The Hanging Tree

Are you, are you

Coming to the tree

Where they strung up a man they say murdered three.

Strange things did happen here

No stranger would it be

If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.

Are you, are you

Coming to the tree

Where the dead man called out for his love to flee.

Strange things did happen here

No stranger would it be

If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.

Are you, are you

Coming to the tree

Where I told you to run, so we’d both be free.

Strange things did happen here

No stranger would it be

If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.

Are you, are you

Coming to the tree

Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me.

Strange things did happen here

No stranger would it be

If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.

Writer's Chair Views

Left

Center

Right

Out of Body

One of the greatest blessings in our new home is a sanctuary where I can read and write and think and talk and work and pray. It's tucked in over the garage and chopped into two rooms. The coziest room, where I imagine talking with friends over tea and indulging my appreciation for squishy furniture when I'm working, is toward the front of the house. I love being there with or without guests, but I'm all set up with tea and cookies should someone special drop by.

Singing Again

I am an ardent Hunger Games fan. The movie surprised me when I accompanied a child who wanted to see it. Powerful emotional experiences of that kind must either be rejected, thoroughly, permanently, or they must be worn out. I decided to wear Hunger Games out, reading the books, collecting fan magazines and seeing the new movie right away. I think it was the tribute to Appalachian culture that made it stick. One time when I asked my grandmother what I should say when asked about my roots, she said that I should say, "West Virginian." She was right, even though I grew up in Maryland.

Music was the most prized art form when I was growing up. We sang all day most days, and I loved it. Whether we were opening school, class, or church, whether we were messing around on the playground, bus, or park, whether we were in rehearsal learning how all those things we did naturally, worked and were written down, whether we were performing for church, nursing homes, or competitions, we sang. I took it for granted.

The part of Katniss' story that has surprised me the most is from the last book when she is recovering from it all. She begins to sing and sing and sing her way back to a shaky sanity. What a clever, Appalachian twist. Life carried me away from Appalachia kicking and screaming. This thing then that thing then the other thing separated me from singing, until I was only skipping through the little songs I sing my children, and whatever was on the board for Sunday.

I have started to sing. I haven't experienced an apocalyptic horror, but I have feared it. I've carried broken things too long, and it's time to sing. I've joined the church choir, and I'm trying to make time to practice more at home. It isn't as spectacular as Katniss, but I think I'm getting closer to home.

Real Work

Sometimes you need to practice in order to be ready for the happiness that is coming, especially when you know it will be from a sad gift. My children are growing up and leaving me--slowly, kindly, but steadily.  I feel like Wilbur crying at the fence, but not today. Today I sit at my desk in my new library, and even though I have real work to do I am just sitting and imagining the time when this work will be primary and the children will take care of themselves. I am practicing being happy about it. I'm staring out the window at the next chapter of my life. It tastes like an orange Sour Patch Kid.

And I am happy.

To quote my son

Today is a blog and nothing happened.

Happy Girl

I always knew the treadmill was evil.

But I had no proof until today. Today I climbed on for the routine torture,and the electrics turned on, but the belt wasn't moving. I briefly considered racking up the world's easiest workout as I stood there watching the calories roll by, but those results aren't taken into consideration by my scale. I tried various fixes, but it wasn't moving. I resorted to pushing all the buttons. The total mileage stopped me in my tracks. The darned thing had stopped at 666 miles. I kid you not.

Remembering the Neighborhood

On my top ten list of items I will never own but can't help coveting, is the set of models Mr. Rogers would occasionally use to segue into a visit to The Neighborhood of Make-believe. I had a paper version briefly, but, it's a long story.

We are leaving Spring Lake and St. Mary's. In the eighth grade Mea had a to do a school project about the most beautiful place in Spring Lake. She chose St. Mary's, and I have to agree. One of the most impressive features is a copy of the Pieta made from molds taken from the original marble. It sits right outside of church, a beautiful gift to the entire community.

I had a gift certificate to spend and I carried it around for a month or two trying to decide what to with it. I'm ready for my life to be more visually Catholic. I was shopping for a good-sized crucifix when I saw the Pieta, model-sized. After that there could be no other purpose for the gift certificate, and I was so excited to receive the statuette. It is so good to have something to inspire good memories.

