For Ladies Only - UPDATED

Guys, you can read if you want, but this is a girl post. You have been warned.

I went to Meijer yesterday. Picked up a few things for both my mom and myself, dropped off Mom's things with her, and returned home. Several hours later I realized I was missing a few items. Checked the receipt--yup, they were paid for. Called Mom just to make sure I hadn't inadvertently left them with her. She didn't have them. Checked the car multiple times--no remaining bags. I know I didn't leave them in the cart. I have a clear memory of pushing an empty cart to the cart stall.

If you've ever shopped at Meijer you know that it is quite easy to leave a bag behind. The empty bags are stored in a turnstile, and as the cashier fills one bag he or she rotates the turnstile to start on another. It is easy to miss a bag because you can't really tell from looking whether the bags are full or empty.

So I called Meijer, receipt in hand. First got the Service Desk. Told her what three items I was missing as well as various bits of information from the receipt. Why she needed all that beats me because the next thing she did was transfer me to the store manager. Here we go again.

"What are you missing?"

I told him.

"Okay, let me go check."

(Background noise)

"Thanks for waiting, ma'am, they're still looking."

(More background noise.)

"No, there's nothing like that here. Anytime something is left the cashiers are required to turn it in and log it. But we don't have a bag with those items."

Well, great. Now what? I was missing over $10 worth of merchandise. I tried again.

"But I'm sure it was left in the checkout lane. It was probably put in the cart of the customer right after me. Are you telling me there's nothing I can do? "

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

Okay, I'm getting a little testy now. I want that bag.

"Do you think I'm making this up? I mean come on, this is kind of a weird assortment of items, don't you think? Do you really think I would go to all this trouble and spend all this time for no good reason? I'm sure the bag was left behind. The things in the bag were the last few things in my cart. Isn't there something you can do?"

(Pause.) Then--

"What items are you missing again?"

Sigh. One more time, with feeling.

"Hairspray, chocolate, and feminine napkins." (I am not making this up.)

"That's all? Only those three things?"

"That's all. Nothing else."

"Tell you what. Come in tomorrow and ask for Carlos and we'll replace those things for you."

Success!

Phew. I'm not sure if I would have worked so hard for any other bag. But that one was golden.

Update: Went to Meijer last night. Collected my items and went to the customer service desk. Explained the situation to the young, female clerk there and asked for "Carlos."

"Carlos?"

"Yes, Carlos, the manager. He told me to come today and ask for him. He said he would be here after 2:00."

"Hmmm, I don't know of any Carlos here." [WHAT THE HECK???] "But let me see your receipt. What is it you were missing?"

"Well, there was this, and this, . . . "

"And some chocolates for you, too, I see!"

I looked to my side to catch the female customer at the next register smiling.

"Yes," I said, "it's quite an assortment, isn't it? All the things a lady can't do without!"

Polite smiles turned to broad, knowing grins. It was a fleeting but deeply felt sisterhood forged amidst the otherwise trivial proceedings at the return counter. We, the assembled, understood each other, even if no one else did.

Back to the customer service clerk. "Well," she said, "this receipt IS from our store. I don't see why we can't just bag these up for you. I'm sorry for your trouble."

More smiles. By this time I was feeling so close to these ladies I wanted to take them out for coffee. I'll have to pay it forward some other time.

And to Carlos, wherever (and whoever) you are . . . you have a lot to learn about women, and about customer service. And I know just the person to teach you. She works at my neighborhood Meijer . . . .

Palm Sunday

Two videos from today's Palm Sunday liturgy:

1) The processional with cross, acolytes, pastors, and children's choir waving palm branches as the congregation sings "All Glory, Laud and Honor" (Lutheran Service Book 442). I wish I had panned around the church a bit more--we have a beautiful sanctuary--but I was so enthralled with the children that I focused on them the whole time. It took a little while for them to synchronize the palm choreography they had planned, but I think most of them eventually figured it out! Listen for the children's robust singing on the refrain. They loved this!

Palm Sunday Procession, Bethany Lutheran Church, March 28, 2010 from Cheryl on Vimeo.

2) A musical sequence featuring the Verse of the Day ("The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified"--John 12:23, setting by Bruce Backer, sung beautifully by our associate cantor and her mother) and leading into the Cantor's organ introduction to the Hymn of the Day--Lutheran Service Book 444, "No Tramp of Soldiers' Marching Feet" (listen for the en chamade).

The words of the hymn are below the video. I think the Cantor's interpretation dramatically communicates the irony therein: while the hymn notes that Jesus's entry into Jerusalem lacks the martial pomp and circumstance that would normally accompany an earthly king, the martial element is there in the hymn nonetheless, ominously foreshadowing Jesus's arrest, trial, and execution only a few days later.

Palm Sunday, Bethany Lutheran Church, March 28, 2010 from Cheryl on Vimeo.

No tramp of soldiers' marching feet With banners and with drums.
No sound of music's martial beat: 'The King of glory comes!'
To greet what pomp of kingly pride No bells in triumph ring.
No city gates swing open wide: 'Behold, behold your King!

And yet He comes. The children cheer; With palms His path is strown.
With ev'ry step the cross draws near: The King of glory's throne.
Astride a colt he passes by As loud hosannas ring.
Or else the very stones would cry 'Behold, behold your King!'

What fading flow'rs His road adorn; The palms, how soon laid down!
No bloom or leaf but only thorn The King of glory's crown.
The soldiers mock, the rabble cries, The streets with tumult ring.
As Pilate to the mob replies, 'Behold, behold your King!'

Now He who bore for mortals' sake The cross and all its pains
And chose a servant's form to take, The King of glory reigns.
Hosanna to the Savior's name Till heaven's rafters ring,
And all the ransomed host proclaim, 'Behold, behold your King!

Dream Team

Paul Ryan

Michelle Bachmann

Come on, 2012! You can't get here soon enough!

With Praise Like This, Who Needs Criticism?

Fidel Castro is applauding the government takeover of health care signed into law this week by President Obama. According to this AP article, "Cuba provides free health care and education to all its citizens, and heavily subsidizes food, housing, utilities and transportation, policies that have earned it global praise."

Well, there ya' go. We have arrived. Our President promised to change the way America is viewed internationally, and he is doing just that, eliciting praise from such champions of human rights as the dictator of Cuba. We are now on track to in due time bring Cuba's high standard of health care* to the United States of America. I can't wait.

*WARNING: This is a link to a page on "The Real Cuba" website. It contains multiple thumbnail images documenting the current condition of "health" care in Cuba. The images are small but nevertheless deeply disturbing. If you would prefer not to see them, you can just take my word that they do not suggest the existence in Cuba of a leader or government that honestly cares about about the health and well-being of its citizens.

Homeschooling and Unschooling

Highly recommended: a GREAT series of posts on unschooling from my friend Jane. I think all parents--homeschoolers or not, unschoolers or not--can benefit from reading because what Jane is essentially talking about is a lifestyle that frees up children to reach their full potential. Yuck--that sounds like such a cliché, but that's really what it's about. In our house we have both schooly and unschooly periods, depending on the prevailing goals and circumstances. But if I h-a-a-d to pick one or the other, I would say we lean towards the unschooly. Our children have been allowed great freedom to pursue their passions and to govern how they allot their time. We don't worry much about grades or "covering" material. We just live together and by the grace of God love and learn our way through our days.

