Little Home of Horrors

Today at the conclusion of our morning devotion Evan got up to leave the table. As he passed by his father's chair, my husband reached out his arms for his younger son. Evan, anticipating some paternal tickling (or other such torment), tried to avoid his father's grasp, but fathers' grasps being what they are, was unsuccessful. After a few seconds of wrangling Evan submitted and my husband said, "Evan, I just want to hug you. You don't try to get away from Mommy--why do you try to get away from me?" To which Evan replied, "Oh. I thought you were going to do a more horrifying application."

Hugs of the non-horrifying variety ensued.

Ring Tales

No, this is not a post about The Hobbit.

I recently read this blog post by a friend whose ring fell down her drain and was damaged in the disposal. I feel so terrible for her!

It reminded me of a story with a happier ending, although the happy ending was long in coming. Here's a news item about a Swedish woman who lost her wedding ring 16 years ago but recently found the ring encircling a carrot that she picked from her garden!

Here's my ring story. About five years ago I quit wearing my wedding set because I was told the prongs were so worn that I was in danger of losing a diamond. My set has seven diamonds totaling half a carat. The estimate on retipping all those diamonds was frightening--to do so would have cost way more than my husband originally paid for the ring. So I retired my wedding set and started wearing a plain gold band that my mother-in-law had given me. My husband and I decided that some day we would get a new setting for my wedding ring but that it would have to wait a while.

This past fall while raking and bagging leaves I suddenly realized that the gold band I had been wearing on my ring finger was no longer on my finger. Cold weather = skinnier fingers = slippery rings. I assume the band fell off my finger into a pile or bag of leaves. There was no finding it.

My husband and I had already been talking about an anniversary ring--we celebrate 25 years in March! So guess what that dear man did? In December he took me shopping for an early anniversary gift. It is similar to my wedding ring but a little bigger (1 carat instead of 1/2 carat). It is a traditional 3-stone ring with one central diamond, two slightly smaller ones on each side, and eight diamond chips set into the band, four on each side.


Yes, I'm a happy girl! I still have my original wedding set, and I hope some day one or more of the diamonds will find another home--maybe in a new setting for my daughter or a future daughter-in-law. For now it is safe in my jewelry box and the ring above is on my finger! I have decided, after reading my friend Glenda's post, that I may need to have it sized down because it's a little loose (but I am waiting to see how it fits in the summer). I have also developed the habit of taking it off at night (8 hours per night of rubbing on the sheets is VERY hard on the prongs and causes them to wear much more quickly than they otherwise would) and of not wearing it when I am going to do manual labor (although I do wash dishes with it on). The trick is putting it in a safe place when taking it off. The kitchen counter does not qualify as safe! My safe spot is in or on top of my jewelry box.

I am enjoying my beautiful new ring and unlike Bilbo Baggins am very glad it doesn't make me invisible, since I love looking at it on my hand!

Who Needs Textbooks?

Yesterday at lunch Evan suddenly piped up:

"Mommy, Kitty Galore is the anty-gonist in Cats and Dogs 2."

We scratched our heads a little at that one--"Anty-Gonist? What's an anty-gonist?"--and then realized he was trying to say "antagonist." But even then we continued to scratch our heads. Where'd my 8-year-old learn about antagonists?

"Evan, you are right. Kitty Galore is definitely the antagonist. But where did you learn about antagonists?"

"From reading about the Zelda characters."

Oh. From there we had an approximately 15-minute discussion about the protagonists and antagonists in various stories Evan knows. My trusty literary sidekick (a.k.a. my daughter Caitlin) assisted greatly in defining and applying terms, and Evan learned something that I don't think most children learn formally until middle school.

Who knew those Zelda strategy guides would be so educational?

P.S. I am not knocking textbooks. We use some textbooks, and they can be a great tool. But I love it when learning happens in this way, naturally, as an outgrowth of the child's life and interests. It is one of the very best things about homeschooling.

Question

A few days ago I saw this on Facebook and it made me laugh, so I reposted it.



I have seen a few other people posting and/or "liking" it, but I have also found myself wondering if it is insensitive, making fun of something that ought not be made fun of. I was once pilloried for using the word "retarded." I was not trying to insult; I actually used the word to mean "delayed" in reference to my own understanding of a concept. But I have learned my lesson and I now try to avoid that word at all costs because I am afraid I will use it incorrectly and again offend someone.

I see the "attention deficit" label thrown around a lot these days. Usually people are referring to their own difficulty focusing on tasks and seeing things through. Some of my friends jokingly talk about their "mommy-induced ADD" and once I even wrote a blog post about the phenomenon. My husband has a friend who self-deprecatingly calls himself "ADD boy" because of his difficulty sticking with the task at hand.

