Our Family Nameday

The Feast of St. David of Wales

Here is the Catholic history and a couple other versions of the history of the saint of the day -- and a Welsh custom or two can be found here and here.

It's a custom to wear a leek in one's hat or on one's lapel on this feast, in memory of the victory obtained by Welsh soldiers who obediently placed leeks in their helmets before battle in the day of King St. David.  (I haven't got a clue why... )  But, daffodils are also an emblem of the day, and might also be worn on one's lapel in celebration.  I'm thinking I'd go for the daffodil.

Welsh recipes for te bach (tea party, coffee klatsch, social gathering...) on St. David's Day.

Lots of things to do for St. David's Day, including a Welsh dragon to color.

Click and print to color (above).

St. David's Day Parade, Cardiff, Wales.

And, in celebration of the fact that both of our family surnames are of Welsh origin, I'm taking your leave to go spend some time with my son and daughter-in-law in Western Colorado.  (Because that's as good a reason as any, but also, because I'm going to go fetch a car back for son-number-two...)  I'll be back around mid-week.  Have a blessed St. David's Day!

Friday Quick-ish Takes

The Big Picture Edition

of the Nitty Gritty

1. Painting
We're taking advantage of Dan's being home to take care of some house projects.  He's already replaced the flooring and a bit of bad wall in the bathroom.  And, now that Paul's here, we're ramping up the construction zone.  We have a doorway in the kitchen that we built over last year -- or, gee... was it the year before last that we knocked out the wall between the living room and dining room and built the arch?  Anyway, we're (I should say they're, Paul and Dan are...) finishing the drywall to cover that old door in the kitchen and utilizing the new space by adding countertop and storage. The plan is to finally get new flooring in the kitchen, too...  but, first, everything needs a new coat of paint.

And that will be my job.  Mine and the girls.  The boys do the building; we do the finish work.  Now, painting.  I have a love/hate relationship with painting.  I dread the idea of it. In fact everything about the concept of painting a room strikes terror into my heart: the removal of all movable objects -- to be put directly underfoot somewhere else; the taping around windows; the plasticking over non-movable objects; and then, the distracting of small children from the painting zone -- the most daunting prospect of all! There's nothing a five-year-old likes better than "helping" with painting.  Bless 'em.

That said, though, I don't actually mind the process once I get into it. There is something cathartic about painting -- if one is left alone to the task, I mean.   And I love the results.  A fresh coat of paint makes everything new.  Like snow. Clean and pure. 

2.  And Speaking of Snow 

We've had it off and on for the last several days, adding up to a couple inches still on the ground.  It snows a little, then the temps rise to the forties and it melts.  Then it snows a little more.  And, with that comes the mud.  I think I'd rather it just snowed a good snow and stayed frozen until about April, then melted in one big mudslide.   Mopping up after the constant mud is making me crazy.  Though I'm getting sick of the white stuff, I'll take it over the alternative right now.

St. Therese the Little Flower loved the snow so I could do worse than preferring it, I guess -- though her preference was for spiritual housekeeping symbolism rather than practical housekeeping reality.  She prayed for it to snow on the day of her profession to symbolize her purity of intent and I imagine she was thrilled, but not surprised when God granted her wish.  Here's a poem written by St. Therese with the theme of snow included:

The Flower

All the earth with snow is covered,

Everywhere the white frosts reign;

Winter and his gloomy courtiers

Hold their court on earth again.

But for you has bloomed the Flower

Of the fields, Who comes to earth

From the fatherland of heaven,

Where eternal spring has birth.

Near the Rose of Christmas, Sister!

In the lowly grasses hide,

And be like the humble flowerets, --

Of heaven’s King the lowly bride!

3. On the Subject of Simplifying

Simplifying is a good thing.  No designers here, of course, though we're creative in our own way.  And we're collectors.  Compilers.  Not hoarders, but save-just-in-casers.  You just never know when you're going to need more baby clothes (especially if you're us), or when you're going to need that little scrap of insulation, or that old kitchen sink,  or that wimmididdle or that thingamobob or those thousands of books... Because of the huge numbers of things and people around here, we are (to oldest-son, Paul's chagrin) somewhat organizationally challenged and not always paragons of tidiness. But we do try.  In order to keep complete chaos from lapping at our doors, we have loosely scheduled weekly, monthly, and quarterly cleanup projects that help keep the house and property from falling totally apart -- or being buried.

