Week 16 Down

We're finished with another quarter of homeschool. We are now officially ready to move on to the final semester. There is something rewarding about watching the information leave the page and enter the children. As they rattled through the previous events on our history time line today, I felt tremendously proud of them. On the other hand, our oldest was moaning and groaning as the Language Arts curriculum begins to move into more writing and less grammar. There is nothing she hates more than editing and rewriting.
Ah well, nothing is perfect, and not all tasks are enjoyable.

Narc

Sane and Dead

I embrace you.



Crazy and Alive

You are dead to me.



No matter the language

I Echo.

It's all Death to me.

Pruning

You'd think a person who named her blog, The Weedy Garden, would be a somewhat skilled or at least enthusiastic gardener in the 3D world--not so much. I knew that my worries were taking on a new dimension when I woke up from a dream about flower arranging in a sweat because the dream had made the necessity of digging up several enormous bushes and replacing them with cutting flowers inescapable. I fear pruning. To me the plant should be free to express itself. Who am I to tell a bush where it ought to go and how it should grow--the owner, that's who.
I thought it would ease my fears if I looked at manuals for pruning. I expected them to be like the friendly little Ortho books they sell at garden centers in the Spring. I own several of those, Vines, Herbs, Lawn Care. The books I finally did come across were hallowed manuals already reprinted several times. They were thick and complicated. There was no simple directory for say holly, that I could turn to in my urgent fear. It doesn't help matters that not only are the books organized for experts not fearful beginners, but I don't know the names of half the bushes in our yard any way. The end result is--gigantic bushes. I guess they've got to go. It would make room for a cutting garden. hmmm.

Book Backlog

I've suddenly had a spurt of interest in reading again. Generally speaking, reading is an addiction that needs no prompting, but life has become more interesting than generally understood throughout my lifetime. I have found myself living more than reading, and I think that's a good thing. Books are a good thing too, and I'm back at it, albeit less than before.
So, what am I reading?
The Catholic Catechism--I hadn't expected this to be a dull read, but there it is. I keep finding myself assenting without the least trouble. I'm sure that I'll bump into trouble soon enough, but so far, smooth sailing.
War and Peace--You have to read it sometime, and I'm still all goose-bumpy from finishing Anna Karenina. I also have a young heroine that I'm going to put through it, so I need to know what she's getting into.
The Fathers of the Church--I got curious about the centuries of Christianity that were left out of my education. This book is basic, but interesting.
Ida B.--I bought it for my daughter, honest.
Letters to Malcolm--I've read it before, but it's so homey. I highly recommend it. Thanks, Steve for the loan.
On a Wing and a Prayer--I blew through this one in a few hours. It's very sweet. Thanks for the recommendation, Mom Vi.
The Book of God--I've been eager to read this since Walter Wangerin spoke at the Festival of Faith and Writing.
That's what's on my nightstand.

Writer's Group

For those who get interested in the minutia, I thought I'd update you on my relationship with a writer's group. In my original post on the subject I was uncertain that I'd stick with it, but the proof being in the pudding, here I am celebrating my six-month anniversary. It helps that the group is both impressively accomplished and welcoming. The feedback is always fair and helpful. Thanks to the group I've now finished thirteen sections of my novel.
The greatest benefit has been the schedule. I know that I need three to four pages double spaced, to justify my butt in the seat each week, so I've given myself scheduled time to work on those pages. I'd read in Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird and Norman Mailer's The Spooky Art that when you set aside scheduled time that you form a contract with your subconscious. I thought that was nice, but not necessarily true. I was wrong. Each Friday as I head out for "Mommy's Writing Time," I find these ready-made ideas have all knit themselves together and are only in need of some vocabulary to pin them to paper. I usually have a decent first draft after three or four hours work, then I revise as time and ability allow over the rest of the week until Wednesday--my due date.
I wait in fear and trembling until Steve says, "Christine?" and then I pass out my baby for inspection. They occasionally find missing digits, but generally she's pronounced sound. The marked up copies they send me home with are tucked into my blue writer's desk to await the next day's editing session. Thursday I lay out all the pages in order and then go through each stack weighing the merits of each comment and grammatical correction--God bless the red pen contingent. I end up with a marked up copy that I take to Valiant and enter the corrections/revisions on the saved file, which is finally printed out, hole-punched and added to the notebook of the blessed.
The manuscript is beginning to add up to something, something like 10,000 words. This is both exciting and worrisome as I feel I've barely gotten this story started, and Albert says his books are generally finished by 90,000 words. I'm not sure the rest of this story will fit into 80,000 words, but War and Peace wouldn't have either. Not that my story is War and Peace, but it was nice of Tolstoy to provide us with an excuse to go long--at least on that first draft.
I can't express what a wonderful blessing the Writer's group has been to me. They give me enough confidence to value my work, so that I can move forward with the story. My draft may only be adequate, but adequate is good enough to get started. I needed external validation. Thanks guys, for putting up with Harriet and me week after week. We're both better for it.

Evangelical Worship

I was doing a little research on Narcissism--no snickering in the audience--and I came across this article on Evangelical Worship. I think this may explain my growing appreciation for liturgical worship.
One thing I love about Catholicism is the certainty that Jesus will be there at the Mass. I love the way kneeling is the expected acknowledgment of this truth. I love it that I don't need to work up an emotional experience with ecstatic praise music/worship, but that I can (if I ever join the church) just chew and swallow. I think that leads to a healthier understanding of our relationship with Christ. It confers a glorious mundaneness on the sublime. The Eucharist hits us right between the eyes with God's commitment to be there for us. The wafer and the wine are tangible expressions of the undeniable reality of Christ's faithfulness, and the requirement that we show up to receive Him is a powerful reminder of our constant temptation to faithlessness. Each step becomes important because it demonstrates the reality of our hearts and the reality of our hearts is an understanding we must face honestly if we ever expect to fulfill the promise of Christ in us.