Oh, All Right

If you listened to the video of "No Tramp of Soldiers' Marching Feet" in my previous post, here's a little story to go with it. The first note of the hymn introduction--that big, low trombone that leads into a marching motif--used to be even bigger and lower. Yesterday after church I remarked to my husband that as powerful as it is, it doesn't quite sound like it did the first few years he did it. He proceeded to remind me that when we first came to our current congregation the organ had several 32-foot pipes. Such massive pipes are really too large for even our sanctuary, and so they were squeezed into a space that is too small for them. Ultimately they became a hazard--loose, rattling, and in danger of collapsing on the rest of the organ--and the decision was made to have them removed. They were replaced a few years ago by several new 16-foot pipes. Phillip told me that to get that old sound back we would have to go out and find some aging, bent 32-foot pipes and improperly mount them in our organ loft, resulting in a nice, rattling effect when they were played.

I told him I could learn to live with the 16-foot.

Palm Sunday Music

A couple of today's musical highlights. First, a sequence including the Verse and Hymn of the Day. The verse is John 12:23: "The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified." This leads into the hymn: "No Tramp of Soldiers' Marching Feet" (LSB 444). For me this is the moment when Holy Week seems to begin. The soldiers march not to celebrate the Lord with a festive parade but to capture and lead him to his torture, crucifixion, and death. Listen to the organ as it communicates the ominousness of what is coming and reflects the words of the hymn, particularly as Pilate's voice in stanza three is replaced by that of the ransomed host in stanza four.

Palm Sunday Verse/Hymn of the Day from Cheryl on Vimeo.

The second video is our resident lyric soprano--we are blessed by so much talent in our midst!--accompanied by my husband on a Palm Sunday favorite.

"Les Rameaux" (The Palms) - Jean-Baptiste Faure from Cheryl on Vimeo.

Stay tuned. I will try to post several more selections as the week progresses.

Random

Sometimes my daughter and her friend like to be "random." Seeing as how I still seem to be experiencing major blogger's block, I've decided to take a page out of their playbook and post some random life stuff.

It has been a rather disjointed week for us as a family. My husband spent it at Kitsap Naval Base in Washington (state), leading the music (again) for a Doxology retreat. This one, as well as one at Shaw Air Force Base in North Carolina the week before, was especially for Lutheran chaplains. One of the highlights of the week for this naval officer's son was touring the USS John C. Stennis. Phillip is on the right in the burnt orange shirt.

He was also given an official Navy compass and coin as keepsakes. I am so glad he was able to be a part of this week.

While Phillip was in Washington, the children and I also headed west, although not quite so far! After a wonderful spring break with Trevor home, it was time for him to get back to the books. This time I took Caitlin and Evan with me and we spent an extra day visiting friends: two long 12-hour days of driving (thank goodness for cruise control, satellite radio, and mp3/DVD players!), but it was worth it. The drive there was especially challenging as I had terrible insomnia the night before (I seem to be experiencing another one of my periodic insomnia phases these days). I managed to keep myself going with extra coffee and, when things really got rough, a shot of Five Hour Energy. It is a vitamin/amino acid/caffeine drink that promises "no crash" (the fine print guarantees "no sugar crash" but says nothing about caffeine crashes). One shot has the equivalent of only one cup of coffee, but I suppose the caffeine hits your system much faster than with a cup of coffee since the drink can be downed in several swallows. The bottle says a "niacin rush" is normal due to increased blood flow near the skin. The only thing I noticed was a a little pressure in my ears, but who knows, maybe that was allergies or a cold coming on. Otherwise, I tolerated it well and had no jitters (but I have a pretty high caffeine tolerance) and no trouble getting to sleep that night. I was exhausted!

Unfortunately, I did return from the trip with a nasty cold and spent a couple of days in bed. Haven't been that sick in quite a while. I am feeling better now but wishing I could get those two lost days back! On the other hand, it was a good excuse to watch a couple of movies with Caitlin: Pirates of the Caribbean (first time ever) and Stranger Than Fiction (two completely different viewing experiences, both recommended, the second one particularly if you are a writer or avid reader).