My Super Power

,

Everyone wants a cool nickname when they are growing up. The closest I came to having a nick name at all was "The Walking Dictionary." It was too cumbersome for everyday use, so it was reserved for the days when even my teacher wasn't sure what I'd said. Secretly I hoped they thought of me as "Dic" which demonstrates that my familiarity with slang could have been expanded.

Recently my thoughts returned to this melancholy subject, and my mind skipped forward a couple decades to sitting at a picnic table with a therapy group. "That girl is Spiderwoman. She knows what's going on with everyone in the room." The gentleman who spoke those words was truly street wise, and we all respected what he said. I blushed violently as every person in the circle shook their head in agreement. It's the best nickname I have ever been given.

Other people's feelings are important to me. Some people walk into a room and they can't rest until all the pictures are hanging straight. It can be like that for me with other people's negative feelings. I am uncomfortable because they are uncomfortable, so I take action. There's no need for an Iyanla intervention. You'd be amazed at how much pointing out the free coffee at the back of the room can accomplish. 

Empathy has become fashionable. It's an official super-power on the Super Power Wiki. There are a lot of products being developed to teach children empathy. For a student to lack empathy is now as large a crisis as if they struggled to read. I was just born with it. It's a major reason I write, that and I have to do something with this ridiculous vocabulary.

Worn out

My birthday comes on the first day of summer. It's always made me feel special. To me, growing older means becoming more precious, because I loved my elders so much. My parents gave me my grandmother's Bible this year. It is crammed full of her personality and faith. Like the sword of all good Baptists, it is falling apart. 

I had all four grandparents and my great-grandmother until my final semester of college when I lost my grandfather and continuing until my first baby was born--a span of four years. I needed the powerful ups of college graduation, marriage, and pregnancy to counter such powerful downs. Mea was my greatest comfort after all that loss. Slowly the wheels are turning again as my beloved children start leaving me to create lives of their own. 

I've begun pouring my life into books, because that is my personality. The Bible will always be primary, but I was designed to study. I look forward to showing my grandchildren how many books I've worn out. I hope that they will wear out many of their own, because that is my faith.

Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything

It was a nice year. I raised a grown up. The other five conveniently remained needy. I deepened a lot of friendships. I finally came up with a great excuse for reading the classics. I began to understand my life in new ways.

Happy Birthday to me! I am no longer the answer to life the universe and everything, but you can only carry a responsibility like that for so long. :)

Smelling Like My Granny

The first time I got a whiff of White Shoulders was probably an hour or two after I was born. My great-grandmother, Edna Pearl Root Durr Spotts, wore it and over time it became a favorite scent, signifying peace and order. It has a certain pizzazz that has maintained it's popularity since 1943. I gave in and bought a bottle. What a great anxiety reducer. Some part of my brain turns on the chill out juice as soon as the spray hits the air, which is impressive to someone as high-strung as I am.

I hope someday, 20 years after my death there are people to whom a small reminder of me can lift their heaviest mood. I hope I can heal others as she did.

Saline or Ann Arbor?

I ran off on a romantic trip with my romantic man. We need a new house near his new job, and I needed a better idea of the lay of the land. He was more than happy to show me around especially without the kids. For us the choices are boiling down to lots of space, but a little out of the way--Saline, and less space, but nearly immediate access to globally appealing amenities--Ann Arbor. There's also smaller exemplary school system--Saline, and an enormous exemplary school system Pioneer.

We'll take it one house at a time.

And Away She Goes

Marguerite Eloise graduated yesterday. The ceremony was lovely, and we were all so proud of our kids. Mea was a Senior Scholar which means she graduated with highest honors. She plans on studying neuroscience at the University of Michigan. Watching her congratulate all of her friends and carry out all the rituals and traditions was encouraging because I know she will carry forward the energy into this next more demanding phase of life. 

Congratulations, Mea! I always knew you could do it and I knew you could do it well.

I'm Sorry, Mom.

Two weeks ago my youngest son had to be hauled out of mass during the Eucharist by his Protestant sister.  As she made her way to the door, he shouted, " I'm sorry, Mom!" over and over. Most of us repent when we're about to face the music, and most of that doesn't stick.