Here are links to Jane's posts, in order:

Gatto (about educational writer John Taylor Gatto, mentioned here in several recent posts as well)

Why Unschooling?

Style

The Company You Keep (about socialization)

One More Unschooling Post (about Jane's kids--a case study in unschooling)

Go. Read. It will be worth it, I promise.

Memo to the Nanny State

So, a California lawmaker wants to ban the inclusion of toys in fast food kids' meals. He says the toys are an enticement to children to eat unhealthy food.

Never mind that it's not the kids buying the meals but their parents. When was the last time you saw a six-year-old drive his trike through McDonald's?

Clearly this is yet another instance of government attempting to usurp individual freedom and in this case the authority of the parent. Expect more of this sort of thing with Obamacare because after all, if the government is paying for everyone's health care, it has the duty to tell us how to eat.

I saw the lawmaker in question on Fox News this morning, and when he was asked, "Isn't it the parent's job to decide what his child should or should not eat?" his response was, "Yes, but we just think parents could use a little help."

I'm reminded of the wisdom of Ronald Reagan, who once stated, "The nine most terrifying words in the English language are 'I'm from the government and I'm here to help.'" Who does this guy think he is? The sheer, brazen audacity--to look me in the face and tell me that I can't successfully rear a child without his high-falutin' help.

Well, I have news for him.

IT'S NOT THE TOY, MAN.

It's the French fries, as any parent well knows.

As long as there are French fries in Happy Meals, kids wll want Happy Meals. Wonder how long it will be before they figure that out and Happy Meals are outlawed?

It Makes Sense, Actually

Is it any wonder that a nation of government school products who have been conditioned in alienation, emotional and intellectual dependency, class stratification, envy, confusion, indifference and fear would elect leaders whose message is "Look to me and I will take care of you and tell you what to do" rather than "You are capable and you don't need me to do for you what you can do for youself"?

As John Taylor Gattor observes, our public schools are not failing. They are doing exactly what they were always intended to do.

It's Coming

I have heard it from several people in recent days, most notably Charles Krauthammer. Get ready for a national sales (value added) tax. Obama has had it in his pocket all along and now it won't be long until he pulls it out.

Crossing the Rubicon

No, this post is not about democracy. It's about chicken nuggets. In this case the Rubicon is the realization that my 6-year-old now reads and counts and pays attention well enough to know that his supper should have consisted of ten Chicken McNuggets, not nine. Hmmm, wonder where that tenth one went? Guess they miscounted at McDonald's . . . .

::Sigh.:: He'll be counting his chicken nuggets from here on out.

Call to Action

I know. It's the pits. BUT WE MUST NOT GIVE UP! WE MUST NOT STICK OUR HEADS IN THE SAND! WE MUST NOT LET THEM WIN!

Sorry. Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention.

If you read nothing else today, read this from Bill Whittle of Pajamas Media. Please.

"The war is actually begun"

The words of Patrick Henry have been ringing in my ears tonight. Amazing how appropriate they are to the situation at hand. Bart Stupak would do well to read them. Trusting the likes of Obama & Pelosi is akin to trusting George III. By the way, take note of the date.

Speech to the Virginia Convention, March 23, 1775

No man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, as well as abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who have just addressed the House. But different men often see the same subject in different lights; and, therefore, I hope it will not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen if, entertaining as I do opinions of a character very opposite to theirs, I shall speak forth my sentiments freely and without reserve. This is no time for ceremony. The questing before the House is one of awful moment to this country. For my own part, I consider it as nothing less than a question of freedom or slavery; and in proportion to the magnitude of the subject ought to be the freedom of the debate. It is only in this way that we can hope to arrive at truth, and fulfill the great responsibility which we hold to God and our country. Should I keep back my opinions at such a time, through fear of giving offense, I should consider myself as guilty of treason towards my country, and of an act of disloyalty toward the Majesty of Heaven, which I revere above all earthly kings.

Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see not, and, having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth; to know the worst, and to provide for it.

I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the House. Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation; the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves. Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne! In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free-- if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending--if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained--we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of hosts is all that is left us!

They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. The millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable--and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come.

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace-- but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!

"How dull those walks, and those deaths, made all my toys"

Yesterday I attended a homeschooling conference, where I was privileged to meet and listen to John Taylor Gatto. Mr. Gatto is a former New York City Teacher of the Year who resigned from the teaching profession after 30 years because, as he explained at the time in an op-ed for The Wall Street Journal, he wanted to find a job that did not ask him to hurt children. Shortly thereafter he began writing books devoted to accurately detailing the history and purpose of what he calls "confinement schooling" in the United States. Those books include Dumbing Us Down: The Hidden Curriculum of Compulsory Education (1992); The Underground History of American Education (2001); and Weapons of Mass Instruction (2008).

Mr. Gatto is not a homeschooler, but homeschoolers have embraced him (and he them) because of their shared realization of the destructive nature of institutional education as it is practiced in this country. In his writings on the development of American compulsory education, he convincingly argues that the motivation of those who originally promoted and developed it was not philanthropic, considering the best interest of the student, but selfish, considering rather the growing need of an industrialized nation to have an ever-ready supply of compliant, non-thinking workers. Schools, then, were designed to "normalize" people--to stamp out imagination and individuality so as to make them more manageable and thereby increase the efficiency of the machine: "When you flip hamburgers, sit at a computer all day, unpack and shelve merchandise from China year after year, you manage the tedium better if you have a shallow inner life, one you can escape through booze, drugs, sex, media, or other low level addictive behaviors" (Weapons of Mass Instruction, p. 14).

According to Mr. Gatto, the seven lessons that our government schools most successfully teach these days are--*

1. Confusion. There is no logical sequence to the way things are taught. Facts are presented in a disconnected way rather than in a context that gives them meaning and purpose.
2. Class position. The school population is segmented according to age, and there is no breaking out of the position into which you are born.
3. Indifference. The school day is governed by an inflexible schedule that teaches that "nothing is worth finishing and hence nothing worth starting" because the learning process is at the mercy of the teacher or the bell.
4. Emotional dependency. "By a skillful use of rewards and punishments . . . schools teach that free will, even in matters as basic as urination, must be subordinated to the whim of an authority figure."
5. Intellectual dependency. "In school, teachers tell you what to think about, how long to think about it, in what order to think about it and what evaluation should be placed on ideas and their management."
6. Self-alienation. "By breaking children away from families, cultures, religions and neighborhoods--private sources of strengths--. . . schools teach that you must not trust yourself, you must wait for the teacher to tell you not only what to do, but whether what you have done is good or bad."
7. You are watched. "Schools teach that you can't hide, that there is no sanctuary from the oversight of the state father."

My husband and I made the decision to homeschool before we were familiar with the writings of John Taylor Gatto, but as we read his books we felt confirmed in many of our gut feelings about institutional schooling. We are Christians, but that's not why we homeschool. If the secular, liberal worldview of public schools were the only issue, we could address it by sending our children to a private Christian school. But private Christian schools are by and large structured and governed by the same assumptions as public schools and as a result have the same frustration-inducing, curiosity-killing effects.

