Weekdays are filled, to the brim until it overfloweth, with school, meetings, choir, more school, eating, baths, playtime, more school and sleep. There isn’t rest until after 10pm when I fall asleep while we are (re)watching episodes of Agents of Shield.
Sundays may be the Christian sabbath… but it isn’t restful until after we have dressed everyone, found their shoes, gone to church, taught Sunday school, come home and had lunch. So…it’s kinda a half day of rest.
But Saturdays??
I ain’t got nuthin goin on.
I am sleeping in (until 8). I am taking walks outside. I am reading in my favorite reading chair. The kids are riding bikes outside. We have bbqs next to our firepit. We might even go on a day adventure, if we feel so inclined.
Saturdays are the bomb.
Because I get all my cleaning done on Friday 😀
You gotta plan rest, or you’ll never find rest. And rest is one of the commandments of God…it’s kinda serious!
I am seasoning my pans as I type, I’m finishing up the laundry, and the kids have taken care of their rooms, the bathrooms and they are finishing school.
I am not sure how it happened, exactly, that I became the best newsletter writer and editor on the face of the earth. Maybe it just comes naturally to me, just as the delicate colors and perspectives came so naturally to Peter Paul Rubens.
Regardless of how or when it happened, the fact remains that I have been writing informative, challenging, relevant and inspiring newsletters for a good +decade by now. I have received rave reviews on my own writing in the newsletters (“it is so funny and fantastic to read! I love reading your articles!” I am paraphrasing, of course), as well as the open communication of information I include within the pages.
Newsletters have been a crucial and integral part of bonding and binding communities for centuries.
“Research shows that the first newsletter appeared in 1538, long before newspapers became the standard medium for news stories. One of the first known newsletters was distributed in England in 1631 featuring happenings of locals overseas. In 1704, the Boston News-letter made its appearance in the US and eventually became a newspaper. Many other newsletters flourished in the 1700’s and also followed suit by becoming newspapers.”
When we first joined the homeschool education partnership we have grown to love beyond words, I noticed large holes in communication between parents and teachers. While there was oodles of information being handed out to parents at the beginning of the year, what was missing was the personal element. What were the teachers’ goals for the month? What were the students’ projects? What were the upcoming events to which to look forward? What are the short biographies of our incredible teachers? What field trips were we planning? Is it National Book Reading Month? What more can we do with our kids to facilitate the joy of reading in our homes?
And on and on…useful, relevant, important communication.
So, as of October 1st, we have had a monthly newsletter to speak for our community.
Today, I printed our penultimate newsletter for the year.
It was beautiful. Spring colors. Vibrant images to catch the eye. Personal feedback from every teacher and every classroom. And a recipe for Asian Noodle Salad….listen, I love the recipe section of my newsletter, and it will always be there.
So, this morning after I dropped one child off to finish their state testing, and two other kids off to their morning reading class, and two more into our private library on campus to work with spelling games together, I scurried off to the office to print the magnificence that is my newsletter.
It is 10 pages, front to back, and I have been writing, editing, scrapping, rewriting and final editing it until I had to force myself, this morning, to accept the final version. Within its pages I had information on our new superintendent, the process we went through to present the homeschool education partnership as a vibrant voice in our educational community, along with other information about next year’s curriculum on which our teachers and Principal have been working tirelessly.
As I was standing in front of the printer in the front office, as I have done every month all year, a person of the school came in to inspect my printing project.
It was the same reaction a shepherd would have to a foreign shepherd using their well to water their flock. A look of concern and protective indignation crossed her face, as she stood fidgeting in front of this community printer.
“Is this going to take long?” she asked.
“I am about halfway done, so it shouldn’t be much longer.”
“This is too much printing. Maybe next year you could do it online, because the parents don’t read it anyway, so this is a waste of paper.”
…she said quickly and with great chutzpah.
A waste of paper.
Let me explain something, sweetcheeks.
If the administration communicated with the parents, at all, regarding dramatic changes that are scaring families and dividing the community, I wouldn’t have to type it out for them.
