesterday and today, he was here replacing doors in the kitchen and living room. He’ll be back on Monday to replace the basement door and put a screen door on the front of the house. After that, if we can gather together enough cash and his schedule allows, he’ll be back in the spring or summer to start our next renovation project. We wouldn’t think of embarking on it without him.
Within a few days, after numerous forays into their candy buckets, the kids will not have a morsel of chocolate left.
Someone managed to scrap every last morsel of peppers out of the garden before the big storm. And then they shared them with my husband, who brought them home to me.
These little crab apples must have fallen off of the tree during the storm. I happened to find them in a parking lot. After taking a shot for instagram, I thought they were too pretty to toss and took them home to photograph later with my “real” camera.
I love the orange and yellows — the high energy colors that pull you into the scene and make you feel all warm and happy. Or at least it does to me. And my favorite effect of the lensbaby is the way the colors all blur and bend and smooch up together like some impressionist painting.
The kids had plenty of energy this evening as we went door-to-door. Once home, they enjoyed some of their spoils. Their sugar-fueled evening should last for another few hours.
Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
—William Shakespeare, The Tempest
Form. Light. Color. I’m taking things back to the basics because I find myself in something of a rut. I came across a nice shot of the canals of Venice by Alfred Stieglitz. That’s nice, I thought, but I could go there today and take the same photo. So when you feel like all the photos have already been taken, where do you go? Back to basics? It’s so frustrating trying to figure out what I’m doing wrong. Or maybe what I’m feeling wrong that is making this so darn hard.
We are getting generous amounts of wind. Not too bad but they say the worst is yet to come. Right now I guess, it’s just a game of hurry up and wait.
The monkshood in the flowerbed is always generous in sharing its beauty late in the season.
The fierce wind longs to take them,
these flags of warmth, of sensuality,
longs to wrench them from home
over the wild lake waters,
over the trees stripped of reds and golds,to fly like Mary Poppins’ umbrella,
spreading magic high above frozen land.—Elizabeth Hobbs, “Hanging Red Flannel Sheets to Dry”
Well, thanks, Frankenstorm! You’ve put a big wrinkle in my plans for the week!
Solitude is something that is in very short supply around here. I often joke that even Jesus got to get away from the crowds every now and then. Not easy for a mom. But yesterday (and yes this is a picture from yesterday…it was a busy day and I loved this shot more than anything I took today), as we stood next to the Potomac, I felt a certain sense of solitude. It’s hard to imagine that Washington D.C. is only about 13 miles away — in the center of the shot.
Sharing a house with a husband, six kids and a dog makes finding moments of solitude difficult. The path to my first-floor studio is well traveled, but my kids seldom expect to find me in their dad’s upstairs office.
As Christians, compassion should be a very important word in our lives. It is, in fact, a word that gets bandied about in secular society an awful lot, especially at election time. According to The Free Dictionary, “compassion” is defined as “[d]eep awareness of the suffering of another coupled with the wish to relieve it.” It is noble and right to feel compassion for others. Unfortunately, though, compassion is one of those virtues that tends to inspire actions that often wind up being rather shortsighted. Today, I read a piece on the shortsighted compassion of abortion, written by a man conceived in rape. He wrote, “There are real lives at stake, and abortion only allows us to pretend that those lives don’t exist. … Our lives are reflective of how our humanity is extremely compassionate when we don’t compound the horror of rape with the violence of abortion.”
Having many younger siblings can be a major annoyance. It can also teach you patience and compassion. At least I hope it can. Sometimes I wonder — but then I catch moments like this and I know that having to watch out for someone younger than them is teaching them to be more compassionate and understanding of the weaker.
I am a political junkie. I live for debates and elections and all the silly nonsense that goes with it. Some of the antics make me very mad — but, truthfully, that is part of the fun. I am fully engaged this particular season and I don’t think we’ve left our neighbors with any doubt about who we support. Our poor neighbors!
When I give him a writing assignment, Luke balks. He’s not a fan of putting his thoughts down on paper on command. When he’s engaged with a subject, though, it’s a different story. He’s a big fan of history, so when I suggested he read Jeff Shaara’s novel of the Revolutionary War, he was raring to go.
This is probably the most expensive book we own. It is a slipcased copy of James Joyce’s classic, published in 1968 for members of The Limited Editions Club. In 1994, I purchased it for Dennis as a wedding gift, paying $125 for it. It is copy no. 417 and is signed by Brian Keogh, the artist who illustrated the text.
“He wanted to cry quietly but not for himself: for the words, so beautiful and sad, like music.”
― James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Some of the toys that we have bought for the children over the years were rather expensive. Or so I thought at the time. But now — four, five or in some cases, six children later, they rather seem like a bargin!
Defiance is personified by the almost three year old.
Luke had a hankering for donuts this morning. I suggested he try the Apple Cider Donuts recipe on No Gluten, No Problem, except that there was a problem: we had no apple cider. The beauty of the day, though, inspired me to rectify the situation by walking to the market of our local orchard and buying a jug of cider. Bridget, Henry and Sam came with me, and I felt downright defiant traipsing around with my kids while everyone else’s were in school.
A friend of mine once told me that he thinks I’m afraid of food. Unfortunately, he’s right. I am afraid of food, but I feel justified in this weakness. I am so sensitive to gluten, that the last time I got sick from it, I hadn’t even eaten it. I had been sorting through Mom’s old recipes, and just touching the flour-dusted cards made me miserable.
My eyes are sensitive to light. When it’s really bright outside — they hurt. Contacts aggravate the problem. So, on this bright and sunny autumn day, I decided to overexpose the sensitive sensor with that bright light.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.Macbeth Act 5, scene 5, 19–28
We stopped here on the way home from church. We’ve never been to Disney World, and our family vacations never amount to much, but I hope that my kids will grow up and tell tales about their wonderful childhoods.