But Attention Deficit Disorder is a real, clinical problem with which real people contend, is it not? If that is the case, why is it okay for people to joke about it? Or is it not? Should we avoid making light of ADD (or Asperger Syndrome or depression or menopause or any number of challenges that have a physical basis) in the same way that we avoid using the word "retarded" for fear of hurting those who are, in a very real way, living with that very condition? And if we don't need to do so, why don't we? What's the difference?

More on Reading

I promised a follow-up to my previous post on reading, so for what it's worth, here it is.

I have noticed in the last few weeks a lot of online chatter on the topic of reading. Here's one example. My friends are talking about reading, too. Someone recently invited me to join Goodreads. Perhaps it's just that phenomenon whereby when something is on your mind you are more likely to notice when others also pay attention to it. Or maybe it's because it's January and everyone's making New Year's resolutions, some of which include reading plans and lists for the coming year.

For the record, I am not going to make a "to be read" list. I am not writing any New Year's resolutions. I have enough discouragement in my life; I don't need to plant the seeds for more. And besides, I think my reading and exercise awakenings have less to do with the advent of a new calendar year than with things like my oldest leaving home and back and foot pain continuing to vex. Death's carriage is approaching and the flies are buzzing and the rosebuds calling and at the moment I am listening. The current picture on my wall calendar is coincidental.

So. To read a book--perchance to finish it!--that is the aim. My friend Susan, in her comment on my previous post, empathized with my problem but said that her primary impediment to reading is finding the blocks of time to make it happen. My problem is a bit more primitive: the question is not "May I read?" but rather, "Can I?" Sure, first I need to carve out the time, but I can do that if only I wake up early enough. The real trick is maintaining my concentration and focus long enough to complete a chapter.

Yesterday and today after I woke up and poured my coffee I didn't immediately head for my computer to check email, Facebook and headlines. Instead I opened The Hobbit, which I recently began reading along with my daughter. We started last week and she is of course already ahead of me but I am hopeful that I will be able to keep from falling too far behind. I have never read the whole book. Somehow I got through school without its ever having been assigned, and it is not the type of book I tend to select of my own accord (I am not a huge fan of fantasy). But having been repeatedly urged by my son to read it, I finally got around to trying a few years go. The problem was that by then my reading drought had already begun, so after slogging through for a few chapters I gave up, somewhere around the spiders. I know The Hobbit is a children's book, but to me at the time it seemed laborious and plodding. This second attempt is going much better, buoyed by my current reading emphasis as well as my reading partner. I am getting the humor and eloquence I missed before, and I think my reading is being aided by our use of an edition of the book that is larger, better laid out, and more aesthetically pleasing than the edition I previously tried. Instead of a pocket paperback with teeny weeny print, we are reading this version with Tolkien's original drawings. It seems odd that the physical form of the book could make such a difference, but I think it does.

I have decided that for now I will not join Goodreads. I think any attempt to quantify my reading would backfire at this point. The point right now is to read, not to make lists of what I have read and haven't read and not to discuss with my friends or read their book reviews. Perhaps that will come later. But I need to show some reading success before I go on to anything else. I think Goodreads would be a distraction, and I already have enough of those. Heck, my own brain is a distraction.

On to Chapter 5. Wish me luck, my preciousssss.

The Lost Art (For Me) of Reading

I used to read. I suppose I still do. But for years now my reading has been geared primarily towards the utilitarian and practical: I read for the purpose of receiving and transmitting information, not to muse, ponder, and consider. When I was a little girl I could spend the entire day reading; now I find it hard to sit still with a book for 15 minutes. What gives? One of my courses of study in college was literature. I loved it so much that I put up with several years of postmodern, deconstructionist gobbledygook in order to earn my Master's. I spent about 15 years teaching English at the high school and college level. And now it takes me a year to get through one book. What happened to my reading self?

The answer is complicated. Life happened. Adulthood, responsibility, motherhood, middle age--they have all taken their toll, as has the information age. I do think there is something to the theory that electronic communication has made human beings less able to concentrate for any length of time. We are truly addicted to our machines and the constant barrage of little informational spit wads they shoot our way, and we are so consumed with cleaning up those spit wads off the floor that we can't stop long enough to pick up something more weighty.

I say "we." But I know not everyone has this problem. I have friends that actually still do read, and I envy them. I want to be like them. I want to read again and I am trying to figure out how to make it happen.

Perhaps this is a rationalization, but I think my reading difficulty arises in part from my current season of life. It is known sociologically as the "sandwich" phase. I do think that all other things being equal, middle age is probably the most difficult and challenging period of life. It is the time during which human beings have the greatest number of demands being made on them and the greatest number of people depending on them, all while they are dealing with the shocking realization that all that stuff they always heard about the decay of the body really is true.