If the teachers (who we love) updated their school pages to let parents know what their children were learning in class, even once this year, I wouldn’t have to hit the pavement and go to each classroom to get the information from them.
If certain school employees thinks so little of parents’ interest in their children’s education, then no wonder you have notoriously ignored dozens of emails from parents and prospective parents, which I have fielded all school year, in your stead.
What I know is that the parents in our community are interested, involved, engaged in their childrens’ education, and concerned when they don’t hear anything. I know the parents in our community read my newsletter because I not only watch them read it on their way to their cars after they pick up their kids from school, but I get regular feedback from them on what has been included. I get heartfelt “Thank You’s” from parents every month, and am told many times how much they look forward to finding it in their box.
What I know is that every student is important, and every student comes from a family who wants the best for their child.
So, dear school employee who shall not be named, what I know is that this newsletter is more than just a big printing project.
It is the voice for families. And you can’t put a price on that.
Recently, I told some good friends of mine that I was up to my ears in stuff…good stuff, and stuff I love, but so much stuff that it wasn’t even feasible to explain. Where do I even start.
I had to rely on some good philosophy to combat the problem:
We have been up to our ears in trifold projects, hiking, wiring lamps, organizing egg drops at school, drawing projects, school, PTO meetings, school board meetings, homeschool, school testing is starting about now…and lots and lots of other stuff!
Even though we have been very (very) busy lately, we have worked together to learn and create totally incredible stuff, and not only are the kids rightly proud of their successes, I am incredibly proud of what they have accomplished!
We are totally winning at life together. It is awesome.
Things are finally starting to slow down, and I am starting to get my fingers warmed up to get to writing again.
In the meantime, here are some things we’ve been working on 🙂
Cheers!
“Wrinkle in Time”
I was in charge of the egg drop event, and I made a “I ❤ F=ma" shirt for myself
Remember that edison lightbulb project..? I finished it 🙂
we found a mirror pool
we found a pond we named Goose Pond, regardless of its given name.
It has been a month since the event happened when I collided with the edge of my bed. This event was exacerbated by the pitch-black forest without a lick of light, occurring in the wee hours of the night. The main event featured a jousting match between the foot of my wooden bed and the 5th metatarsal of my left foot.
Since this disastrous event, the edge of my foot has gone from sore, to being worryingly achy.
I have transitioned my mentality on the matter, over the course of the month, from, “Wow, that was painful, but I’m sure it’ll get better,” to “Dude, why does my foot still hurt?? Did I actually break my foot and not know it?!!”
I had to make a major life decision last night, after I found myself shifting off of my left foot while I was baking garlic chicken, and putting together the sides of coleslaw and homemade potato and leek soup.
Even though coleslaw is a warm weather side, and potato leek soup is a cold weather side…I couldn’t decide, in the precipice of spring, which would be more appropriate for the weather.
And, yes, I plan my meals based on the weather. Don’t you?
The coleslaw turned out wonderful, as always. I keep it rather uncomplicated and simply slice thin a whole head of cabbage and mix with coleslaw dressing. I avoid complications such as shredded carrots, and especially crushed pineapple. I have found those sweet flavors very difficult to pair with my meals, and that we actually enjoy the raw cabbage flavor much more without them.
Fortunately, the potato and leek soup turned out as fantastically as you would imagine. It is a lovely, simple soup which is suitable as a side dish; but definitely not as a main course. The impending monsoon of carbohydrates, infused with umami sautéd leeks, will be the ruin of you; to the delight of the comfort of your couch.
All this being said, my foot did not fare as well as my meal.
It was quite sore by the end of my kitchen adventures, and in a very particular spot.
A spot, in particular, which had a purple spot upon it.
I could not avoid this ache any longer: After a month of soreness, I had to come to the conclusion that the jousting event my foot had participated in, most likely resulted in more damage than I realized.
Only one thing could be done about this.
I have to visit Urgent Care and X-ray the darn thing.