In a couple of weeks I will be playing in the pit orchestra for a school production of Bye, Bye, Birdie. I have done a cursory read through the score but need to get to seriously practicing on it. It is technically not that hard but some of the numbers are in some tricky keys. Also need to file the personal taxes (at least the corporate ones are done--must have something to do with that March 15 deadline!). Yikes!

After several years of going without a lawn service, we have decided to enlist one this year. Our do-it-yourself approach is not eliciting the desired result. The construction project that tore up half of our back yard did not help matters. I expect this will be a "rebuilding" year where our lawn is concerned. I am also hoping to revisit a number of house projects this spring. Since making some major dining room progress a few months back, I have stalled where the house is concerned. Next up: finishing painting the kitchen. Wish me luck.

Nothing in the garden yet except for the chives that come back no matter what we do. :-) I am amazed by my friends who plant early enough that they are already harvesting by this time. We do well to get one round of growing done a year.

School has been hit-and-miss for the last few months. I guess Caitlin's studies have not suffered too much--she attends a homeschool geometry class and has regularly scheduled times for piano, voice, choir, and Tae Kwon Do. And her dad stays on top of the French instruction. She is also quite self-directed and is making her way through Apologia Physical Science. But her history/literature teacher (who shall remain nameless) has been AWOL for the past month. Meanwhile, Evan has been unschooled by default this winter. There has been some reading aloud and geography (via Highlights' Top Secret Adventures) and the occasional math or handwriting page, but it's all been rather intermittent, including the piano instruction (the piano teacher seems to have disappeared about the same time as that aforementioned literature teacher--no doubt, they are off somewhere together, probably up to no good).

Speaking of Tae Kwon Do, Caitlin passed her most recent test! Here she is breaking her board:

Test for High Brown Belt from Cheryl on Vimeo.

I finally finished The Hobbit! Yay, reading success! Now I have moved on to The Hunger Games. It is going much faster than Tolkien. Maybe I am learning to concentrate again or maybe it's just a much easier read. Or maybe both.

I mentioned in my last post my newly discovered passion for sushi. In recent weeks I have had some "cadillac" sushi and some mediocre sushi. The former is some of the best eating I have ever done in my life. Tomorrow we are going to take Caitlin and Evan here after Palm Sunday worship. I think Caitlin will love it--she has a very sophisticated palate. Evan, probably not so much (we did make sure they have a children's menu). Who knows, maybe sushi on Palm Sunday will become a new family tradition! :-)

I am feeling rather resigned about this election year. Not that I am resigned to losing. But whereas I did lots of blogging about the 2008 election, I have not felt motivated to do much this time around. Maybe that will change. But maybe not. I figure most of my readers already know what they think and probably don't need to hear my sophomoric political ramblings. And I am just also feeling rather fatalistic--as if what's going to happen is going to happen and my worrying and thinking and obsessing about it is not going to make any difference. Ora et labora.

This type of blog post doesn't need a conclusion, right?

Phillip and Cheryl's Excellent Anniversary

A week ago yesterday my husband and I embarked on what turned out to be a magical celebration of our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. I couldn't have asked for a more perfect two days. Thanks to a gift of "points" from my sister-in-law, we were able to enjoy a luxury stay at the JW Marriott in downtown Chicago. The only cost to us was parking (even internet and taxes were included)!

We left home Sunday after church. The first thing we did upon checking in was to report for our previously scheduled massage at the Valeo spa in the basement of the hotel. When we arrived at the front desk the smiling hostess asked if we were there for an "experience." We nodded nervously, trying to pretend we knew what we were doing but secretly hoping we weren't getting in over our heads (the same ones, by the way, that have "Clueless Suburbanites" tattooed across the tops). Nevertheless, our names were quickly located on the schedule and we were taken to separate locker rooms to change and then shown to our gently lit "transition" room, where we were invited to enjoy some hot tea while listening to the relaxing music.