At the conference yesterday, I went up to meet Mr. Gatto before his presentation, my copy of Dumbing Us Down in hand. He graciously autographed it for me and inquired about my interest in a signed copy of Weapons of Mass Instruction. How could I say no? I have been reading it since last night (as I bide my time in a hotel room while my son plays chess) and have already found much on which to muse. Mr. Gatto gives example after example of successful, productive, meaningful lives that came about without the "benefit" of a college or high school degree or much formal schooling at all. Some of these are historical figures (Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Edison, Daniel Farragut) but others are names from our own time--people like Steve Jobs, Warren Buffet, and human genome project scientists Venter and Collins. I love the anecdote Gatto relates about complaining to his grandfather at age 7 that he was bored, to which his grandfather responded by saying that if he was bored it was his own fault . . . . "The obligation to amuse and interest myself was entirely my own, and people who didn't know that were childish people, to be avoided if possible" (Prologue, p. xiv). Makes me feel better about my own relaxed, often quite unschooly approach to learning at home--"What did you read today? And did you get those socks folded?"--as well as my lack of sympathy when my 6-year-old complains of not having anything to do: "Sorry, honey, not my problem. You're a smart boy. Go find something."

I also love Gatto's description of long, evening walks with his mother when he was a boy in Monongahela, Pennsylvania. After the breakup of her marriage, Gatto's mother had moved back to her hometown, taking her children with her. But because she was embarrassed at her single mother status, the walks always took place at night, after dark. As they walked, Gatto and his sister listened to their mother relate story after story about the town and her growing up years:

Each excursion covered roughly five miles. We wove in and out of the darkened hill streets, reaching zones of settlement I was only dimly aware existed. I still hear our footsteps crunching the fall leaves or the winter snow, or sloshing through the spring rains. I can hear our hushed whispers. Every house had a story, and mother knew all of them. Many had a symbol in the front window telling the world that some man inside had gone away off to the wars. In some windows there was a special symbol . . . which declared the man had died in service to the rest of us.

The presence of death on our walks added something wonderfully deep and profound to the rambles, a sadness reminding me at the corners of consciousness that someday my mother would be dead, too, and my sister, and myself.

From time to time mother would reminisce what a particular soldier or sailor, once her schoolmate, had been like as a living boy. For a little fellow this was like being confronted with ghosts. It was stunning drama. How dull those walks, and those deaths, made all my toys. In the face of a dramatic reality that ennobled, even the most ordinary toys were less than insignificant; they were humiliating by contrast, unspeakably childish. Real stories help a boy grow up; toys beyond a point reached in early childhood retard the hard road to maturity.

I learned more about mother and sister from those walks than I could fully comprehend back then; today I realize that the personal information gathered incidentally as we walked was the most important data I was ever to have about who we Gattos and Zimmers really were. The walks were open-source learning of the highest order. I'd gladly trade Cornell and Columbia for more of them" (pp. 59-60).

Mr. Gatto may not identify it as such, but if that's not homeschooling, I don't know what is.

*Essays by John Taylor Gatto: Notes on Education, Schooling and Curriculum, 2010.

Upside-Down World

This is beyond belief: a pro-abortion, Roman Catholic Speaker of the House praising a health care rationing bill for its supposed life-affirmingness, and invoking Joseph, the husband of Mary and earthly father of Jesus, as a symbol of the working Americans who would benefit from socialized medicine.



Read The Anchoress to hear what a real Catholic thinks about this travesty.

Chalk One Up For Homeschooling

My 14-year-old daughter takes after me. She is a word, not a number, girl. It's not that math is impossible for her. But the manipulation of numbers does not come as naturally to her as the manipulation of words. This is a child who was making up stories in her high chair.

This year Caitlin is studying algebra. She is progressing well, although at times the road gets a bit rocky. Generally she works fairly independently, but when she encounters a difficult lesson she lets me know and I spend some time watching her work through the troublesome problems. What we have noticed, though, is that I don't contribute all that much. It seems to be enough for me to come and sit by her as she goes at it. For some reason, just my being there seems to make the difference.

What gives? Well, as much as I would like to believe that it is my mere presence exuding maternal love and devotion that is responsible for her success, Caitlin and I have realized it is not that but something else. When I am next to her, she works through the problem verbally, speaking out loud the steps as she does them. Eureka! This is my word girl (as well as my highly tactile and kinesthetic can't-sit-still-must-always-be-moving-and-manipulating-something child). NO WONDER she does better when she talks about the problem. Yesterday as she and I were discussing this phenomenon it occurred to us that perhaps she should just always talk her way through her math lesson, whether I am there or not. It would be interesting to try it as an experiment and see if doing so gives her a greater success rate on the first time through a lesson.

Once again, I find myself thankful for homeschooling. No one in our house is going to care if there is someone sitting at the dining room table verbalizing her math lesson. In a regular classroom, she would be disturbing others. Here, if someone does mind (because maybe Someone is studying his chess), Caitlin (or Someone) can simply go to another room. Can't do that in a regular classroom, now, can you?

Suggested Reading

No time to blog today--the day has been full with choir practices (junior high contest is tomorrow), running various errands, and housecleaning (for the fastidious and highly finicky guests that are coming tonight). So I commend to you a rather stunning entry from my brilliant and deep-thinking daughter. If you are EITHER a fan of the TV series Lost OR if you ever give thought to big ideas of faith and human reason, I think you will appreciate this.

Let's Get This Straight

The news wires and liberal blogs are making a big deal about the revelation from Sarah Palin that several times when she was a child her parents made use of Canadian health care. Seems a good time to point out several facts:

1) Governor Palin herself shared the tidbit in a recent speech. It's not as though it was some sort of shameful secret that was dug up by an investigative reporter. Some bombshell.

2) It was Palin's parents, not Palin herself, who utilized Canadian health care. To try to paint her as a hypocrite because of a choice her parents made when she was a little girl is ridiculous.

3) From what I have read, it only happened a few times. The Palins did not have a hospital down the street--they lived in Alaska, for crying out loud. On a few occasions when speedy care was crucial, it was quicker for them to get on a train and cross the border. Mrs. Palin's father points out that in doing so they incurred greater expense because their insurance did not cover Canadian care. But when you have a kid that has had an accident and needs an ER, you go to the closest and most accessible ER, regardless of the cost. The point is that Palin's parents went over the border not because they thought the health care was better but because they needed care FAST.

Can we all move on to more important things now? Like saving the country from the socialists?

Lying Liars and the Lies They Tell

HT: The Anchoress

When in Rome . . .

Today as I instructed one of my piano students in a certain musical concept, he was reminded of something similar he had heard today from his choir director, who also happens to be my husband. (This young man, poor dear, gets a double dose of our household on Mondays). Attempting to process and connect the two pieces of information, he asked, "Oh, you mean like Cantor was talking about today? That linguini thing?"

Linguini? The Cantor does like his pasta, but I didn't remember him talking about linguini when I attended rehearsal today. I puzzled over this for a moment; then it dawned on me that my student was probably remembering another Italian word.

"Are you thinking of tenuto, Robert?" (Nor his real name.)

"Yeah, that's it! Tenuto!"

Tenuto, linguini, ritardando, lasagna, accelerando, crescendo, spaghetti, fettucini, allegro, fermata . . . no wonder my student was confused. It's all the same, really. Especially when you've had a long day at school and supper is looming!

Young Talent

The first video is of my daughter's junior high madrigal group singing at Solo & Ensemble contest last week. Don't they look and sound great? The ages are 6th-8th graders. Caitlin is on the far right.

The second video is of Caitlin singing her vocal solo (in French!) with her dad accompanying (on something that is supposed to resemble a piano).