Today, my son, without prompting, packed a bag of goodies to keep him happy and busy during Mass. When he forgot it, he was distraught, but decided he could try with just a squishy worm toy. He had a few hiccups, but mostly he did all right. I explained and reminded. He listened and made corrections.

I didn't expect him to have such a big change of heart and a willingness to work at doing it differently. What a great example he's setting for me.

Cheery

I spent today looking through a bunch of home listings, and I have to say it cheered me up. I love our house now, but I discovered if we get really crazy we can have it built again, only with the laundry separate from the powder room and more storage in the kitchen. There are a lot of options each rich with possibilities. Kurt kept telling me this, but it takes me a while to shift gears.

For me, an inspiring object helps. I bought this bird a week or two ago. Something about it spoke to my hopes about our move, and I have a feeling it will be right at home in our new place. She'll help me remember to live, love, laugh and be happy.

I can see the light in the future a little more clearly.

I knew it.

Growing up fundamentalist has been fascinating me lately. In some ways, I've been there, done that, bought the T-shirt, but that's not the same as understanding it. I've been watching lots of shows about fundamentalist Mormons, and the Amish, the Duggars, and anything else from any religion that strikes the same chords. My sister posted a little news on Facebook that brought all this research back to my home front. Bill Gothard has resigned from his Institute on Basic Youth Conflicts because of bad behavior with at least thirty-six of the many teenage girls that he recruited to work at his headquarters.

We had our share of Bill Gothard stuff around our house. I can't remember if my parents went to his Basic Seminar or not. His idea about the umbrella of protection made my mother miserable for years, turns out that was just a way to make the girls more compliant. He wasn't a second god for us, just a guy with strong ideas and a huge following. As I got older he seemed strange to me. His behavior didn't meet the standards healthy men had set for themselves. Everyone said it couldn't be true of such a well-known teacher, but it just had to be. It is.

When I was a kid I loved the moment in the story where the wicked witch was defeated and all the evil is overturned. Finding out I was right about Bill Gothard restored my faith in my radar. It brought men back into the realm of the knowable.

Going Blue

We are moving to Ann Arbor, Michigan. Kurt needed a better work opportunity, and he found it in a city we've often talked about for retirement. We'll have The Big House, and the University of Michigan for entertainment and enlightenment.  There are great schools for the kids, and the possibility of graduate school for the adults. All my research says that this is going to be a great experience, so why are we so sad?

Mea doesn't want us to crowd into her big adventure. No one wants to leave friends. We've put down deep roots here in Spring Lake. This has been a place of shelter and help. It is irreplaceable, especially all the people. 

And Just Like That...

A Taste of Redwall is over. I still have notes to write, a summary to create, and ideas for the next time to capture, but this event is over. I learned so much.

1. Walk straight through your fears. I put this project off because I was afraid it would be rejected. Morning after morning, I woke up sure it was failing. Phone call after phone call, I had to remember a no added up to nothing, but a yes changes everything. There were moments all along the way where quitting was a reasonable option. I'm so glad I persisted. It was worth every negative feeling.

2. Actively listen to others. I've always appreciated input, but in the past I was so afraid of being run over that I could be very hard-nosed about my vision. This time I had the best supervisors in Ann English and Mary Casselman. Their ideas were always helpful, and they truly appreciated what I was doing. It was easy to share with them. Karen Morgan was also instrumental in ramping up the fun factor. She was patiently persistent about activities I was unfamiliar with. She taught me a lot of new tricks.

3. Keep everybody in the loop. Sometimes I got so busy with drama in one aspect that I forgot that leaders in the other aspects needed to know what was going on in order to feel useful and appreciated. I don't think I'll make that mistake again.

4. Have fun! I did not meet my goals. In the past this meant an emotional storm that overshadowed everything. This time I decided to roll with it. The desserts were delicious and we had a good time. 

5. Remember, it's not your party. This was the first time I could let go of my successes and recognize that they came from God. They were not mine so I had no reason to boast. It's a nice change for me.

There is too much...