When the time came for our massage we were taken by our respective "providers" to a room set up with two massage tables next to one another. I wish I had snapped a picture but in my awe failed to do so. Our masseur and masseuse left the room so we could get situated on our tables and shortly returned for our 30-minute candle-lit treatment. After our massage we were invited to enjoy a soak in the hot tub, complete with aroma and light therapy, not to mention chocolate-covered strawberries (we passed on the wine, anticipating drinks later in the evening). I began to see the wisdom of calling the whole thing an "experience," for in its appeal to all the senses it was definitely not your garden variety massage! It is only the second time in my life I have had a massage; it was my husband's first. He followed up with visit to the steam room while I had another cup of tea. Then it was back to our room to get ready for supper.

Probably the most pleasant surprise of the weekend was our upgrade from a basic room to a luxury suite. My sister-in-law had informed the management that we were celebrating our 25th anniversary, and they said they would do what they could to make it a special getaway. I have to hand it to the JW Marriott--they went far beyond what we ever anticipated, upgrading us to a luxury suite:

Our "front" door--we stayed in the "Quincy" suite

View out one of our windows--we had a corner room, so we had two different views

Living room with welcome tray of bread, cheese, fruit spread and Evian

Wet bar with stocked refrigerator (we were told not to move things around in the refrigerator unless we wanted to purchase something--doing so would trip the sensor so that we would get charged for the moved item even if we didn't consume it)

Bedroom (note the mounted reading lights on each side of the headboard)

Sitting area in bedroom

Guest bathroom (not that we had any guests, but it was nice to have a second facility!)

Tub in main bathroom (I have a photo of my beloved soaking in this tub but I'm going to leave that one to your imagination)

The mirror had a built-in television screen for watching while soaking.

Shower (it was big enough for five people--seriously). It had two shower heads, one regular and one huge "rainshower" head (seen in the ceiling)

Two sinks

Vanity (I really need one of those lighted magnifying mirrors for home--then again, perhaps blindness is bliss)

Walk-in closet with complimentary his-and-her robes

The plan for our first evening was dinner at Fogo de Chao. This was not our first time to go to Fogo, but it is definitely not a place we get to visit that often. If you ever get the chance to eat there, grab it. It is a dining experience unlike any other--one price, all you can eat. You can see how thrilled I was as we headed out to dinner!

While we waited for our table, we enjoyed a couple of caipirinhas (Fogo's signature drink) at the bar.

Phillip is getting ready to "go green" (indicating to the meat-serving gauchos that he is ready for some protein)!

My plate after a trip to the salad bar

My plate after being visited by several gauchos. The side dishes--polenta, fried banana (further south it would have been plantain) and black beans--are seen at the top of the plate. The meats pictured are chicken, sausage, and some cut of beef (can't remember which).

Dessert was compliments of Fogo!

View of the Chicago River while walking back to the hotel after supper. It was a gorgeous evening.

Monday we slept in and then walked to the Art Institute, stopping for lunch on the way at The Berghoff (another one of our Chicago favorites).

I have been to the Art Institute several times with children, but this was Phillip's first time to go. We spent most of our time looking at the paintings (and we didn't make it to all the rooms--sorry, Medieval/Renaissance masters!).

One of my favorites: Renoir's Woman at the Piano. I often use it for my profile pic on Facebook.

The painting below was a new discovery for me this trip: Renganeschi's Saturday Night, 1912, by American painter John Sloan. I have now looked at a little more of his work and really like it. This painting depicts some young women eating out, enjoying female companionship without male escorts, reflecting the changing mores of the time regarding what was acceptable behavior for women. The description of the painting at the Art Institute noted the way the woman on the right is wrapping her legs around the chair legs, indicating her bourgeoisie background (she doesn't know how to sit properly). I can so relate to this painting. I don't know how to sit, either, and I love spending time with my girlfriends.

I have recently discovered a passion for sushi. Monday night we ate at Roy's Hawaiian Fusion.

This was the dessert we ordered (chocolate souffle with ice cream).