Off I went, after my morning coffee, to the recesses of the mostly empty Urgent Care ward. There was a young lady with an upper respiratory infection, and another young lady who sat with us in the waiting room. We watched Family Guy together on the available television, interspersed with drug commercials urging us to not kill ourselves. Especially not in a canoe, which every actress seemed to enjoy a little more than any person ever has in the entire history of canoeing.
I finally was released into the second waiting room, where my vitals were taken, and I informed them that I am not an alcoholic, and I am not breastfeeding.
After another brief waiting period, Thomas* took me back to the radiology wing. We positioned my foot into sultry poses, first on its side, then flat on the mat, for Thomas* to take X-rays of my injured foot.
Authentic picture of injured foot.
Thomas* said, very professionally, as he walked me back to the second waiting room:
“Okay, I’m going to send the X-rays to the radiologist, and he will see if there is a fracture in the bone. It should take about 2 minutes.”
Right-O, Thomas*.
I waited. And waited. I waited with great anticipa….
I didn’t have to wait too long, because Janice*, a doctor, came in to tell me the big news.
I did not have a fractured 5th metatarsal.
The relief which overwhelmed my soul was like a British meal.
It was rather satisfying, but hardly the life-changing experience I would have preferred.
“You definitely whacked the daylights out of your foot, and you have a bad sprain on the tendons. That is going to be sore for longer than you expect. But you should be fine.”
Janice* handed me a 5 page pamphlet on the horrors of tendon sprains, and was sent on my merry way to finish some errands at the Library and hardware store; since I was down the block already.
This experience has been anti-climactic, and my life, as well as those around me, has not changed or been impacted in anyway throughout this ordeal, and hardly because of it.
If anything, I feel better knowing that I have adamantium laden bones.
So, I got that goin’ for me.
*names changed for the sanctity of the doctors; and if they have to conform to HIPPA, it seems only fair to extend the same jurisdictions on here.
We don’t live in Seattle, but we do live close enough to do day trips in the city!
This is what I envisioned for me and the kids to do once in a while: explore the museums, and gallivant in the city. Explore a little food, a little culture and enjoy ourselves silly.
So, that’s what we did!
For lunch, I let the kids pick out a bunch of fruit at Pike’s Market, and then we hit a local bakery and got a baguette to break up for the kids.
There is a lovely park on the water where we had our picnic of Washington strawberries, blood oranges, pears, ginormous grapes and it looked like some darn good bread. Glenn was loving the jazz that a guy was playing on a saxophone nearby, and I was just enjoying being in the sun!
Then we did a little walking around the alleyways, which I love so much. We ran into a guy with a grey African parrot that barked for us at one point, which was a highlight of the day for the kids.
But our ultimate destination for this trip was the Seattle Art Museum. Nova insisted we go to the coat check…because that’s super classy and awesome. And I don’t blame her one bit. I got to check my rather heavy backpack, and that was nice.
We did a lot of art analysis, and the kids did great! We looked at different styles between years and genres, different colors between countries, imagery and symbology. They all found their favorites, although Nova said “everything.” Also, can’t blame her with that one.
Nova was reading the descriptions of the art pieces to everyone, and some attendees got very comfortable.
Glenn’s favorite was a bronze turtle sculpture.
We spent a little time exploring Pop Art, and I was very impressed with how well the kids understood what was going on with the pieces.
17th century French art. Kind of my favorite wing.
I was pointing out here that it was interesting that these paintings, which were painted 200 years ago, had the same things in them that we see today. The kitchen table has a bowl of apples and a wine bottle that easily looks like our kitchen table at home. The coats have the same shape lapels that we see today. The children in the pastoral pictures are walking along river banks and poking fish. The ladies are sitting on couches. Time may have moved on, but people haven’t changed much.
We stayed in SAM for almost 2 hours, which was long enough for the crew (I could stay for years), so I wanted to give them a pick-me-up. The best place to go is to a Starbucks on the 40th floor of the Columbia Tower 🙂
Conrad brought an emergency pack of Legos, for this very occasion.
We all thoroughly enjoyed…sitting. It has been a lot of walking.