A Taste of Redwall is coming down to a bunch of lasts, last rehearsal, last school to call, last reorganization of my paperwork. I've had a grand time and managed to float through other milestones and some unexpected and unwelcome stressors in one piece. I hope that God's will has been done, and that it will prosper, but it's out of my hands.

It's down to ticket sales and this weekend is our "Hail, Mary" and St. Zita, and St. Martin DePorres, and St. Anthony, and everyone else. It is maddening to work this hard for so little fruit. Pray for us, everybody! It's all that remains.

Cat Humans

A few years ago, Iris learned about catechumens in her religious education class at St. Mary's. Her imagination caught fire and we had cat-human pictures all over the house. Now, tonight, she is one, though not in the way she originally thought of it. Two of my babies will be baptized and enter the church tonight, though they'll step into the font to do it. Praise, God!

Winded

On my aerobics videos they always give the advice that you should be able to talk or sing while you exercise. This blog has been me singing while I do my Taste of Redwall workout. 

Exactly.

A different time zone

Right now I have one graduating highschool, two joining the church, and I'm coordinating the huge, A Taste of Redwall, event, I still have work/reading to do for Crowhook, and I'm facing other pressures I'm not ready to blog about. I keep waiting for the meltdown, but instead I've trusted that enough is enough. When my anxiety goes up, I'm learning to wait and to do whatever small things I can do. So far more has been accomplished than I ever expected, and I'm still sane. It's like moving to a new time zone while leaving most of the fear behind.

Hear Ye! Hear Ye!

It's getting closer every minute. I have so much to do, and it is a joy to do it. Come if you can. We're going to have amazing Redwall-inspired desserts as well as great family activities. Thanks, Karen Morgan, for the great flyer.

30, 40, 50

This year I am the answer to life, the universe, and everything. That means that clever marketers think I am worried about aging and boy do they have the products for me. Scattered across the spectrum of lazy reading I am offered beautiful pictorials of famous people who have spent their lives cultivating their appearance for a living, some 30, some 40, some 50.  I want to see those glamorous images spliced with ordinary women who don't have two hours a day to workout or hundreds of dollars to spend on creams, because that's a great 30, 40, 50, too.  Then I want to go one step further and I want to see 30, 40, 50 year old refugees or others who have suffered the affects of grinding poverty and war.  After that, everyone should take a deep breath and change the direction of their attention. 

After all those pictures, what do we really need to do to improve the world? I don't know everything, but somethings are obvious.

Baptized

I love hymns. There is so much meat in them. For about a minute and a half praise bands were reinterpreting the old gems and doing it very well. I was surprised at the cross over into Catholic singing. Even "A Mighty Fortress is Our God" written by the original Protestant Martin Luther, makes itself at home. Of course there were many songs I didn't know, and they would catch me off-guard. "I Have Loved You," "You Are Mine," "Eye Has Not Seen," and "On Eagle's Wings," had me crying. I ordered a hymnal with my new hymns, but it was a different edition from the ones at church.

Recently, they replaced the hymnals with very nice purple ones, and I wondered what happened to the old ones. I didn't have time to pursue it. Our house needed a clean out and the bags of donate goods filled the back of the van. I had to get rid of them before I could shop at Sam's, so I dropped in at a nearby thrift store. I've been collecting copies of the books for next year's medieval lit class, so I hunted through the bookshelves. There didn't seem to be much until I spotted the familiar red spine. Gold letters on the front cover, it called out to me. Joyfully, I brought it home.

Now it is the queen of my collection, and a great source for new music and ideas. Thanks be to God.

Rite of Election

Yesterday was a beautiful day as two of our girls signed The Book of the Elect and went to the cathedral to shake hands with the bishop in a beautiful ceremony. I'm still learning Catholic manners and traditions, so I'd failed to tell their sponsor she should be there. My friend Sara rushed to come with us on this special day. I felt so upheld all day long as person after person reached out with grace to help me overcome the stumble and to keep this sacred event positive for the girls. Thanks be to God!