This was the dessert our waiter brought out for free upon discovering we were celebrating our anniversary! (Have I mentioned how much I love this town?)

On Tuesday it was time to check out (sigh). We wrapped up our time together with lunch at Rick Bayless's Frontera Grill.

I can't think of anything else to say except, "Honey, can we have another 25th anniversary next year?"

If you missed my 24th anniversary post, here it is, featuring some historic pictures, including a few from the day I cast my lot with a certain cantor, making the best decision I have ever made in my whole life. Here's to 25 more, my dearest husband. Thank you for giving me my best life now, every moment of every day, and for working as hard as you do in love for God's people and for us, your family. I love you with all my heart. :-)

My Brother Died

At least I thought he was my brother. I was not listed as a sibling in his obituary, nor was I notified of his death. I stumbled on the news on Facebook today on another relative's page.

I am the youngest child of a combined family. My father was a widower with four children. My mother was a divorcee with six. They married and had me, and I am quite a bit younger than all my siblings. I grew up in a two-sided family, and I have never really known which "side" I belong to. Sometimes I don't think I belong to either. But for my whole life, when people have asked about my family, I have responded by saying that I have six sisters and four brothers.

My brother who died several days ago was my father's oldest son. I am kind of confused right now, not sure how I feel about this or how I ought to feel about this. I do not feel his loss deeply on a personal level, as I did not know this brother well. I did try to keep in touch with him over the years through Christmas cards and the like. I think when I first heard about this today I just had to set it aside for a little while. Now I find myself grieving, not so much the death of my brother, but the death of a dream of the kind of family I always wished for but never really had.

I may not be my brother's sister, but I still consider him my brother. When I die, I would like my obituary to state that "Cheryl was the youngest of eleven children."

GCB

There's a new show on ABC called GCB. It's named after the book on which the show is based: Good Christian B*****s. As I understand it, for a while the show was going to be called Good Christian Belles but then it became simply GCB. I'm not sure why since very few people these days seem to have any problem with the "b" word (for the record, I do).

One of the stars is Kristen Chenoweth (Glinda from the original Broadway production of Wicked), who actually plays the main antagonist. According to what I have read, the show is set in Highland Park, Dallas, and follows the lives of some women who attended high school together. The protagonist is a newly widowed woman with two children who moves back home only to discover that the girls she used to torment in high school are still around and hungry for revenge.

Here's a trailer for the show. Warning: some adult dialogue/situations.



Obviously much of the humor in the show is going to arise from the over-the-top character played by Chenoweth (I have to admit I smiled at a few of her lines--can't imagine anyone else delivering them quite like that). Because her character gives lip service to Christianity while behaving in consistently un-Christian ways, the series has already received some negative press and calls for boycotts. Personally, I think they're probably making a mountain out of a molehill. (Where are the calls for boycotts from Texans, who are also depicted poorly? I'm from Texas, and I didn't know people like that, but then again, I didn't grow up in Highland Park.)

The show strikes me as farce--satire. It's a soap opera, and we all know how realistic soap operas are, right? They aren't to be taken seriously. Real life isn't like that. I also don't have a problem with Christians being depicted as sinners. We are, aren't we? Christians can and do behave in mean, nasty, and despicable ways, all while claiming the name of Christ. The difference between Christians behaving badly and others behaving badly is that a believing Christian acknowledges the existence of sin and its hold on him and knows his need for a Saviour. His sin grieves him. I doubt that we will get any of that in this show because ultimately that's not what the series is about. The church setting could be changed to something else and the show's premise would still be intact: grownup women behaving like the worst high school stereotypes you can imagine.

And that ultimately is why I don't plan to watch GCB (not that I have time for another TV show--it's all I can do to keep up with the two I am currently enjoying): not because it depicts some Christians in a negative light but because it appears from the trailer that the show is not going to offer any thoughtful commentary on life but rather a non-stop exercise in sex jokes and vulgarity. The occasional laugh is not worth the ick factor.

And, oh yeah, did I mention that I have a problem with a show that has "b****" in the title?