Both the madrigal group and Caitlin received first division ratings. :-) Go Bethany Lutheran choir kids! And kudos to their director!

"Sing We, Dance We, On the Green" by Francis Pilkington (1565-1638) from Cheryl on Vimeo.

"Romance" by Claude Debussy from Cheryl on Vimeo.

Life Lesson

Last week one of the high school vocal groups I accompany had a master class with a guest clinician. Last night at rehearsal as the students were discussing the experience with their regular teacher, he expressed appreciation to the music boosters' group for paying the clinician's fee. One of the girls in the choir reacted with surprise: "She got paid for that?"

"Of course," answered my colleague. "She's a professional. Music is how she makes her living. Do you think she spent four hours driving here, working with us, and driving back home simply out of the kindness of her heart?"

"I don't know . . . I just thought you knew her and that you asked her and she came . . . I didn't realize she got paid . . . ."

Giving me a sideways glance as he smiled at his student, my friend and coworker patiently set the young lady straight: "Mary [not her real name], professional musicians never do ANYTHING for free."

No wonder I like working with this guy.

Spin Central

Evan: "I like to stay up late, Mom, because with the extra time I can get more things done."

Me: "Really? What kind of things?"

Evan: "Things around the house, like chores."

Anyone have the President's phone number? I think I can suggest a name if he ever needs a replacement for Robert Gibbs.

"You Don't Know What They Mean, Either?"

A few days ago I went to the neighborhood pharmacy to fill some prescriptions for my mom, who has recently been sent home from rehab after a fall. This store is a pharmacy and nothing else. The only thing they sell is medicine and medical supplies. I appreciate that when I go there they recognize me and know who my mom is and ask about her. If needed, they deliver her medication to her.

On this day there was a problem. When the pharmacist tried to get insurance approval online for my mom's prescriptions, he was met with several rejection codes. Unable to figure out what they meant, he got on the phone to seek assistance from the insurance company. Keep in mind that my mom is a senior citizen whose coverage is provided by the federal government. As I stood eavesdropping (what else was there for me to do?) I overheard something like this:

" . . . got these rejection codes . . . there's no key to tell me what they mean . . . 14 . . . 8 . . . 12 . . . if you provided some sort of key I wouldn't have to call you about this . . . you're telling me you don't know what they mean either? . . . . [to his assistant] See, this is why we don't want the government taking over the whole thing . . . . [to me] This will probably take a while. Why don't I call you or you can check back with us later?"

The initial cost quoted for the presciptions was over $300. It took until the next day for things to get sorted out and my mom to get properly charged for her prescriptions (her portion ended up being only around $25). Since my mom fell early in January, this was the first time she had tried to get prescriptions filled this calendar year. I am thinking that is probably why she had so much trouble and am anticipating that this won't happen again, at least not until next year. But that may be wishful thinking.

Just think. If the government takes over the entire health care system, all of us will be able to enjoy the same streamlined, efficient medical care that my mom now receives. I can't wait . . . .

Funeral Arrangements for Louise Bolt

Visitation from 4 p.m. to 8 p.m. on Thursday, February 25, 2010 at

Friedrich Jones Funeral Home
44 South Mill Street
Naperville, Illinois 60540
(In Downtown Naperville)
Phone: 630-355-0213

Directions:

From I-88 take the Winfield Rd. exit and go south to Diehl Rd.
Left on Diehl Rd. to Mill St. Right on Mill St. for 2 miles to Funeral Home on left.
(Abundant on-site parking & street parking is available)

From Washington and 75th Street take Washington north
Turn left on Aurora Rd
Turn right on Main
Turn left on Jackson
Turn right on Mill (funeral home is on right)

Additional Visitation from 12 p.m. to 1 p.m. on Friday, February 26, 2010 at
Bethany Lutheran Church & School
1550 Modaff Road
Naperville, IL 60565
630 355-2198

Funeral at Bethany Lutheran Church at 1 p.m. on Friday, February 26, 2010

"We're Just Losing Everyone"

I had no idea yesterday morning's post would be so prophetic. Shortly after I wrote it I received word that one of our preschool teachers had died in the hospital after a long battle with cancer. Although we homeschool, all of our children have attended Lutheran preschool, and this lady was both Caitlin's and Evan's teacher. She and her husband, who is our day school's third grade teacher, have long been involved with parish music, directing school ensembles and singing in our adult choir. My friend's death has come as quite a shock to our congregation. She is a cancer survivor who was again fighting the disease, but the crisis that led to her passing Sunday morning was not at all expected. We all thought she--and we--had more time.

Louise will be missed by many. She was in the classroom until quite recently and this year was named Teacher of the Year by the Northern Illinois District.

"Lord, now lettest Thou thy servant depart in peace according to Thy Word." Rest in peace, Louise. We'll see you in heaven.

It Sure Seems That Way, Evan

Friday night in the hotel while catching up with some online communications I noticed that composer/musician Dr. Richard Hillert had died. I called to my husband, who was in the other room, to let him know, but he couldn't make out my words. "What?" he called back. Evan, who of course has no idea who Richard Hillert is, stepped in to help, yelling loudly, "RICHARD HILLERT DIED!" and then turning around and announcing sadly, "We're just losing everyone!"

Funeral Thoughts

Home from the funeral. What a testament to a life well-lived. Friday night at the visitation it seemed as though the people would never stop coming. Because there was such a long wait to go through the receiving line, people were ushered to a pew to sit until it was almost their turn. One of the ushers told me the sanctuary was filled and emptied about 2-1/2 times. The visitation was scheduled from 4:00 until 7:00 but went until almost 9:00. I felt sorry for the family, who must have been exhausted, but I appreciated their willingness to do what they did for the sake of all who loved Pastor Freudenburg and needed this opportunity to say goodbye.

The funeral itself was magnificent. I think there must be few things as grand as an historic old church filled with the sound of God's children singing. For my readers who may be curious, the hymns were "A Mighty Fortress is Our God," "Chief of Sinners, Though I Be" (sung by a men's chorus that included my husband and older son), "Thy Strong Word," and "For All the Saints."

Evan, my youngest, did not have the opportunity to get to know Pastor Freudenburg well. When I told him we would be going to a funeral this weekend he reacted quite negatively: "I don't want to go to a funeral!" He has been to two already this year, those of his paternal grandparents. But as we waited our turn at the visitation he became impatient not because he was tired or bored but because he wanted to see Pastor. I'm glad we waited until the end because he stood for quite a while looking at Pastor's body and resisted when I tried to move him on: "I'm not done looking at him yet." The next day at the funeral he was quite bothered that the casket was closed and he couldn't see Pastor again: "I can't remember what he looks like." I assured him I had lots of pictures.

Evan is still trying to figure out this death thing. Aren't we all.

The sermon, delivered by Rev. Dr. David Peter of Concordia Seminary-St. Louis, was Christ-centered and cross-focused. Rev. Freudenburg was Rev. Peter's pastor when he was a little boy, and after he grew up and attended seminary Pastor Peter joined Pastor Freudenburg on Trinity's staff. Pastor Peter began his sermon by reviewing some of his history with Pastor Freudenburg, but then he stopped and said that he could hear Pastor Freudenburg whispering in his ear saying, "What are you doing? Why are you talking about me? Tell them about Jesus and what HE has done!" And that's what Pastor Peter did.