Fortunately, we were a couple blocks away from Ben’s office! So we just crashed the pad, and Glenn played around with the lock picking kit. Why, yes, they do have a lock picking kit at work. Don’t you?
Ben took us out to dinner….but first…he swung me by the infamous tree in Seattle! So, there ya go. This is the tree from the Man in the Treeepisode. It looks fine, although a little bare at the top. It does look like the perfect climbing tree, though.
We finally made it to dinner. Sushi boats 😀
You would think that we would be done by this point…but I just wanted to hit one more thing before we called it a day. And, for the record, at this point my legs had had more than enough hiking up and down Seattle hills. But I wanted to see the Olympic Sculpture Park before I forgot.
My favorite quote from Nova today: “OH NO, another naked guy??”
You know you’ve spent the day in an art museum when…
Each woman is different, and each has come from a different area with different backgrounds. While literature has the same facets, different genres and different authors, in literature she tells you the story. In poetry, you have to ask her the story. So that is how you approach poetry: over a glass of wine.
The best first step is to say “what do I think this poem means,” and then turn to your neighbor and say “what do you think this poem means.” Both of you are putting together who you think this woman is. So reading academic papers on poetry can be very helpful.
The Rose was a book of poetry in celebration of Ireland, so the rose was the symbol of Ireland’s neverending beauty in various forms. But, in knowing this, if you want to understand what Yeats was really talking about here, you need to do a little research on Ireland in 1890. Where were they as a people then? What were they dealing with? The famine was in 1845-7, so they are recovering as a nation from that…but millions of Irish have left their land. How does Ireland feel when its children must flee because it cannot provide for them? Members of the Young Ireland movement had an armed rebellion and were convicted of treason in 1848. In 1866 a radical group called the Fenians made several attempts to overthrow British rule. Farmers were also renting their land from the British, which led to decades of unrest. In the 1870s-90s, Charles Parnell had a political reign where he fought for Irish autonomy in Parliment, and was considered the “uncrowned king of Ireland.” But radicals who assasinated British officials in Ireland claimed to do so for Parnell, which although was unfounded, continued to split the nation. But then it was discovered that he was living with a married woman, and he never recovered. And that brings us up to the time when Yeats wrote The Rose. So, that gives you an idea of where the soul of Ireland was when he wrote his ode to Ireland.
On the other hand, he was also desperately in love with a woman in Ireland named Maud Gonne, who has been known to be his muse during The Rose and also constantly rejected him as a lover.
So, between the rejection of his love, and the passion he feels for Ireland, you have a very good standing to read “When Your Are Old.”
There is a longing for legacy in this poem. Like an old parent whose children have gone, they might remember the days when their children were young and playful. They’ll take down the book of pictures and remember when life was full of the energy of the future. The dream of aspirations for his country fade with the fire. The longing of a relationship with the woman he loves is unrequited. There are shadows, which only remember what once there, but is there no more.
I am teaching myself how to play the ukulele…because, why not? It makes me happy, and it makes the kids happy to play with me. And that is kind of the point of life, to be happy together, isn’t it?
Sometimes, though, you wonder if the big idea of happiness is just a pipe dream of sunshine and rainbows.
Not only have you heard about him, but you watched him sitting in the tree for a full 24 hours…with the rest of us.
It was a crazy story.
First, a (most likely) homeless man climbs 7 stories up into a sequoia redwood which California had shipped from its lovely forest to the evergreen forest of Washington; and plunked it right in front of Macy’s in downtown Seattle.
After he very quietly climbed to an amazing perch at the very top, he looked down upon the police officers who were asking him to come down.
And he threw all of his apples at them.
After he ran out of apple ammunition, he gathered the small pinecones around him and threw the pinecones at them.
When he ran out of pinecones, he snapped off the branches within his reach above him and threw the branches at the ground.
The local newsstation was on the scene and had a livefeed of the apple/pinecone/tree branch volleying. We all really thought he would have fallen, or slipped, or realized he had just climbed to the top of a ridiculously tall tree…and come down. At some point.