For instance: Once a week, the children's rooms all get a good cleaning. Though I "wipe down" the downstairs (most used) bathroom every day, it gets a thorough cleaning once a week. The Fridge (note this is one of the venerable appliances that gets a capital letter...) gets a good clearing out about once a month, as does the small kitchen pantry and the laundry room. The cellar gets a going-over about once a quarter, as do the garages and outbuildings during the warm months when they tend to fall apart faster. And about once a year we clean out our gigantic quanset hut, the repository of all the flostam and jetsam that makes it out of the house but not to the dumpster.  This is the project we took on last week, in between the bathroom floor and the kitchen walls.

I am proud to announce that we have donated twenty garden-sized trashbags full of clothing to the needy -- and have made a dent in the mess in our Q. Hut in the process.  Gone are: 1) All miscellaneous baby and toddler clothes up to age four, except for the special or very nice ones we'll want to pass on to our grandbabies; 2) Anything that was duplicated exponentially, like size 12 boys' jeans; 3) All dated ("unfashionable") fashions like pearl-button cowboy shirts and cropped sweaters and anything that the girls curled their lip up at as soon as I pulled it out of a bin; 4)  All the old college and twenty-something clothes that I was saving -- I don't know why... Even if they ever fit again, I wouldn't wear them.

I had to close my eyes and bite my lip when I threw them in the trashbag, but it feels good to be getting a little lighter on our feet!

(Next we go through the book bins.  That's going to be harder!)

4.  Speaking of Lighter

I'm afraid I'm not getting any.  Lighter that is.  Even though you'd think I should be -- with it being Lent and all, I think it's harder to lose weight when I'm fasting than at any other time.  It's a mental thing.  I think I make up all the calories I elimate with the two light meals and lack of snacks by pigging out at the main meal every day.  It's a survival instinct, I think.  I'm more mentally hungry by that main meal than I am physically hungry, but instead of feeding the mental deficit with firm resolve, I fill my plate with second helpings.  =sigh= Working on it, though.  I'm thinking it's not really in the Lenten spirit to be pigging out at all.  (Man, but I'm a weak instrument.)

5.  Did I mention Instruments ?

Pianos to be specific.  Theresa got ahold of the first page of the Linus and Lucy theme and has it pretty much memorized, but she's only got the one page of music.  She downloaded it a few weeks ago from an online music store that only offered it as a teaser, and it made for a very successful promotional gimmick. Seriously. We really are going to have to buy her the whole book or she's going to drive us nuts.  Peanuts.

6. These are the best thing ever invented 

William and Gabriel, both, have the most miserable head colds right now -- and we are going through scads of tissue.  Wastebaskets full.  Dumpsters full.  It's amazing that so much snot can come out of two such small bodies.  These wonderfully soft and lotion-enhanced Puffs, though, are helping with the damage control on their raw little noses.  Thank goodness.  I don't know who thought to invent these things, but I bet it was a mother. 

7.  Getting Away From It All

From Linus and Lucy, snotty noses, paint cans, storage bins, muddy boots, and all.  Dan's so sweet, he's letting me be the one who gets to drive back over the mountains with Paul this coming Sunday, in order to bring back the car that son-number-two, Kevin, is buying from son-number-one, Paul's, wife, Nicole. Nicole's getting a new car (Yay for Nicole!) and her old car is a step-up from Kev's twenty year old Saab.  Under normal circumstances, Kevvy would probably make the trip over to pick up his new car, but he can't make the trip because, praise God, he's finally landed a job!  He's working for my sister's company, managing the front desk (I mean her company -- the company she works for, not one she owns...)   Anyway, it's only part time for starters, but hopefully he'll be able to work his way up in salary and time.  Anyway, anything is better than nothing.  But, because he can't make the trip, and because I have a very nice husband willing to hold down the fort at home, I get to have a mini-vacation in my favorite place with some of my favorite people -- my son and his wife. (Gosh, still sounds a little funny, that phrase "Paul's wife!")  While I'm on the Western Slope, I'll also get a chance to catch up with my awesome Naturopath and fit in a visit with the Sisters at St. Joseph's parish. God willing the weather lets us get over there before it snows us in! 

These last two pics taken near our old home on the Western Slope of Colorado.  The first outside of Delta, the second in the San Juan mountains, south of Ouray -- in the summer, of course.  But, look below; there's a winter shot, with a nice mugshot of my honey, the man who makes it all possible.  Thanks, Dan!