Fat Tuesday

I'm thinking about giving up the Beatles for Lent. They were my first taste of cultural butter, and the purposes it serves. My life had been one recording of the Life Action Singers after another. Occasionally, Doug Oldham or someone like him would take some risks, but not very often. My sister, with her musical ear collected an impressive knowledge of popular music from elevators and grocery stores. I was more inclined to return home to the safety of the Gaithers. 

Susan came over and for the first time in my life I was left unsupervised in my own home. Susan's sanctity was never questioned, so I was surprised when she recommended we ransack the record collection for contraband. We found The Letterman and were quite pleased with them. They were nice, but musically little different from Life Action or the other groups. From then on, any chance to ransack the records was a naughty little pleasure. That probably would have been the end of things if we hadn't moved to a suburb of DC. 

The kids in my new world not only listened to current rock and roll, they had sex and experimented with drugs. I was so lost. I had my first diagnosis of depression, and Dad pulled out all the stops--he rented Help! Mother would have nothing to do with it. Her disapproval filled the house making it all the more exciting as Dad plugged it in. It was hilarious, and the music was so fresh to us. After that, whenever it was all too much we'd get Help!

I still love Help! I love the Beatles catalog. Giving them up for Lent might not seem like big deal to some, but maybe there's a circle coming my life. While I'm not interested in a return to Life Action, maybe it's time for dry toast because I can, because of Lent.

Judith

My kids

St. Martin's kids

Co-op class kids

The people I fight for have a tendency to be short. The shortness gives me courage and permission to be clever, bold, and persistent--like Judith. I have continued my reading of the apocryphal books and next up was Judith. She's so strong that it's almost off putting. She consults no one, but God. She asks for no help from any person except her maid, and she pulls it off handing the victory to her army in one neat piece. I'm pleased for her, but my mind keeps reeling with what ifs. I guess desperate times require desperate measures. If you are going to follow Judith's example, it seems you must keep walking forward and never look back no matter how risky your plan. You have to know Who is walking with you.

Surprise Party

I love surprises. Life is going along dull as dish water and wham, surprise! At least I love the good ones, like Jimmy. I'm hoping to pull off a surprise party for our Crowhook kids. I've asked them to come up with at least 35 examples of works inspired by The Odyssey. I'm willing to accept everything from the Odyssey episode of Arthur to James Joyce' Ulysses. If they pull this heavy feat off, I'm going to whisk them off to my house for pizza and the 1954 Italian classic, Ulysses. I'm so excited. I helped my kids with finding examples, so the party is guaranteed. Thank God for Little Caesars and great kids.

slow lane

When I was younger my mind leapt from project to project, belief to belief, book to book. These days I choose my projects with great care, making certain my slower brain can keep up and that the results will be worth the efforts. I still go in a round between ideas. I don't know how to focus on a single idea successfully for more than a few hours. Currently the neediest ideas are A Taste of Redwall, Crowhook classes, the new-to-me parts of the Bible, The Only Necessary Thing by Henri Nouwen, and my novel. 

The irony is I am much more certain about what I believe now. In the early days I was trying to force sense on ideas that simply didn't hold up upon deeper examination. I believed things I could not make sense of as an act of faith because emotionally and intellectually I'd never had the freedom to follow my conscience and my understanding. I have not found my new freedom any impediment to believing in and obeying Christ.

A Private Place

Lately there has been a change in how I write. I've started to sink into the work forgetting everything else. (Strange how I can do that at Barnes and Noble and I can't do it at home.) I've quit caring that the manuscript is so long and getting longer. I want to have my say. I walk into my mind palace and forget reality for three or four hours. I think that this is producing better writing, but I'm not sure. I'll find out this summer when I rejoin my writer's group.

Tobit

I loved this story.  I'd never heard it before, and it is so sweet.  Protestant marriage workshops are crying out for Tobit.  It's from a different time than any other Bible stories I've read, and that gives it a distinctive character.  Short story shorter--two people are critically close to losing hope. God answers their prayers through the ministry of an angel, Raphael. How beautiful and charming. You must read it for yourself.

My Yoko Ono

I love the Beatles. The concert "The Night That Changed America was delicious. I want the album. I want it now. It's one of the ways I tell off Plato, and remember that I am an artist. 