So not only do I find reading mentally difficult, but I also find it very hard these days to justify sitting down and reading a book for an hour. There are so many other more productive things I could be accomplishing! And yet I easily justify taking a five minute break to check my email or look at Facebook or read a blog post. Because it's just five minutes, you see. But I'm fooling myself, because those five minutes so easily turn in to ten or fifteen or thirty, and certainly when you string all those five-minute diversions together they easily add up to an hour or more per day.

I think I also sometimes revert to electronic reading because I am so used to being interrupted that I am afraid to commit myself to something that is going to require more than five minutes for it to be meaningful. I can spend five minutes in my email or on Facebook or even a blog and come away feeling like I really did read something (however worthless), whereas to really get something out of a book I need a half hour or more of quiet with it. So rather than be thwarted, I choose not to try.

But here at the age of 47 I am starting to ask myself, with regard to many things from exercise to reading to fun, "If not now, when?" My weak physical condition has convicted me of the need to recommit to an exercise program (with my husband's help I am working on that), and now I am ready to acknowledge that my weakened brain is in dire need of some conditioning. And what better way to exercise it than to reintroduce the best and most enjoyable form of mental calisthenics I know: reading. The trick is making it happen. I have decided that like most things to which I want to give priority in my life, I need to schedule a time for it, preferably in the morning (I wish I could live my whole life in the morning). My plan is to set aside a half hour that will be only for unplugged reading of in-depth material. Food packaging, medication bottles, and mail don't count, nor do magazine surfing or reading aloud to Evan. I'm talking big, thick, book reading--you know, those things with, what are they called? Oh yeah . . . chapters.

This post has gone on too long already, so I will report back later with a little more about my efforts (they have already started) and how they are going. I am interested, though, to hear from anyone who has had a similar experience to mine. If you are someone who used to read but who now doesn't, on what do you blame the change? And if you have managed to rediscover your love for reading, how did you do it?

Letting Go

Our family has experienced some pretty big losses in the last three years. It actually seems like it's been longer than that, but it hasn't been quite three years since the dominoes started to fall: first my father-in-law, then my mother-in-law, then a dear family friend/former pastor, then another friend who was also preschool teacher to two of my children. But the losses have been not only the kind that occur when beloved people die; we have also repeatedly experienced the loss of broken relationships. My mother-in-law, whose mental illness we didn't fully understand until after she was gone, left a particularly painful legacy for two of her children (my husband and his sister) in her decision to disinherit them. They were both dutiful children and there was no basis for her action. It doesn't make the rejection any less painful to acknowledge that she was not in her right mind. My husband and I have also both experienced the end of several close friendships this year. And I am realizing that in many ways I have effectively lost my mother and I have been grieving that for a while. Although she is still alive, she has become a person that relates to me no longer as my mother but instead as a child, someone that I must take care of. No, I take that back. My children look at me through eyes of love. My mother doesn't anymore. At this point I am her caretaker and nurse and not much else.

Particularly when one is dealing with personal rejection or emotional hurt, the advice that is often given is to "let it go." It's good advice. It does no good to dwell on the things that cause one pain or to continue returning to the occasion of hurt. But I have found that it is advice that I am unable to follow. I cannot by force of will let pain and grief go. Yes, sometimes I forget for a little while. But invariably I stumble upon a reminder of the past and the reality of pain and loss returns.

And yet . . . .

While I have realized that I am incapable of letting go of deep hurts, it turns out that somehow, in time, they start to let go of me. Little by little they loosen their hold, and like Jack Dawson to Rose in The Titanic, they bid me go, swim toward the light, and keep on living. And if the ocean in which I am swimming is dotted with life raft after life raft of Word and Sacrament such that I see forgiveness and reconciliation everywhere I turn, then I know without a doubt that I am going to succeed in reaching that light. In fact, it turns out that light has already sought out and found me, and rescue is at hand.

'Bye, Jack. Rest in peace.

Conservatives, Myself Included, Need to Get a Clue

For months now in the Republican presidential race we have watched an "anti-Romney" break away from the pack only to get shot down. The firing squad is a marriage of convenience between the liberal media and the Republican establishment. Interestingly enough, they both want the same thing: a moderate as the GOP nominee. As best I can tell, the liberal media want a moderate because they think that's whom Obama can more easily beat, whereas the Republican establishment wants a moderate because they are moderate themselves and they want to remain in power. Meanwhile, together they are playing conservatives like a fiddle, and conservatives are letting themselves get played. To have any hope of mounting a conservative alternative to Romney, we have got to stop it. We have got to quit nit-picking the conservative candidates to death ourselves and start defending them against all the attacks. There is NO PERFECT CANDIDATE. There is no candidate that is free of "baggage." There is no candidate that is going to agree with us 100% all the way up and down the list of issues. Even if we find such a candidate, we may discover that he or she has different ideas from our own on how to achieve the desired end. We need to get comfortable with some imperfections and impurities and start celebrating the strengths of each of these excellent candidates instead of joining in the flash mob of detractors that only want to tear them down so as to ensure Romney's nomination.