Giving Our Children Their Due

A week or two ago a Facebook friend of mine shared the experience of her daughter's wanting to download a certain song that is very popular these days. My friend, extraordinary parent that she is, researched the song and discovered its unsuitability for a sixth grader. (For the curious, the song is "Moves Like Jagger"--if your preteens are listening to it, they really ought not to be.) Accordingly, she vetoed her daughter's request. On the Facebook thread in question, another parent posted a warning to my friend, something to the effect of "It's only going to get worse."

I see and hear this sentiment from parents a lot. It is the idea that children are hard-wired to challenge what they have been taught--that it is only natural for them to rebel as they get older. Many parents seem so convinced of this that they anticipate it long before it shows any signs of happening, and as a result I think they actually start pushing their children towards questionable choices in behavior, clothing, music, and more. It happens with young children as well as older ones. The 6-year-old girl sasses her mother and instead of being chastised and immediately put in her place she is celebrated and giggled at for being such a spunky little wisecracker. The 13-year-old selects low-ride short shorts on a shopping trip and instead of putting her foot down Mom shrugs and pays for them because "I guess that's what all the kids are wearing now."

The thing is, that's not what all the kids are wearing. Mine isn't. (Nor does she want to.) My kid also isn't talking back. Well, maybe the 8-year-old is sometimes. We're working on it. ;-) But having seen two children almost through adolescence with one yet to go, I refuse to accept the notion that adolescence is a time of life when, no matter what I do, my child is going to suddenly turn into someone unknown to me. I understand that sometimes things happen that we could not have predicted. Sometimes despite all our best efforts our children choose a foreign path. We are, after all, sinners in a fallen world. But far from its being the natural course, I believe it is unnatural for humans to reject their upbringing. Children who have been brought up to travel a certain path and who are repeatedly pulled back on to that path by determined, caring parents are much more likely, even if they briefly wander, to return to what they know to be safe and right and true than they are to head off into the woods.

I know I'm preaching to the choir here, but for what it's worth, here's my plea: Parents, please give your children credit for being the thoughtful, discerning, smart people you are rearing them to be. Respect their good taste, intelligence, moral compass and maturity. Don't write them off as hapless victims of the culture monster. Give them the best and expect the best in return. In my experience, not only will they continue to hold firm to the storehouse of intellectual and spiritual riches with which you have provided them, but they will go far beyond it, contributing their own discoveries and observations, which will in turn come back to enrich and edify you. And why should it be otherwise? They're your kids, after all.

Hope

This is exactly what I needed to read today. I commend it to you as well. Thank you, Reb. Mary of CSPP. Full post here.

"I Will Hope"

What do you do when all the crises—health, family, church—crash in at once? When you try to squash the sadness and the lostness into a corner of your throat because you feel like there’s no point in talk--treading over and over the same ground, when there are no new solutions in sight? When it gets to the point that you dread going to bed because there’s no peace in sleep, only—at best—a temporary oblivion overlaid with the crushing burden of having to get up in the morning and face everything all over again?

More’s the victory for the enemy, if he can get us to dread the bright dawn, to believe that its fresh rays can never illumine dark Hopeless. Recognize this attack for what it is, and remember: What do I know, even when I do not feel it? The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.

No, everything may not look brighter in the morning, but “The LORD is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in Him." It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the LORD.

So eager am I to depart Hopeless that I forget: It is good for a man that he bear the yoke in his youth.

So eager am I to deaden the pain, to protect myself from the anguish of Hopeless, that I forget: what is such self-protection, after all, but the hardening of my heart against the only One can rescue me, who even now is at work in my life? For the Lord will not cast off forever, but, though he cause grief—though He cause grief!—he will have compassion according to the abundance of his steadfast love.

The enemy hisses that Hopeless is Reality. That dawn brings only drear. That hardening your heart against hope is your only protection, so shove your feelings back down your gut, because numb is the best you can hope for.