It was a whirlwind day, but a good one. We were unable to go to the committal or stay for the funeral luncheon because of duties at home. But we had the opportunity to see many old friends from our time at Trinity. In spite of not being all that far away, we have not been back many times over the last 10 years. I found great comfort in seeing many familiar faces and realizing that for the last 10 years they have been there, receiving the blessings of Word and Sacrament and loving one another through the trials and heartaches of this life. That's what being a church family is all about.

I know that Pastor Freudenburg's salvation has nothing to do with the way he lived his earthly life. But truly, this was a fine man, and his family can celebrate and take comfort in the knowledge of all the souls that he shepherded in his time on earth. God used him to point many to Christ. May he rest in peace.

Farewell to a Friend

Today we will be traveling to Peoria to say goodbye to our dear friend Rev. Gerald Freudenburg, who was called to be with His Lord this past Sunday, February 14, 2010. Words are insufficient to express the scope of this dear man's life and legacy. We are just a tiny fraction of the many who loved him. As the senior pastor at my husband's first full time cantorate, he went from being boss to being friend and surrogate father and grandfather. I think the thing that I will most remember about him is his serenity. He truly radiated the joy and peace of Christ, taking each day as it came and giving thanks at all times for both blessings and trials.

Here is a brief photo journey through the years that we knew Pastor Freudenburg.

Husker Fever (pictured with Pastor are Phillip and

Rev. Dr. David Peter)

At Caitlin's baptism (with Pastor's wife Jo--"Grandma Jo" to our kids)

Holding Caitlin (there's that Nebraska shirt again)

Giving the keynote speech at Phillip's 40th birthday party

Another shot from Phillip's birthday party. That's Caitlin on the receiving end of Pastor's smile (and that's Evan in my tummy).

Phillip, Jo, Pastor, and dear friends Vicki and Kay.

Phillip and Pastor. I love this photo and wish it weren't so light. It was taken outside at night. But the posture and expression of the two men speaks volumes about their relationship.

Goodbye, Pastor. We will miss you so very much.

Your Tax Dollars at Work

I spent much of the day accompanying young musicians in Solo & Ensemble competition. The event took place at a local high school. Many of the students I accompanied were assigned to classrooms that are normally home to social science instruction (history, government, and economics). In one room the chalkboard had some writing that had not been erased. It was a comparison/contrast chart of the major political parties' stands on certain issues, one of which was censorship. According to the chart, on the question of free speech the Democrat party is "pro-freedom" and the Republican party is "pro-censorship."

This is the sort of thing with which students in our public schools are regularly indoctrinated. And we are told that this is education, and that the government needs more money to do more of it.

I could be wrong, but I think if more parents took the time to go into classrooms and see and hear what their children are being taught rather than blindly accepting that the schools are doing their jobs, they might decide it's time to not only starve the public education beast but to send him back to school himself.

Looking on the Bright Side

So, it's a good thing that my 2-year-old Concise OED is falling apart because it is never, ever sitting on the bookshelf but instead sees more action in our house than a Harry Potter novel, right?

Right?

What Would You Have Said?

Today at church we celebrated Jesus' Transfiguration (recounted in Matthew 17:1-9, Mark 9:2-8, and Luke 9:28-36). I think all the emphasis on Jesus' physical appearance must have gotten my 6-year-old thinking, because during the sermon he asked me, "Mommy, why do we worship a God we can't see?"

Wow. I know what I told him, but I would be curious to hear your thoughts. I'm wondering if there is more I could have said, or if I could have said it better.

A Chess Milestone

I am in Milwaukee this weekend, serving as chauffeur/chaperone/moneybags/head cheerleader for my son, who is participating in the U.S. Amateur Team-North. Trevor is playing top board and serving as captain of his team, which settled on the team name "U-Knighted." There are four Amateur Team events this weekend, one each in the North, South, East and West. The winning team from each of the regional events will advance to the final round to play in the National Amateur Team Championship.

The Amateur Team tournament rules require that the average rating of the team not exceed 2200. What this means is that the ratings of individual players on a team can vary widely, since all that matters is the team average. Each team consists of four players whose position on the team is determined by their relative ratings (the highest rated player plays Board 1, the second-rated player plays Board 2, etc.). When two teams are paired, the players of the same team position are paired. Because the make-up different teams can be very different, this makes for some fascinating pairings. Several of the teams playing this weekend have Grandmasters sitting at the top board, and last night Trevor got to play one of them, GM Alex Yermolinsky, rated 2583 (Trevor is rated 2183). Here is a short biography of Yermolinsky, borrowed from a listing on Amazon for one of his books:

"Grandmaster Alex Yermolinsky is one of the strongest players in the United States. He was US Champion in 1996, and won the US Open Championship in 1995 and 1997. He has represented the USA in four Olympiads, and played board two for the team that won the World Team Championship in 1993. His credentials as a teacher are no less impressive. He assisted Irina Levitina in her bid for the Women's World Championship in 1982-4, while his former pupils include top-class grandmasters such as Alexander Khalifman and Vladimir Epishin. After his arrival in the United States in 1989, he continued coaching, with one of his pupils, Boris Kreiman, winning the US Junior Championship in 1993."

And here is a 30-second video of Trevor's round against Yermolinsky, a round that he went on to win!



If I were a betting woman (I'm not), my money would have been on Yermolinsky (sorry, Trevor). But I can't say I'm surprised to see my son beat a Grandmaster (his first time to do so in tournament play). It was only a matter of time (and hard work and study and determination, all of which Trevor demonstrates better than anyone I know). Trevor's victory has already garnered quite a bit of attention from those attending the tournament, and deservedly so. And what I have also noticed is what I have seen repeatedly in the past: people love rooting for Trevor because he is just such a gentleman. The mother of one of Trevor's teammates, also a young high school player, told me, "It couldn't have happened to a nicer person."

Sometimes it seems in fact that others are happier for Trevor than he is for himself. I suggested to him this morning that he should email his teacher (GM Yury Shulman) to let him know about last night's round. He informed me that he would do so after the tournament is over. Typically, he is already focusing on the next round and doesn't want to be distracted. He also, in his characteristically humble way, eschews any sign of gloating or celebration. In fact, he confided to me that if there is any game that he has mixed feelings about winning, it is one against a Grandmaster. I think he is probably empathizing with his opponent, thinking about how he himself hates losing, but particularly hates losing to a significantly lower-rated player. It's hard on both the ego and the rating.

But that doesn't mean he doesn't do his utmost to defeat whoever is sitting across the board from him, Grandmaster or not! It's the way of the chess world, and I daresay GM Yermolinsky understands.

Who needs Dick and Jane . . .

. . . when you have Calvin and Hobbes?

I love homeschooling!

(I don't know why the video is showing up with bars. If you click play, it will play.)

Update: it appears the bars are gone. Just a glitch, I guess.

Reading from Cheryl on Vimeo.

How To Melt Your Wife's Heart (For Men Only)

Watch her in the mirror as she's getting ready for work in the morning, then announce softly, "You are so beautiful."

You'll have to pick her up off the floor.

Just thought a few of my male readers might appreciate a Valentine's Day tip. And you're welcome. :-)

Finding the Balance

Woke up at 5:00 a.m. Out the door before 7:00. Had to shovel the driveway before leaving. Spent over an hour driving in the snow to get to and from two choir rehearsals at two different schools followed by a string of invidividual rehearsals with students participating in Solo & Ensemble. Home a little after 1:00. Talked to children for a few minutes, talked on the phone with husband, had lunch. I have been working all day and I am sitting here feeling guilty for escaping into the computer for a few minutes. I should be doing laundry, or cleaning house, or practicing piano, or giving my 6-year-old a piano lesson, or reading to him or playing with him instead of being glad he's watching Tom & Jerry right now, or reading my older children's written work, or calling my mom, or making some progress on the taxes, or . . . or . . . or . . . .