If Romney does get the nomination, I will support him. He is capable. He is not a socialist. He will not go around the world apologizing for the United States. But notwithstanding the common wisdom, I do not think he is the most electable. I think he has simply not been vetted. If he does get the nomination, the Obama forces will get busy attacking him with class and racial warfare like you haven't seen in a long time. And they will no longer keep silent about his Mormonism.

I am saying this to myself as much as to anyone. Rick Perry was portrayed as dumb, Bachmann as a gaffe machine, Newt Gingrich as unstable, and now Santorum is about to be painted as a bigot and a "big government conservative." Let's quit falling for whatever caricatures the talking heads decide to put out there, and let's come together for a change and work to build up and support and champion our conservative presidential contenders. Any one of them is far preferable to the current President. Let's quit falling for whatever narrative the powers that be want to feed us and start writing our own narrative, one in which a conservative wins the Republican nomination and proceeds to clean Obama's clock.

Video Round-Up

I have previously posted these on Facebook, but not all of you are my Facebook friends. And some of you truly odd ducks aren't even on Facebook at all. ;-) So here is a smattering of recent video highlights. Clicking on any one of these will take you to my Vimeo page where you can see over 80 more (some more worth your time than others, to be sure).

First, the singing of the Psalm from our New Year's Eve service last night. My husband is the pianist and songleader. I love this responsive type of Psalm singing and we do a lot of it at my church. Sometimes we chant the Psalm to tones from our hymnal; sometimes we do a combination of chant and sung refrain; sometimes we sing something through-composed (such as you see below). I found a comment about this video from a Facebook friend to be very interesting. He said, "I don't think I've ever heard Cantor sing!" I was amazed by that because it seems to me my husband is always singing. But then I realized that as much as I love it when he leads responsive singing from the piano, it is not something he does much. Most of his work in worship is not singing himself but enabling others to sing. Notice that when it is the congregation's turn to sing, he stops (except for the final refrain). That is what cantors (or kantors) do: help the assembly to find their voice and sing the Lord's song. Very different from so much of contemporary worship today, in which songleaders sing AT and FOR people, resulting in the people not singing, but listening.

One note on this video: I was positioned such that the sound quality is not reflective of the actual event. My recording is heavy on the piano, but the mix in the service was much more balanced.

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"All the Ends of the Earth" (Psalm 98) from Cheryl on Vimeo.

The second video is from our Christmas Eve Lessons and Carols. A very special musical moment with some of our most talented musicians. The woman at far left has sung professionally for a number of years. The second female singer has a doctoral degree in voice, teaches at the college level, and sings lyric opera. The third singer, still in high school, is one of her students. And the fourth . . . well, there's that Cantor again, a piano major holding his own very well amidst some truly amazing pipes!

"In Dulci Jubilo" from Cheryl on Vimeo.

Finally, another video from Christmas Eve, this one from our family service. Our children's choir for Christmas Eve was small in number but big in sound. Evan, my youngest, is at the far right end of the front row, often not visible behind his dad. This is a difficult piece for young singers due to the unusual intervals they are required to learn as well as the almost-but-not-quite-the-same repetitions of several musical motifs. I'm playing the piano. It is a beautiful, pianistic accompaniment that is a pleasure to play. My only problem with this piece is that I rarely get through it without crying, which can cause problems when one is trying to read the music on the printed page.

"On Christmas Morn" - David Brunner from Cheryl on Vimeo.

I hope you enjoy the music. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Christmas 2011

It has been a lovely Christmas Eve and Day! Yesterday morning started with King's College Lessons and Carols (see previous post). Then my husband and I went to our community rec center to work out and stopped for coffee on the way home. Mid-afternoon he left for a marathon of leading music for Christmas services at church. This year he had to not only direct choirs and musicians but play organ for all the services as all of our backup organists are otherwise occupied (either out of town or late with child). There were three services Christmas Eve and one Christmas morning. Evan sang with the children's choir at the 5:00 service yesterday so of course we all went to that one. Although the kids and I didn't have musical duties at the 7:15 Lessons and Carols service we stayed for it (it is not to be missed), eating leftovers from home in the staff workroom between services. Then we took Evan home and tucked him in, leaving him with his grandma while Trevor, Caitlin and I returned for the 11:00 candlelight communion at which the adult choir was singing. I think we all got to sleep by about 1:30 a.m. (after Santa made his appearance).