 

* Go visit Jennifer at Conversion Diaries for more Quick Take Friday posts!

(If you're running into these Quick Take Fridays on Thursday night, congratulate me on getting the jump on something!  Woohoo! There's hope for the hopeless.)

Wordless Wednesday

Guess who's black and who's white...

Oh, and look who's home for a visit!

(Wonderful Paul-- our firstborn son, carpenter and problem-solver extraordinaire -- is taking some time, leaving his beautiful bride at home for a week, to help us with some house projects.  Isn't he the sweetest?)

Life is like a mop

I remember when I was a kid, and my mom made meatloaf once a week... I could. not. wait. to grow up and get to make meatloaf.  Don't ask me why.  Maybe it was something about getting my hands into the mooshy mess of raw meat; it seemed like a forbidden and grown-up thing, I guess.  Or maybe I was just attracted to the grossness of it. I was a weird child.  But the years did pass and I did  grow up. And somewhere along the line I got initiated into the world of meatloaf making.  I don't actually remember the first time I got to knead slippery raw eggs into gooey  raw meat, but I'm sure it was a thrill.  I might even have gotten a kick out of it the first few times, even.  But, um, well... While I don't especially mind getting my hands into ground beef these days, I gotta say, it doesn't do much for me anymore. 

But now it's the same for Gabe and mopping that it was for me and meatloaf when I was his age.  There's something about getting  that ole string mop dripping wet and swirling it around the floor that just gets Gabey going....  He's been bugging me to let him "help"  with the mopping for quite some time. Please, Mommy.  He just had to do it.  He had to get his hands on that mop.  So today I let him have at it. I helped him fill the bucket, dip in the mop, and wring it out in the little wringer-thingy. I warned him not to slip, and gave him a demonstration run-through on one side of the living room.  Then I handed him the mop.  And he was after it.  Slow and careful at first...

 Then, confident and free-spirited, he took off, mopping like a ballroom dancer or an Olympic figure skater with a prop.  He had the time of his life out there.  Gabe finally had his hands on a mop.

That kind of joy should be bottled.

It really should, shouldn't it?  Why is it that we lose our excitement for little things like this?  Is it something we have to lose when we grow tall and burdened?  Heaven knows, with the trials that weigh down us grown-ups, we need the joy more than than the children do.  But where does it go?  Does it dissipate with our childish innocence? Does it have to be lost forever, replaced with our maturity and knowlege?  

Don't get me wrong, I'm not depressed or feeling low or anything.  I consider myself a generally happy person, in fact. My life is perty darn good.  I have a loving husband, and more than a quiver full of happy, healthy, wonderful children.  And those are just the big things.  Life is full of little happinesses that surprise me all the time when they land on my shoulder and blow in my ear.  I love me a good sunset.  A good meal.  Baby toes and dimpled elbows...  

But it's Lent.  And I guess because it's Lent I'm rebelling against a joyless state.  We're warned to smile through our penances if we want to gain merit from them.  But, jezelouise that's hard to do!  I'd like to be better about taking the little penances and chores and humdrumness of  the daily daily and find joy in it -- like I did when I was a kid. Like Gabe did today, turning a chore into fun. I want to be happy about mopping!  I want to get a kick out of making meatloaf!   And I want to smile through Lent.

Is that asking too much? 

St. Philip Neri, the laughing saint, pray for me!

(Are you laughing at me, St. Philip?)

Icicles

From the eaves.

Add two spontaneous and curious little boys.

And a hot wood stove.

Checking.

Checking.

About three and a half hours, start to finish.

("There's not very much water for all those icicles, is there, Mommy?")

Kid-made curriculum.

Makes My Monday.

Go see Cheryle for more Monday-makers!

First Sunday of Lent

On Temptation from Sermons of St. Francis deSales for the first Sunday of Lent.

Quotes of the Saints on Temptation

Do not grieve over the temptations you suffer. When the Lord intends to bestow a particular virtue on us, He often permits us first to be tempted by the opposite vice. Therefore, look upon every temptation as an invitation to grow in a particular virtue and a promise by God that you will be successful, if only you stand fast.

--St. Philip Neri

Virtue is nothing without the trial of temptation, for there is no conflict without an enemy, no victory without strife.

--Pope St. Leo the Great

The beginning of all temptation lies in a wavering mind and little trust in God, for as a rudderless ship is driven hither and yon by waves, so a careless and irresolute man is tempted in many ways. Fire tempers iron and temptation steels the just. Often we do not know what we can stand, but temptation shows us what we are.