Now don't get me wrong. I'm taking the break (I'm writing this blog post, aren't I?). And I don't think anyone thinks less of me for doing so. But I myself am feeling lazy for not being more materially productive right this moment. There is so much to do! Not only that, tonight I'm going to (ring-a-ding-ding) watch Lost on television. That's a whole hour set aside to sit and do nothing--and here I am wallowing in laziness instead of using every spare moment to accomplish something! My internal guilt alarm is is about to blow its circuits.

Sometimes I congratulate myself on my work ethic. I have a lot to do and I do a lot. There are people who depend on me and by and large I am there for them. There is much on my plate and by the grace of God most days I manage to keep all but a few crumbs from falling off.

Other times, though, I curse my overdeveloped work ethic. I think God wants us to be able to relax and enjoy life. He rested, and He wants us to also. There is nothing wrong with taking time to do so. Not only that, but we need to rest so as to be able to return to duty refreshed and energized.

Yet it still remains that at any given moment there is a tension between service to others and service to oneself, between productivity and relaxation. And to find a guiltless balance between the two is something I have not so far figured out.

Lamb of God, Pure and Holy

A lovely arrangement, beautifully performed by our high school youth ensemble during communion at church yesterday. My daughter is the first singer in the second row (in black skirt); my son can be heard but not seen, as his position at the far end of the second row places him squarely behind the young man in the first row. Several of these singers double as instrumentalists for the group, at various times playing keyboards, guitar, bass, clarinet and flute as needed. On this piece everyone sang, accompanied by my husband at the piano.

Towards the end of the video the camera pans to the altar and then to my younger son and his godmother (a.k.a. pastor's wife, who was sitting with Evan in church this day so I could attend to the sound system).

Enjoy!

Lamb of God, Pure and Holy from Cheryl on Vimeo.

A Tableau

A tableau is a kind of freeze-frame--a still picture that strikingly embodies much more than just a single moment in time. An example of a literary tableau is seen here in William Faulkner's short story, "A Rose for Emily." The author even uses the word tableau in his description:

The Griersons held themselves a little too high for what they really were. None of the young men were quite good enough to Miss Emily and such. We had long thought of them as a tableau: Miss Emily a slender figure in white in the background, her father a spraddled silhouette in the foreground, his back to her and clutching a horsewhip, the two of them framed by the backflung front door.

The literary tableau is a unifying device in the story, as the changing tableaux of Emily and her father are used to frame the story and reflect the passage of time.

I had a tableau moment last night. It was 7:00 p.m. I was in the middle of washing dishes, enumerating in my head the things I still needed to do before the day was over: 1) go to my mom's place (in the snow) to check her mail and feed the bird; 2) go see my mom herself at the rehab center where she is currently recovering from a fall; 3) put sheets on the 6-year-old's bed; 4) oversee 6-year-old getting ready for bed; and 5) work on an editing project that is way overdue (not because of me!) and must get done this weekend.

Of course, also flying around in my head were all the other things that also need to be done but that I was reconciling myself to not checking off the list on this particular day. So the last thing I needed was for the aforementioned 6-year-old to sidle into the kitchen, smile winsomely, and ask, "Would you play hide-and-seek with me, Mommy?"

Talk about a big heart-sinking moment. He didn't have much mommy time yesterday. But it couldn't be helped. I told him No. Mommy doesn't have enough time for you. Visiting hours at the rehab center are over at 8:00. Maybe your brother can play hide-and-seek with you.

There's another tableau for you, one that is representative not of my days but of Evan's.

Oh, that I could take an editing pen to my life!

One Little Word

We sang one of my favorite hymns in church yesterday: "How Firm a Foundation" (Lutheran Service Book #728). Here's the first stanza:

"How firm a foundation, O saints of the Lord,
Is laid for your faith in His excellent Word
What more can He say than to you He has said
Who unto the Savior for refuge have fled?"

The image of God speaking reminds me of the third stanza of "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God" (LSB 656):

"Though devils all the world should fill,
All eager to devour us,
We tremble not, we fear no ill,
They shall not overpower us.
This world's prince may still
Scowl fierce as he will.
He can harm us none.
He's judged, the deed is done.
One little word can fell him."

That "one little word" should really be written as "One Little Word." Because the One Little Word that sends the Devil packing is the same One Little Word that is the cornerstone of the faith. It is the Word that was with God in the beginning, the Word that became flesh only to be nailed to a cross for the sin of all mankind. What more, indeed, can God say? In the name Jesus He has said it all, to all, for all time. The "excellent Word" to which the hymnist refers is in fact the One who is the "most excellent of men," whose "lips have been anointed with grace" (Psalm 45:2). As the Creator spoke his creation into being, the Son speaks salvation to the fallen. And His redeemed in turn speak the One Little Word of His name back to Him, confessing that saving faith before all the world so that others may hear it and likewise be saved.

I am a word person. I love to read and write, to play with words and to study them. Every sentence is a sort of puzzle for me, and I greatly enjoy the process of fitting all the pieces of the puzzle together in just the right way. It can be a challenge to achieve the desired rhythm and cadence, to make the words flow together so that they not only communicates clearly but are pleasing to the ear. I think I have a knack for it, but at the same time, I have to work at it. It doesn't just happen.

In contrast to my many and labored human words, words which rattle on too long, try too hard, and are prone to being misunderstood, there stands the One Little Word of Jesus, indivisible and all-encompassing in its simplicity. I speak, and it is all resounding gongs and clanging cymbals (1 Cor. 13); He speaks, and His Word is love. How glad I am that the One Little Word my God chose to speak was to name His Son, Jesus, rather than to name me, for all time, Sinner! Little it may seem, yet it is big enough to chase away my sin and that of all the world. Thanks be to God for His One Little Word!

Speaking of The Scarlet Letter

As my children and I have been reading this novel together, I wonder how I ever managed to teach it in a public school setting. It's all about sin and guilt and repentance and redemption. It is clear to my children that what Hester needs is the Gospel. We weep for her because she is so obviously repentant, and yet no one has told her that she is forgiven. She is weighed down by guilt, shunned by her neighbors who are every bit as sinful as she. She is being punished in a left-hand kingdom manner for a right-hand kingdom act. And yet when I taught this novel in the past, I could not have addressed any of these points with my students. How in the world did I do it? I have no clue.

Lazy Blogging

I have had very little time these days for any serious musing, reflecting or writing--thus the series of easy posts (videos, literary excerpts, and such). Here's another. Every parent out there will read this and know exactly how Hester Prynne feels. To set the scene: Hester is an adulteress in Puritan New England. Pearl, her daughter, is the result of the adulterous relationship. Town authorities are worried about Pearl's physical and spiritual well-being, being raised as she is by a stained woman. As a result they are considering removing Pearl from her mother's care. They proceed to question Pearl to ascertain how effectively she is being catechized into the faith. Meanwhile, Hester stands by, no doubt holding her breath and praying fervently for her little girl's cooperation:

"Pearl," said he [Rev. Wilson], with great solemnity, "thou must take heed to instruction, that so, in due season, thou mayest wear in thy bosom the pearl of great price. Canst thou tell me, my child, who made thee?"