Members of my family tend to be opinionated.  The Beatles are one of the best ways to stir up discord.  From Mother requiring that Dad get rid of all his Beatles albums to whether or not Julian Lennon's blog is interesting.  We have opinions. Since my sister takes the hard line on Yoko Ono, I have to take the moderate view. At first it was because as crazy as it all seemed from the outside, John Lennon was more fully human after it. He wasn't right about a lot of things, but I think his heart was. This stance was largely to give me some room to breathe when Karen starts telling it like it is, until I found my Yoko Ono--the picture that for me, sums it all up. I'm researching The Plaza for my novel, so I purchased At the Plaza, a pictorial history.  On page 151, there is a picture of the two of them a short while before John was shot having a quick snack.  I wish I could post it for you, but I can't find it anywhere on the net. She is smiling, clearly enjoying their time together, but he is gob-smacked that she is there. His joy  is so fresh, as if they had just met. I may not like how they got there, but I'm glad they did.

I See Satan Fall Like Lightning

There are some books that I can't have enough copies of.  I'm always lending them out, so I never have them to read.  I See Satan Fall Like Lightning is one of those books. Rene Girard, a man of many disciplines, continually challenges me to examine how I am living my life, which kingdom am I putting forward.  He has made me question the validity of so many ideas and practices that I took for granted.  I look at the way we refuse to abandon the teachings that we feel put us on the safe side of the contagion without acknowledging the wickedness of leaving anyone in the vulnerable zone. I used to dig moats and build castles out of theology and prejudice, but when you look at Jesus, he lived like a homeless person, vulnerable and open to everyone he met.

This is a book to challenge your thinking and to open your eyes to what kind of life you are really living.This is a chance to begin again.

Wonder Land

I'm beginning to realize that I'm working through the weird world of childhood in fiction.  I'm starting to let myself read my work as if it was someone else's. For example, I realized an Alice in Wonderland playhouse symbolizes my struggle to get help with or at least permission to interpret the Bible from the adults in my life.  The only book that was as weird as the Bible that I was allowed to read was Alice in Wonderland.  I worked rather hard trying to get the two to illuminate each other without much success.  The playhouse has always been there in my novel, but it was only recently that I saw the connection.

What a fascinating way to squint at your mind sideways, but I'd better not look too hard.  I'll never have the courage to publish anything.

Rediscovering Water

Mountain water, at least where I grew up, is just as good as the hype.  It made me a water snob, especially when I reached the flatlands here in the Midwest.  I took the water softener one step further and had them install a water purifier as well.  The resulting water was ok, and then we moved close enough to Lake Michigan that the water was acceptable without all the extra fuss.  Acceptable, but not as good as water from home.

I love tea. My grandfather made the best ice tea, and the flavor hot or cold is part of so many great memories.  On my weekly trip to Barnes and Noble, I get a Venti tea, and it always tastes so much better than tea I make at home. I bought the tea bags, and they were scrumptious, but the taste still wasn't the same.  What finally occurred to me was that they used filtered water.  When I checked with my barista she confirmed that the water was elaborately filtered and that did make a difference in the taste.  I thought about it for a week or two and then bought a Zero Water pitcher and fired up our hot pot. The tea was amazing.  Any and all tea is amazing.  

I love you, Lake Michigan, but you are better without the personality.  Thanks water treatment personnel, but chlorine is not delicious. Thank you, Zero-Water people, for increasing the healthy pleasures in my life. Thank you, Janet Tyson, for the gorgeous picture of the lake in winter.  Thank you, Barnes and Noble, for always having great teas on hand. 

Lost Shakespeare Found

The only problem with great writer's of yore is that when you've read everything they've written, you've read everything they've written.  You can reread them, but it's just not the same.  I read my first novel by Flannery O'Connor in my early twenties, and I have doled out her meager catalog bit by bit.  A decade later ;), I have one collection of short stories left.

The Bible was the first adult book I read for myself.  I started at five with the story of Moses in the Bulrushes.  I went on to read all the usual Bible stories.  Preaching had me reading the New Testament, and boredom with preaching introduced me to all the weird and wacky bits no one ever reads.  The practice of a daily quiet time moved me to get my reading organized.  Starting my freshman year of college, I used three different incarnations of the One Year Bible over the course of more than a decade.  Rereading and rereading and rereading, even the wacky bits became overly familiar.