A few hours passed, and he wasn’t budging. I was certain he would come down by some measure when I left to pick up the kids from school, or when I went to take a shower, or when I left to fetch more coffee: but no, he stayed up there quite content with his spot in the sun.
Firefighters pulled their huge ladder up next to the tree and tried talking to him for quite a few hours. They had to pull the truck away once night began, but the police opened an office window nearby to hang out in.
5 hours passed. 8 hours passed. 11 hours passed…and the police, medics and firefighters were waiting very patiently for him to come down.
It was bewildering to see the monumental composure they had with this man, who had taken to yelling at the people beneath his tree. I don’t know what the standard procedures are for police, so it seemed like a typical response to this occasion would be to get him out of the tree, perhaps by a variety of means.
At one point, the news crew interviewed a man walking by who happened to be a 27 year police and military veteran. His opinion of the situation, given his background, was that the police were accruing too much overtime, and they were wasting the city budget by their patient actions. “They should use a hose or bean bags, and they should have gotten him out after 3 or 4 hours.”
Who knows, maybe that does sound reasonable. It sounded pretty reasonable, to get the guy out of the tree before he hurt himself or anyone else. That seemed to be the entire purpose of the police/medic/firefighters’ presence there in the first place.
But that never happened.
15 hours pass. 20 hours pass. The 24 hour point is looming on the clock…
I cannot believe this guy is still up there. He hasn’t tottered or tripped or slipped or fallen. He is still going strong, and just hanging out in a nest he wove between the branches. The news crew was there the whole time, just chatting with each other about their equipment or about the things happening around them:
“We can see it all…that’s what $80,000 of zoom lens will buy ‘ya.”
“As per usual, a small dog is trying to intimidate a much larger dog….let’s watch”
“I wonder what those birds think as they fly by”
“Oh, he just moved his leg a little”
‘Oh, despite your giant energy drink you have here, would you like me to get you a coffee,” said reporter to camera man. “I mean, I’ll get you a coffee.”
“Nature called and it didn’t go to voicemail….we know that happened.”
“I’m very tired, but it keeps going on and on.”
“She seems confused and stunned that she’s not allowed to jog into a police investigation” – on a woman who was trying to jog by the tree.
concluding with…
“If you were under the influence of something and sobered up up there; it would be terrifying.”
There was even a man and his goat who showed up, in order to encourage the Man in the Tree to come down peacefully:
In the end, the Man in the Tree climbed down on his own. He sat down and ate an apple he threw the previous day. The police were nearby, but not crowding him. They let him stand up, and walk over to the gurney by himself. The man with the red beanie laid down on the gurney and let the EMTs strap him in, gently, all the while the police were talking to him calmly.
They wheeled the gurney to the ambulance, loaded it inside, and drove rather unceremoniously to the hospital, where our fellow man would find help from people who could help him.
It was the most peaceful resolution to an already non-violent situation. Even though it took one whole day to get the man down, the officers determined that his life was worth more than their time.
So, it took a lot longer than everyone expected…but in the end, the man left with people who treated him with dignity and respect. He was in a safe environment surrounded by people he could trust.
Which is the most incredible and uplifting result we could have hoped for.
What I learned from The Man in the Tree, was that the world isn’t falling to pieces. Even when things go awry in our lives, the first response from authorities around us is not to determine that we are expendable. What I saw, while watching the live feed on my laptop in the safety of my home, was people coming around this man who was lost and helping him find a safe place.
Life isn’t always easy. Sometimes we find ourselves in small, or big, situations where we suddenly realize, this is not where I want to be in life. This isn’t what I had intended in the beginning. I thought I was making choices in my life that were the right choices. I didn’t see the red flags, and all of a sudden I’m stuck up on a 70 foot tree in the middle of raining Seattle…
What is comforting about this story is that there are lots of people around who still believe that life can be sunshine and rainbows. I was certain there were more of us than the news’ reports, and here was a shining example that my notion was spot on.
We don’t need to crucify each other for mistakes we have made, and we can work together to make the situation better for everyone.
I still believe in sunshine and rainbows, even if you are stuck in the most unfortunate of circumstances. This isn’t a pipe dream for reality.