This morning was Divine Service at 9:00. Unfortunately just as the choir was about to launch into "O Magnum Mysterium" for the voluntary Caitlin went running from the sanctuary sick. Yes, I do mean sick. I took her home and luckily we have not had a repeat incident or any fever, so I don't think it's a stomach virus. She has rested most of the day but did feel well enough to open presents. :-D

Here are a few pictures from the present opening:

What could it be?

Some new pieces for our china pattern! I received a vegetable bowl, small platter, 3-tiered server, coffee server, and several small bowls. Wow! A few more pieces and after 25 years or marriage my china set may finally be complete! :-D

A new mp3 player!

A cookbook from one of my husband's favorite restaurants.

From some dear friends: Caitlin got a Lutheran Chick water bottle and I got a travel coffee mug. The same friends also thrilled us with Worldview Everlasting t-shirts for everyone in the family!

Spongebob wear from Evan's aunt. Have I ever told you how much we love Spongebob?

Shiloh got her own edible card.

You can't go wrong with Dr. Seuss! Evan added several to his collection.

Brothers

Pooped.

After present opening I put our Christmas ham in the oven and enjoyed a little computer time while getting some therapy from my new Shiatsu massager, pictured above. Supper was ham, collard greens and crab-stuffed deviled eggs. Plan for the rest of the evening is to watch the Simpsons Christmas and an episode or two of Trevor's new Third Rock from the Sun DVD set (given by yours truly). On the other hand, maybe I'll just go to bed (I passed on a nap today). Such wonderful, glorious freedom to choose--doesn't get much better than this. Merry Christmas, everyone!

Christmas Listening

While the secular culture's celebration of Christmas is coming to an end (it will be over on December 26), that of liturgical Christians has not yet begun. For us Christmas starts on December 24 and continues until Epiphany. For years now our family has kicked off our own Christmas celebration on Christmas Eve morning by listening to the live broadcast of the King's College Chapel Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols. The service begins at 3:00 p.m. Cambridge time, which means 9:00 a.m. central standard time. So every Christmas Eve morning we make sure everyone is awake, coffee is poured and breakfast set out, and we gather in our pajamas around the radio (or these days, the computer), and listen. It has become our tradition, and I can think of no better way for us to begin our meditation on the miracle of Christ's birth than by gathering together in quietness, listening to His Word, and being blessed by some of the most beautiful music one could ever imagine. Once the King's College Lessons and Carols service is over, the day becomes hectic, with last minute Christmas preparations and many services to attend (if you are a regular reader you know that my husband is a Lutheran cantor and the rest of us are part of his musical army). But from 9:00-10:30 a.m. on Christmas Eve, our family sits together and soaks it in in a way we won't get to at our own church (because we are rarely all sitting together at one time). It helps us keep Christmas in perspective.

If you have never listened to the King's College Lessons and Carols service, I invite you to do so with us this year. Here are some links to help you out:

BBC Lessons and Carols page

American Public Media Lessons and Carols page

Here's an article written by Michael Barone that describes his experience of attending the actual event last year. It's like a rock concert. People start lining up on the afternoon of December 23 in hopes of making it through the front door of the chapel.

And finally, here's an article by Jonathan Willcocks, son of Sir David Willcocks, long-time former musical director at King's College, about his memories of singing in the choir when he was a child (the choir is composed only of men and boy sopranos). I love his reminiscences of getting in trouble for having wax ball fights (even King's College boys will be boys!) and of how the soloist for the opening of the service was chosen:

Even the boy who was chosen (usually at the very last moment) to sing the solo first verse of the carol “Once in Royal David’s city” would not be especially anxious; it would just be another solo alongside many that he would have sung in the regular services in the chapel.

The parents of that boy soloist who would be the ones suffering the agonies of anxiety. I was in the somewhat unusual situation of having my father, Sir David Willcocks, as Musical Director of the choir. Again, it didn’t at the time seem awkward to me. Perhaps fortunately I was one of the “also-rans” rather than a star solo voice and so the dilemma of whether to choose me to sing the solo at the Christmas Eve service never arose.

After you listen to the Lessons and Carols broadcast tomorrow, you will be ready for more Christmas music, right? And while most broadcast stations will be winding down, discontinuing their Christmas music offering on the morning of December 26, there is a radio station that knows that Christmas is only just beginning! Watch below for more information.

I would like to wish all of you a most blessed and peaceful Christmas celebration. Thank you for reading. May God be with you today and always, in your trials and in your joys, assuring you of His forgiveness and all-consuming love.

Pain

I have been blessed to have been quite healthy during my life. Oh, I have had my share of issues. Severe seasonal and environmental allergies. Recurrent iritis. A lifetime of fighting cystic acne. Jaw and TMJ problems. Some swallowing and GI issues. Bad feet. But modern medicine has provided tools for dealing with all of these maladies, and for that I am extremely thankful. I know that compared to the health challenges faced by many, my problems are mere annoyances. Yes, there have been times when they have challenged my quality of life. But none of them are life threatening or truly debilitating.