One of the best benefits of converting to Catholicism is that there are all these new books of the Bible to read.  It feels like it would if someone discovered a lost Shakespearean play, and we could all experience his wisdom and genius in a fresh way. These new-to-me books of the Bible promise to be the Holy Spirit's fine work and work in me.  Getting  around to reading them has taken longer than expected, but, at last, the time has come.  I have an amazing Catholic Bible I was given during my RCIA classes, but it's paperbound, four inches thick, and the other dimensions are pretty generous too.  It wouldn't survive the kind of hauling around my loved books receive, so I have invested in a New Catholic Answer Bible.  A rosary is embossed on the leather-like cover.  The Table of Contents refers to the helpful inserts, not the books of the Bible, and a picture of Pope Francis was included free of charge.  I'm starting with Tobit.  Let the renewal begin!

In Bed.

Adding the phrase "in bed" to the fortune in a fortune cookie is one of my husband's favorite games.  I like to work in bed.  I like nice squishy surfaces, and our king mattress offers lots of room to spread out.  It also insures nightly cleanup as sleeping under books and papers is only appealing in college.  I have a desk that I love and work at occasionally, but a big project or a new project will almost always find me in bed.

Thanks to the snow day, my bed was covered in books, papers, pens, highlighters, my writer's desk, my iPad, and some Smurfs.  I was working out the literature class I hope to teach next year.  Selecting appropriate and interesting works turned out to be way more challenging than expected.  I thought I'd split the day with "A Taste of Redwall."  Thankfully we have another snow day tomorrow, because the following short list took me all day.

Crowhook Literature List for the Middle Ages

(I know the dates aren't accurate.)

525 Boethius The Consolation of Philosophy

529 St. Benedict The Rule of St. Benedict

660 Caedmon Caedmon's Hymn

731 Venerable Bede An Ecclesiastical History of the English People

975 unknown Beowulf

1140 unknown Song of Roland

1150 St. Hildegaard Physica

1175 Ibn Jubayr The Travels of Ibn Jubayr

1274 St. Thomas Aquinas Summa Theologica

1317 Dante The Divine Comedy

1320 Marco Polo The Travels of Marco Polo

1370 William Langland Piers Plowman

1385 unknown Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

1405 Christine de Pizan The Book of the City of Ladies

The Book of Deeds of Arms and Chivalry

1500 Machiavelli The Prince

1516 Thomas More Utopia

1563 Montaigne Essays

1588 St. Teresa of Avila The Interior Castle

1605 Miguel de Cervantes Don Quixote

Good things come to those who think

Dinner Reservations

Some ideas are stickier than others.  Sitting in church listening to the details of a new project to build a wall around St. Martin DePorres Orphanage got me thinking about Redwall Abbey and Martin the Warrior.  We could put on a Redwall Feast to raise funds.  The idea was so so obvious to me that I assumed it would put itself forward.  I waited for it to be announced so I could volunteer. 

The wall was finished and a new laundry was nearly complete, but the idea still had not been put forward.  In my mind the event was taking shape in ever greater detail.  It kept growing from "A Taste of Redwall" food-centered event to an immersive dinner theater experience.  I kept finding experts and scouting actors, all the while waiting for someone else to speak up for this idea.

Then I began to see that this is my baby, so I put it forward to the St. Martin's Kids committee at church.  They are a very practical group.  They loved the idea and had very helpful questions and 

suggestions.  We all decided to let going forward rest on getting the necessary permissions from the publishers of Redwall.  It was such an intimidating process, but in the end we were green-lighted by Jim Jacques, Brian's brother.   

Pregnant by the Holy Spirit, it's not just for Mary anymore.  

Baby Girl Seems to be a Boy

This is our turtle.  When it was tiny we did our best to research the gender and decided it was a girl.  Then she went through puberty and grew long claws and a dent on her chest.  I still talk to him in a high pitched girly voice, but as long as I toss in some pellets and chase him around the tank with my fingers, we're good.

Don't you mean Di?

"Your name means Christ-like and we expect you to live up to it."