And I have the Man in the Tree, and the wonderful people around him, to prove it.
Be with me, God. I feel so lost. I can’t seem to escape the dark cloud that is hanging over me today. Help me, God. Give me strength to combat despair and fear. Show me how to put my pain into perspective. Teach me to have faith in the new day that is coming. Thank you, God, for today’s blessings, for tomorrow’s hope, and for Your abiding love. Amen.
I found this prayer when I was searching for scripture to take my pain away.
Because that is the step you take when you have had a blinding headache for 3 days, and the Motrin, tea, water and healthy foods aren’t working. You start begging for relief.
To say my body is a little “intense” is pretty spot on. It isn’t extreme. It isn’t anything deadly or fatal…but, the things I do have are a little much.
Take, for instance, my headaches.
They are very run-of-the-mill headaches. They aren’t fatal, they aren’t deadly. I’ve had them checked out, and the official doctor advice is, “Take More Motrin. Maybe With Tylenol.”
Which I haven’t done, because that’s nuts.
Nevertheless, the headaches usually coarse through my brain until it shoots out of my eyes and I am stuck with nothing other than just good, old-fashioned pain.
So, I turned to scriptures to find something to pray. Some combination of words to ask God to help me with my pain, because I can’t function after three days of this.
What I found was a prayer…which was what I needed to pray.
I thought I wanted relief from the pain. I thought I needed the pain to go away completely, which would be the most obvious request.
“Please take this pain from me so that I can be happy again.”
What I read, instead, was a prayer to show me how to put my pain into perspective.
Does this pain make me slow down? Does it help me to hear the voices around me? Does this pain make me vulnerable, and ask for help from those around me? Can this pain be a way for me to lean on my husband for comfort? Through this pain, do I look to Father God for solace and answers?
Pain is most certainly part of life, to our great dismay.
Yet, it does have this transformative power to change our perspectives in life.
Maybe that is why I have spent three days stubbornly trying to fight it on my own, only to ask for help from those who love me…and finally find real comfort.
The dishwasher is backing water up and isn’t draining.
The vacuum isn’t sucking correctly, and sounds like a scram jet.
The well is being decommissioned as of tomorrow, and we will be using a tanker truck of water until it is back up. Maybe this weekend. “But we just don’t know.”
Comcast is down, again.
I don’t even know anymore.
Anyone have a water wheel and hydroelectric generator on hand, for those of us who are apparently way more in the sticks than the rest of civilization?
I was really looking forward to posting pictures of my edison lightbulb experiment this weekend! It’s difficult to post pictures of my new lightbulb revolution that I am spreading all across my house..when I don’t have power to light the lightbulbs.
So, even though we have no electricity to power our coffee pot, or our community well, or the heater, or the fridge…or anything…we still have hope! Dirty, grimy, powerless, cold hope.
By now, the butter and cheese in our fridge is soft, so most of the perishables will have to be tossed out. Fortunately, we are well stocked in plumbers’ candles and bottled water, so we are prepared for lighting and hydration (**cough coffee cough**). We have one flush left in each toilet, so I have a feeling we are going to spend a wee bit of time after this with some Clorox tablets in a few of those.
I’m a little tired, and trying not to let my frustration get to me. We can survive just fine without power. Last night I cooked up some soup on our propane stove, and we ate bread and soup by candlelight in the dining room. We have a kettle and a pour-over for our coffee, so that is taken care of.
I’m just going to have to catch up on laundry and baths once this is over.
Fortunately, we have local coffeeshops that give us coffee and free wifi so I can send out meeting agendas that I was supposed to send out yesterday afternoon but I really thought we would get power back eventually. So, that didn’t happen. We also didn’t get power back during the night. Or in the morning. And even now, the power lines are all over the place and our neighborhood is “under investigation” by the utility company, and at this rate I’m kinda thinking we aren’t getting power back until Wednesday.
So…that is the story of forest life. A little gravel, a little fire, and we’re good to go.
this pug knows what’s goin’ on.
fiveintheforest 