Now Pearl knew well enough who made her, for Hester Prynne, the daughter of a pious home, very soon after her talk with the child about her Heavenly Father, had begun to inform her of those truths which the human spirit, at whatever stage of immaturity, imbibes with such eager interest. Pearl, therefore, so large were the attainments of her three years' lifetime, could have borne a faint examination in the New England Primer, or the first column of the Westminster Catechism, although unacquainted with the outward form of either of those celebrated works.* But that perversity which all children have more or less of, and of which little Pearl had a tenfold portion, now, at the most inopportune moment, took thorough possession of her, and closed her lips, or impelled her to speak words amiss. After putting her finger in her mouth, with many ungracious refusals to answer good Mr. Wilson's question, the child finally announced that she had not been made at all, but had been plucked by her mother off the bush of wild roses, that grew by the prison-door.

from The Scarlet Letter, chapter 8, "The Elf-Child and the Minister," by Nathaniel Hawthorne

It's one of those groan-inducing moments, the kind that makes a parent look unbelievingly at his or her child and wonder, "Is this really my kid? The one that thirty minutes ago I found so completely enchanting and delightful? How could that adorable little angel have so quickly turned into the naughty little devil I see before me?"

It's also one of those moments when you realize your powerlessness as a parent. You raise them up the best you can, but there are times they're gonna do what they're gonna do and your only recourse is to stand by, watch and pray.

*Some of my relaxed/unschooly teach-at-home friends will particularly appreciate this sentence.

For Your Listening (and Watching) Pleasure

Rachmaninoff Piano Concert #2 in C-minor, 3rd movement from Cheryl Magness on Vimeo.

The Ten Commandments

Brought to you by Evan. ☺(He was reading off the list in his room, but he has all but the 10th memorized.)

"Give Yourself What You Need"

Some of my friends and loved ones have been going through tough times. This song is for them. I know it's just a song, a simple one at that, but it's one of my all-time favorites. When I put it on I can't help but tap my toe and sing along. This video is from a concert in Japan in the nineties, so the Earth, Wind and Fire guys are a little older than when they first sang it in the seventies, but they were still singing and dancing up a storm.

The lyrics are a little hard to understand--this song is not so much about the words as about the feeling--so for the puzzled I've posted them below the video. Listen and enjoy! (And sing along!)



When you feel down and out
Sing a song, it'll make your day
You need a li'l time to shout it out
Sing a song, it'll make your way
Sometimes it's hard to care
Sing a song, it'll make your day
A smile's so hard to bear
Sing a song, it'll make a way

Singasong
Singasong
Singasong
Singasong

It'll bring your heart to believing
Sing a song, it'll make your day
Life ain't about no retrieving
Sing a song, it'll make your way
Give yourself what you need
Sing a song, it'll make your day
Smile, smile smile and believe
Sing a song, it'll make your way

Singasong
Singasong
Singasong
Singasong

The PC Generation

Background: My 14-year-old daughter is taking Tae Kwon Do. She is an orange belt now and a few days ago informed me that she needed a 18" long, 1" diameter stick for class. I went on a stick search yesterday morning but was only able to find 36" long dowels at the two hardware stores in my neighborhood. No problem, we have a saw.

Anyway, back to our story.

The scene: In the car, driving home from Tae Kwon Do.

Me: "How was class?"

Caitlin, eyes shining as she bounces cheerfully around the back seat, energized from the physical activity: "Great!"

Me: "So what do you use the stick for, anyway?"

Caitlin, after the slightest of pauses, probably wondering if she heard me right: "Um . . . for hitting."

Talk about a "duh" moment. I don't know what I was thinking. Twirling? Limbo? Marching band?

Me: "Oh. Yes. Hitting. Of course."

I'm glad my kid has not been ruined by political correctness, even though I have clearly been seriously corrupted by it. Here's to the next generation. Go get 'em, Caitlin!

From the Pen of Mr. Hawthorne

As part of our study of American literature this year, I am having my two older children (14 & 17) read Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter. Because it is not an easy book to read, I decided we would do it together. It makes for an interesting readaloud, as it is light on action and dialogue and heavy on description and reflection. Almost every detail is infused with symbolic import. And Mr. Hawthorne does not seem to trust that his reader will readily get the symbolism so highlights it repeatedly. Every sway of the trees, darkening of the sky and shape of a cloud has significance, as the drama playing out in the lives of the main characters radiates far beyond their little world, the microcosm of human action reflected in the macrocosm of the natural world with such force as to make Mr. Shakespeare himself nod approval.

All of this makes for a rather verbose style, one that is not my cup of tea. Yet my memory of reading the book quite a few years ago is a positive one. I enjoyed it then and I am enjoying it now. I think the reading aloud is actually allowing for more appreciation of Mr. Hawthorne's ability to turn a phrase. He does have a way with words that goes right to the heart of human behavior, as some choice quotes from our reading so far will attest.

Consider, for example, this comment on Hester Prynne's visits to the homes of village women for whom she is working as a seamstress. I would wager that my female readers will recognize the "alchemy of quiet malice" described.

"Dames of elevated rank, likewise, whose doors she entered in the way of her occupation, were accustomed to distill drops of bitterness into her heart; sometimes through that alchemy of quiet malice, by which women can concoct a subtile poison from ordinary trifles; and sometimes, also, by a coarser expression, that fell upon the sufferer's defenceless breast like a rough blow upon an ulcerated wound."

Or how about this passage, on parenthood:

"Mindful, however, of her own errors and misfortunes, she early sought to impose a tender, but strict, control over the infant immortality that was committed to her charge. But the task was beyond her skill. After testing both smiles and frowns, and proving that neither mode of treatment possessed any calculable influence, Hester was ultimately compelled to stand aside, and permit the child to be swayed by her own impulses. Physical compulsion or restraint was effectual, of course, while it lasted. As to any other kind of discipline, whether addressed to her mind or heart, little Pearl might or might now be within its reach, in accordance with the caprice that ruled the moment. Her mother, while Pearl was yet an infant, grew acquainted with a certain peculiar look, that warned her when it would be labor thrown away to insist, persuade, or plead. It was a look so intelligent, yet inexplicable, so perverse, sometimes so malicious, but generally accompanied by a wild flow of spirits, that Hester could not help questioning, at such moments, whether Pearl was a human child."

I bet many of my readers who are parents can relate to that "look" and the wondering about the humanness of one's offspring!

And then, there's this, which will no doubt resonate with anyone who has ever tiptoed away from a sleeping child:

"Her only real comfort was when the child lay in the placidity of sleep. Then she was sure of her, and tasted hours of quiet, sad, delicious happiness; until--perhaps with the perverse expression glimmering from beneath her opening lids--little Pearl awoke!"

If you belong to the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod . . .

. . . I suggest taking some time to become familiar with Cross Focused Leadership for Missouri. I know the people behind it and they're a good bunch. Please consider becoming a regular reader and supporter of this worthwhile enterprise.

So Many Thoughts, So Little Time

They're in there--my mind, that is--several good ideas I would like to explore. But right now there's just not time to hash them out. My mom took a tumble yesterday and is in the hospital with a fractured pelvis. Not a good thing when you're almost 80 years old and suffering from osteoporosis.