This past week a new annoyance came knocking on my door: back pain. There have been times in my life I have had a little bit of back pain, particularly after a marathon session of practicing piano. I was diagnosed with mild scoliosis many years ago, and I'm sure that that combined with my flat feet doesn't help things. But last week was the first time the back pain came and stayed for so long. And not only did my back hurt, but so did my neck, shoulder, arm, hand, hip, and knee, all on the left side of my body. I kept waking up every day expecting things to get better as they always have in the past but each day brought not relief but more of the same. It wasn't awful pain, but it was nagging and constant and hard to ignore. And after a week I was very, very tired of it.

So, what to do? Several friends whose opinions I respect suggested a chiropractor. So did my husband. But having never been to a chiropractor before and having been advised that chiropractic approaches vary greatly and therefore it is important to research and ask a lot of questions before choosing a doctor, I found myself defaulting to the family doctor, at least as a starting place. I called and to my surprise discovered that the family practice we have long patronized has recently added a new M.D. who is also a D.O. (doctor of osteopathy). To my further surprise and good fortune I was told that the D.O. happened to have an appointment that day due to a cancellation. I saw her and for the first time in my life was told that not only do I have scoliosis, but my left leg is shorter than my right. So maybe that's why the whole left side of my body has been hurting . . . .

My new doctor prescribed a course of Prednisone along with Relafen for pain and scheduled me to go back next week for a "manipulation" (in chiropractic parlance, an adjustment). She said that I would need that time to get to the point that I would be able to stand having her work on my back. When she touched my back during my visit it was so sensitive I could hardly tolerate it. There are probably 30 or more years worth of knots in that baby.

What amazes me about this whole experience is the relief that came within 24 hours of my doctor visit. I have not even gotten any hands-on treatment yet, but the medication alone has helped immmensely. I don't think I realized until the pain went away how much it was coloring my outlook. Now that it has substantially subsided I realize how uncomfortable I was. I think I was hurting more than I knew. My husband says I have a high pain tolerance and that for me to complain and actually go to a doctor was telling.

Having gone through a week of pretty constant hurting rather than off-and-on type hurting, I wonder at people who have truly serious, chronic pain. I can't imagine what it must be like. I was exhausted by my one week of minor pain; how must it be to face not a week but months and years of pain that is far worse?

I hope to not find out. Yesterday I renewed our expired membership at our local recreational center's fitness club. I am renewing my commitment to exercise and increase my strength, starting with my back and shoulders and arms. There are certain things I cannot control or change when it comes to my body, but there are other things I can, and exercise is one of them. Maybe this time I will see it through better than I have in the past. Now in addition to all the other good arguments for exercising that I have always known to be true, I have discovered another one: avoidance of worse and future pain. Talk about a motivator.

Rudolph and Bullying

Recently a new children's book came out entitled No More Bullies at the North Pole. You can read more about it here. It is a politically correct revision of the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer story (as it was told in the old television special) that is currently receiving a lot of well-deserved ridicule. If you do a web search for "Rudolph" and "bullying" you will find all kinds of stories on the topic, both pro and con.

I do not think that children's stories are appropriate vehicles for the advancing of political agendas, and the things that I have read about this updated Rudolph make me roll my eyes in exasperation. At the same time, I seem to have a different take on this story than many of my online friends. I have always been bothered by the unkindness and bullying that are a part of the old Rudolph television story, going all the way back to when I watched the program as a child. I remember being horrified at Rudolph's treatment at the hands (hooves?) not only of the other young reindeer but also of the reindeer flying instructor, of Santa, and even of his own father, Donner. After Rudolph is born and his nose first lights up, Donner expresses deep shame and embarrassment at his new offspring and quickly fashions a covering of mud that makes it hard for Rudolph to talk and breathe. When Santa visits and sees the nose, he chastises Donner for having such an offspring and applauds Donner's efforts to keep the nose a secret. And when Rudolph goes to school, the teacher is the one who leads the other young reindeer in ostracizing Rudolph. The grownups in Rudolph's life, who ought to be helping and supporting and protecting and defending him, set the example for how others should mistreat him. Even Santa!

In the articles I have read on this story it is usually pointed out that Rudolph overcomes his bullying and that is what makes it ultimately a positive story. But the fact is that none of those responsible for mistreating him have any second thoughts about their behavior until it becomes clear that Rudolph might be useful to them. Then they change. I'm not sure if that counts as true remorse.