Hearken to a different voice: Today, as you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion. Oh! How many rebellions have there been, in this foolish little shriveled-raisin heart of mine! Thrice in short span, the writer to the Hebrews echoes this exhortation, “Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts.” Today, today, today—this very moment! Thrice-repudiated is the insidious accusation of never and too little and too late. Even amid the darkness, this is the moment of grace—of the shockingly free grace whose dreadfully priceless purchase makes all the difference, now and forevermore, between Hard and Hopeless.

Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

Though he slay me with blessings beyond what I can bear, I will hope in Him.

Honey for a Blogger's Heart

I had the most lovely thing happen today. My friends Christina and Jeannette share a blog with a another friend of theirs (a lady I don't know but am sure I would love if she is anything like Christina and Jeannette). It is a reading blog, documenting their personal journey through the literature recommended in Susan Wise Bauer's book The Well Educated Mind. I first pointed you, my readers, to their blog in this post from 2011.

Right now they are reading one of my favorite all-time books: Jane Eyre. I wish I had time to read along with them, but at the moment I am still trying to finish The Hobbit (having been slowed down of late by the same things that are keeping me from blogging as often as I would like). But I am still enjoying their posts, and today, I especially enjoyed this one. Click over and you'll see why. And then stay a while longer and see what other hidden jewels you can discover.

Thank you so much, ladies. It is nice to be appreciated.

Drive-By Post

I'm not supposed to be here. But this is such a cool story I have to drop in long enough to tell it.

Yesterday to wrap up a rather long, hard week we decided to treat ourselves to lunch out. Actually we didn't need to treat ourselves as our wonderful choir did so by virtue of the gift card they gave us for Christmas. So after church Phillip, Caitlin, Evan and I went here. There are several locations in Chicagoland; we went to the one in our neighborhood.

During lunch (which was wonderful) we struck up a conversation with out waiter, a charming young man in his twenties. As we talked, he volunteered that after graduating from high school he had left home for college but had a little trouble settling into a good routine. In his words, when he got out on his own he found himself rebelling somewhat against his "strict, conservative, Lutheran upbringing." As he shook his head with sincere regret we tried not to spew our water all over the table.

We told our new friend that we know all about strict, conservative, Lutheran upbringings because that's pretty much what we do, and we shared that we just happen to attend a strict, conservative, Lutheran church where my husband is Cantor. Imagine our surprise when he informed us that he graduated from our church's day school about 13 years ago. We just missed him by a year. We moved to this area 12 years ago.

Further conversation revealed that our waiter did not attend our church when he was younger but instead, along with his parents, attended a sister church in the area that is known for a more pop-oriented style of worship. His parents have since moved away and he is living on his own, working as a waiter, and trying to finish college. Of course we invited him to church. He asked for worship times (he needs to attend early so that he can get to the restaurant for his Sunday shift) and then wanted to know if the early service had traditional worship. We told him all our services have traditional worship and he smiled: "Good. I always liked that best."

As the meal progressed we continued to enjoy getting to know this interesting and intelligent young man. Before we left he made a point of double-checking the worship time and wrote it down, along with the website address of one of our pastors. As I consider the events that led to our ending up in that restaurant with that waiter on that day, I smile again in wonder at the perfect way that our Lord works, turning the seemingly random and chaotic pieces of our lives into a picture that not only makes sense but that has surpassing order and beauty. Please pray for a young man named Josh. We are hoping to see him again very soon.

Bloggus Interruptus

Hi everyone,

I haven't felt like blogging this week and don't know when I will. If and when I do feel like it again, I don't know if I'll have time. I hope you'll still be here when I get back, whenever that is. Thanks for hanging out with me the last 5 years when I know you must have had better things to do.

Love,

Cheryl

French Class

This is the scene in our kitchen about three mornings per week.

French Class from Cheryl on Vimeo.

Fourth Sunday After Epiphany

My child is the short one in the front row that sometimes to forgets to sing and is seen bobbing his head from side to side at the end of the video. Sigh. We're making progress, but it's slow. :-)

"Praise, Rejoice and Sing" from Cheryl on Vimeo.

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!