And wouldn't you know it, the world doesn't stop because my mom is in the hospital. WHAT'S WRONG WITH THE WORLD, ANYWAY?

So the posts will have to wait. In the meantime, just follow the bouncing blog . . . .

More Commandments

Speaking of Evan and his commandments, here are the latest entries:

You should not eat anything sweet before lunch or dinner.

Little kids should not drink wine.

You should not feed popcorn to your dog.

You shall not make a bad mess in your room or tip over all your toys or throw all your books on the floor or not sleep or break a shield or throw a sword or punch the TV or computer or kick your brother or sister or mother or father. What does this mean? We should fear and love God so that we do not be bad.

(He was pleased that this one was longer than the Tenth Commandment. I think that was the whole point.)

And last but not least, . . .

You should not break any of the commandments.

I love that he is embracing the Ten Commandments to the point that he wants to make up more. (We have, of course, talked about the difference between God's commandments and his.) But I'm starting to hope we are almost through this commandment-writing phase. I'm drowning in the Law over here. And my hand is getting tired of all the writing.

Mutability and Loss

A few days ago while driving in the car with the children I happened to mention that it was almost time to take down the Christmas tree. Evan immediately panicked and started to sob. He wanted to know why? Why can't we just keep it? I went over all the reasons: it's a real tree and it's starting to dry out; Christmas is over/it's Epiphany now and soon it will be Lent; if we left the tree up all year long it would cease to be special and we wouldn't get to look forward to decorating it again next season; etc. He listend and seemed to process the logic but the sadness remained.

Then last night at dinner as we were going over the family calendar for the next few days and he figured out that his dad would be leaving town and I would be shuttling his brother back and forth to a chess tournament, he had another melt down. Both of these things--Dad going on short overnight trips and Mom chauffeuring older siblings--are common occurences. I explained that I was not leaving town but would just have to make some short trips to drop off and pick up his brother and that he could even ride along if he wanted (usually he is content to stay home). That seemed to help but he still cried excessively over his father having to leave town, exclaiming "I'll miss you so much!"

Why the unusually emotional reactions to these things that he has experienced before? As I think about it, it makes abundant sense. With the death of his grandfather and his grandmother, this child has sustained heavy doses of loss and change this year and has reached the limit of his tolerance for both. It's kind of like a stressed out mother at the end of her wits for the day. One more broken dish, one more spill, one more argument between siblings is just one too many. Right now Evan is just needing life to stay the same.

I wish I could provide that for him, but I can't. Such is a parent's regret. :-(

I wonder if Evan's intense embracing of the concept of commandments these days is at all related to his fear of change? Laws don't change, do they?

The Joy of the Law

My 6-year-old has been learning the Ten Commandments. We had hoped to finish them before Christmas but fell short. Yesterday we finally got to the Tenth. When Evan realized I was getting ready to write it on the facsimile "tablets" I made to hang on the wall of his bedroom, he was overcome with joy and excitement and ran up to his bedroom and immediately began reading loudly through the first nine (which he does, by the way, have memorized, something I didn't do until I was an adult). After I wrote the tenth one down and we said it together, he turned to me and, beaming, said, "It's really long, isn't it?"

Evan gets it. God's Law is not a burden to those whom Christ has redeemed, but a joy and a delight. Evan is a baptized child of God and as such he desires and clings to that Law.

In fact, he is enjoying the Commandments so much that last night he started making up some of his own. We got all the way to thirty last night before I put an end to it: "Evan, Mommy's tired and wants to go to bed. We can do some more commandments tomorrow." He calls them his "House" Commandments and sings them, not speaks them, using tunes from his dad's catechism songs.

Here's a sampling:

You should not leave the television on when you are done watching it.

You should not open the shower door and talk to your mother or father or sister or brother when they are taking a shower.

You should not slam doors or knock things over.

Little children should not look at scary pictures or watch scary movies.

You should not beat up your dog.

Children should not take walks by themselves.

You should not start a fire.

Don't punch someone in the nose.

There were many more, but that's all I can remember now. It's not a bad list, is it?

World Team Chess

The World Team Chess Championship begins tomorrow in Bursa, Turkey. It will continue through January 14. You can cheer on the U.S. team (which includes my son's teacher GM Yury Shulman) and follow the tournament's progress at the United States Chess Federation website. Go Team U.S.A.!

"The Gate of the Year"

By Minnie Louise Haskins

Original Title: "God Knows"

And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year:
“Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.”
And he replied:
“Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God.
That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”
So I went forth, and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into the night.
And He led me towards the hills and the breaking of day in the lone East.

So heart be still!
What need our little life,
Our human life, to know,
If God hath comprehension?
In all the dizzy strife
Of things both high and low,
God hideth His intention.

God knows. His will
Is best. The stretch of years
Which wind ahead, so dim
To our imperfect vision,
Are clear to God. Our fears
Are premature; In Him,
All time hath full provision.

Then rest: until
God moves to lift the veil
From our impatient eyes,
When, as the sweeter features
Of Life’s stern face we hail,
Fair beyond all surmise
God’s thought around His creatures
Our mind shall fill.

New Plates for a New Year!

We have been needing new everyday dinnerware for a long time. This is our old set.



I bought it from Fingerhut almost 23 years ago, right after my husband and I got married. In those days you could purchase from Fingerhut and pay over time with a coupon booklet they provided. I haven't bought anything from them in years, but now it appears you must get their credit card to get the time payment option.

The set has lasted well but is showing its age. We still have all eight of the dinner plates. Only two of the salad plates are left. I think we may have all the bowls. We have all or most of the saucers but only one of the little teacups. We never used those for tea or coffee. Too small. Instead they were used like little dessert bowls for ice cream and such. But they were so delicate that they broke easily. They didn't need to be dropped. Just being put in the sink with a bunch of other dishes was sometimes enough to break off those little handles.

This set was also not microwaveable. Of course, that didn't mean we didn't do so occasionally for short bursts. But the silver trim meant sometimes little sparks would fly off the plates when we microwaved them too long.

So, back to the point of the blog post. I have been longing for new dishes for quite some time and have had a picture in my head of what I wanted. Instead of the blue color scheme, I wanted to go bright--green, gold, orange, burgundy--maybe something in a Venetian/Italian motif with fruits or vegetables. Several times over the past few years I have seen a set I liked, once at JC Penney and once at Wal-Mart. But the funds weren't available and eventually the dishes weren't either.

Imagine my surprise on Christmas morning when I opened a huge, heavy box from my son to discover a new set of dishes! They were very nice, but it turns out they had that same sort of silver rim so were not microwaveable. They were also plain white and quite elegant, and I had envisioned something a little heavier and with some color. My dear son was very understanding and gave permission for me to return his set and look for something else.

I spent several days looking online and finally found this treasure: a discontinued set from Gibson called "Royal Rooster." I had to buy the dishes from one store and the completer set from another. Both were clearance priced. Turns out at one time there was matching glassware for the set, but it is nowhere to be found, not even at Replacements.com. Guess I'm not the only one who drops glasses.

Isn't it a lovely pattern? And my husband likes it too, I think because it matches this guy on top of our refrigerator (a gift to him several years ago from his secretary, a.k.a. known as Pastor's wife and Evan's godmother).


Of course, now I have all sorts of kitchen decorating ideas to complete the look. Some new paint, maybe a little rooster border or stenciling, some new kitchen towels . . . Cock-a-doodle-doo!