Don't get me wrong. I am not suggesting that people should not let their children watch Rudolph or that they should go out and buy the new, politically correct version. Maybe I am oversensitive because I was severely bullied as a child. But I think the old Rudolph includes a level of bullying behavior that is rather shocking for a children's story. Not just the other "children" but Rudolph's teacher, father, and even Santa (who is always the one who is supposed to make everything right in secular Christmas stories) are terribly cruel to him. No wonder the poor little dude ran away.

UPDATE: More discussion of this topic (including further opining by Yours Truly) here.

The Santa Claus Dilemma

We are a Santa Claus family. In the same way that my husband and I did when we were growing up, our own children wake up on Christmas morning to find goodies in their stockings and gifts under the tree that weren't there the night before. Over the years I have struggled a little with whether it was wise to carry on the Santa Claus tradition. Some people say that to do so is in effect lying to your children and that it sets them up to doubt other things you tell them. It is also argued that Santa Claus takes attention away from the true reason for Christmas, the birth of Christ. I have pondered these arguments and have worried that maybe they are true. At the same time, as I look at how we rear our children, I see a house in which Jesus is spoken of and taught and looked to as the one true Lord every single day of the year, whereas Santa Claus is an annual blip on the horizon. We don't pray to Santa, we don't talk about him day in and day out, we don't worship him in church, and we don't look to him as the source of all that is true and right and good. Furthermore, because of my inability to look my children in the eye and lie to them about things like flying reindeer and the breaching of the space-time continuum, I have never done so. And yet gifts have appeared and we have passively allowed that they came from Santa Claus. Which, really, they did, right? From Santa Mom and Santa Dad? Sigh. It's a cop-out, I know.

Today is the Feast of St. Nicholas, upon whom Santa Claus is based, and who was a real person in the early days of the Church. You can read more about him here. I have friends who observe the Feast of St. Nicholas apart from Christmas and who even do the gift-giving today rather than on Christmas. I like that. If I had it to do all over again, maybe I would have proposed to my husband that we start a new family tradition and downplay Santa Claus while making more of St. Nicholas. But when I had my first baby almost 20 years ago I was not even aware of this day in the church calendar and the ways that one might observe it. Even if I had been, I honestly don't know that we would have done anything different. Like most people, I strongly identify with the traditions I learned as a child and find it hard to give them up.

Evan, my youngest, has embraced the Santa Claus myth with greater passion than either of my two older children. In spite of the fact that we have previously told him that one person can't do all that Santa supposedly does and that there are really many Santa's and Santa helpers, he at 8 years of age is still holding fast to the Santa story. Earlier this year when he told me what he wanted for his birthday he started to mention one item but then backed off from it, saying that no, he would put that on his Christmas list because while we couldn't afford it Santa certainly could. I decided right then and there that we needed to make sure and get him precisely THAT gift for his birthday because we wanted the best gift coming from us, not Santa!

Today in observance of St. Nicholas Day we read together the true story of St. Nicholas and I looked Evan in the eye and told him that Santa Claus is based on the real person of St. Nicholas, who died many years ago but who because of what he did and stood for has inspired others to carry on his example of giving, especially at Christmastime. Evan looked right back at me and without hesitation said, "But there's one thing I still don't understand, Mom. How do the reindeer fly?"

Sigh. There's always next year, right?

They Grow Up So Fast. Or Not.

My 8-year-old, Evan, has long needed a light on in his room to go to sleep. Not merely a night light, but an actual light. We haven't made an issue of it but have allowed him to keep a small lamp turned on when he goes to bed. If someone happens to still be up when Evan falls asleep that person turns his light off at that time, but Evan is such a night owl that he is often the last person to fall asleep, so often his lamp stays on all night. I figure if it helps him to feel safe and doesn't impede his sleeping, what's the harm?

This morning Evan announced with pride that he had gone to sleep without any light last night. I was impressed. This was utterly at his discretion with no suggestion from us. I congratulated him on his achievement and he responded, "Yeah, I'm getting to be a bigger boy" and I, of course, agreed. A little while later when he was getting his clothes on I noticed something odd about his hair. One portion of his bangs looked a little shorter than the rest but I attributed it to his haircut this past week--I usually cut his hair myself but in the interest of time got his cut when my daughter and I went to the stylist for ours. I figured the barber must have made a small cutting error that I hadn't previously noticed.

Um, no. As I was fingering his hair, Evan proudly informed me, "That part was bothering me so I cut it." After impressing upon him the pitfalls of cutting his own hair and my desire that he never do that again, it occurred to me to wonder where that hair ended up. In the sink drain, perhaps? I asked.

"In the vent." That would be, in case you're wondering, the heating/cooling floor vent in his room. Of course. That's where we always put things we want to get rid of, right?

Check your vents, everyone. And remember, "responsibility" and "maturity" are entirely relative terms.

(P.S. If you know Evan in real life, let's just keep this post between the two of us, okay?)

"A Most Thankful Collage"

"Today is Thanksgiving Day. A lot of people have said a lot of things about today and what it means, and honestly, I don't have much to add. The problem with talking about the meaning of things is that you can get tangled up in your own words. I may be a writer, but words still have a way of tripping me up and turning me around. The thing is, words are flawed, just like everything else.

"I think life is summed up best, not in big words, but small moments. . . . "

So begins my daughter. You are invited to read the rest here.

The Life Abundant

That's what my husband calls it when life is so full you can hardly think straight. He's got the right attitude. Life has been full this week, but so very good. Just a short catch-up post for those with inquiring minds who aren't in my other "loops."

Trevor is coming home tomorrow! We were informed of a bus service, Megabus, that runs a route from Omaha to Chicago. A Lincoln area friend of ours will get Trevor to the bus tonight and he will sleep (we hope) while he travels. We'll pick him up in downtown Chicago at 6:50 in the morning. This homefront is beside itself with anticipation. The only bad part is that he will have to go back on Sunday for about three more weeks. Four days at home is not enough time when we have not had him here since August.

We installed our new pastor! If you have been out of the country and are unaware, he is Rev. Jonathan Fisk. The installation service can be viewed here. The first piece of music you hear for preservice (a piano arrangement of the tune HYFRYDOL) is played by my talented daughter. That's my husband directing the choir and playing organ for most of the service. The organ prelude and first hymn were played by Pastor Fisk's father Dale, a fellow church musican. We are overjoyed to have the Fisks in our midst and are enjoying the flowering of new friendships and the promise of reaching more people with the Gospel in our little part of Chicagoland.

Caitlin and I finished painting the dining room and it looks wonderful (see previous post). Had hoped to get the kitchen done before Thanksgiving, but alas--right now I will do well to handle the cleaning and cooking for Thanksgiving. The rest will have to wait.

Phillip has finished his year of traveling. Since January of this year he has been to Minnesota (twice), St. Louis (four times), Nebraska (three times), Alabama, Montreal, Ontario, Congo, Florida, Texas, Colorado, and Springfield (twice). Sometimes I didn't know whether he was coming or going. Next year promises to be much quieter on the traveling front. We are looking forward to having Dad around the house a little more.

Evan sang with the children's choir at church for the first time Sunday. We still have to work a little bit on the attention span, but it was a triumph for him. The first time we mentioned his singing with the children's choir he panicked. I think I previously shared here that he had much anxiety about it, which surprised us considering the family he is in. But then we thought maybe the anxiety was because of the family he is in! The happy ending is that he conquered those fears and told us yesterday morning, "I'm starting to like choir." Yay!

Oh, and how could I forget--I got Issues, Etc. Blog of the Week this past Friday. It was for the "Maternal Overreach" post. Thanks for the raw material, Evan sweetie!

And with that, I must get back to cleaning and cooking. A blessed and happy Thanksgiving to you and yours!

That Other Blog

I haven't posted on it in almost a year (where does the time go?), but I did tonight.

A Maternal Overreach

It seems to be a week for sharing Evan stories.

A few nights ago we were driving home after eating dinner out together, just the two of us (everyone else was out of town), and he piped up from the back seat:

"Mom, when I grow up, I want to help people."

Ah, be still, my proud mommy heart. "Why, Evan, what a nice thought. Helping people is a great goal. What would you like to do to help people?" I'm thinking maybe doctor, fireman, Roto-Rooter man . . . .

"I'd like to help people who are lost."

Even better! I go in for the kill.

"That's really cool, Evan! You know, the people who are most lost are the ones who don't know about Jesus. Maybe when you grow up you could help people find Jesus, like Pastor does."

Silence. Then, "Mom, I don't understand you. I meant like if they get lost in the forest, I would help them find their way out."

Oh.

Can't blame a Lutheran mom for trying!

Raisin' 'em Right

"Mom, if Calvin lived next door to us I would have a few choice words for him about girls."

"Really, Evan? What would you tell him?"

"I would tell him that girls are not slimy and they're good and I would not be in his club. And if he didn't believe me I would wrestle him to the ground and punch him."

"What do you think about girls, Evan?"

"I think they're not slimy and I think they're beautiful and I love them. Do you know what Calvin thinks girls are good for?"

"What, Evan?"

"He thinks they're good for nothing and for throwing water balloons at."

"And what do you think girls are good for, Evan?"

"For smooching and loving and hugging. And for having babies and taking care of them."

(Ahem. Dad, I think this one may need "the talk" a little earlier than the others.)

"Evan, who is your favorite girl to smooch and love and hug?"

"YOU!"

I love this kid.