Above all, we must be especially alert against the beginnings of temptation, for the enemy is more easily conquered if he is refused admittance to the mind and is met beyond the threshold when he knocks.
--St. Francis De Sales

Your first task is to be dissatisfied with yourself, fight sin, and transform yourself into something better. Your second task is to put up with the trials and temptations of this world that will be brought on by the change in your life and to persevere to the very end in the midst of these things.

--St. Augustine

Stop entertaining those vain fears. Remember it is not feeling which constitutes guilt but the consent to such feelings. Only the free will is capable of good or evil. But when the will sighs under the trial of the tempter and does not will what is presented to it, there is not only no fault but there is virtue.

--Padre Pio of Pietrelcina

Trials are nothing else but the forge that purifies the soul of all its imperfections.

--St Mary Magdalen de'Pazzi

When tempted, invoke your Angel. he is more eager to help you than you are to be helped! Ignore the devil and do not be afraid of him: He trembles and flees at the sight of your Guardian Angel.
--St. John Bosco

His Majesty [the Lord] . . . rewards great services with trials, and there can be no better reward, for out of trials springs love for God.
--St. Teresa of Avila

Mug in hand...

....but no coffee in the mug this morning.  It's Lent.  I'm drinking out of the Eyore cup and there is some chai tea in it.  And I like chai -- though calling it chai tea is redundant, because "chai" means "tea." (As my son, Kevin likes to remind me..) If you put enough cream and sugar in chai, though, it's delectable.  Like dessert.  But, this is Lent.  Do you suppose it's cheating, substituting something I really like for something I love, something I crave?  Hmmm... 

Don't get me wrong, I do like the tea.  But it is a penance not having my cuppa coffee in the morning. And the mid morning.  And the early afternoon.  But, I can certainly develop the same habit with tea -- again.  You see, I actually drank tea more than coffee for a spate of time a few years back.  During my victorian cottage days, tea was the thing.  For years, I dressed, decorated, thought, and drank in the Victorian motif.  It was a phase I went through and seem to have grown out of.. 

But, it may be that there's something good and fine about the tea drinking part of it that I need to rekindle in myself. I need to develop better method and order in my life and the act of making a proper pot of tea is all that.  It's a ritual: there's the boiling of the water in the kettle and the whistle calling me to come when it's ready; then the heating of the pot with hot water from the tap before pouring the hot water from the kettle over the tea (bags, ball, or leaves) in the pot; then there is the five minute steeping time...  All this before the pouring into prettily painted teacups, complete with accompanying acoutrements: saucers, matching creamer and sugar bowl, teaspoons, spoonrests, and the tea cozy that covers the pot to keep it warm -- such a feminine and nurturing thing, a tea cozy.  You never saw a coffee pot with a little "sweater" daintily stitched to fit over it.  The tea table.  It's all so ordered and so feminine. Look at those lovely ladies sipping tea in the painting up there.  They're so elegant, so charming. 

So not me.

In the passing of years, I have to admit -- I've come to identify more with these ladies:

The coffee klatsch crowd. 

Though it's a lovely and picturesque idea... you know, being dainty and demure, or or even sophisticated and chahming like the tea ladies pictured up top -- I've been through too much to identify with it anymore.  Or aspire to it, really.  There's no sense in pretense. Those smiling ladies in the coffee klatsch crowd with their aprons and styrophome cups are beautifully picturesque to me now -- and more realistic. I understand them and the work and sorrow and happiness and grittiness of their lives, while the refinement and mystique of "tea time," with its image of lace and dainty sipping and time for gentility is a little vague and foreign. It's not my daily life.  It's not in my geneology.

Though a good cup of tea is definitely right there, taste-wise, with a good cup of hot chocolate, it can't match the history of coffee in my bones for flavor enhancement.  The sound of grinding beans -- just the sound of the words "grinding beans" -- speaks to my American working class ethic.  The humid, earthy smell of coffee drifting through the house grabs you by the nose and says: "Come and get it!"  Tea whistles and whines to be taken care of, then after it steeps, the brewed aroma more-like simpers up and taps you on the shoulder, hoping you'll notice. .) 

Where tea is softspoken, coffee is loud.  

Where tea is sophisticated, coffee is homespun. 

Coffee is..

White ceramic cups at midwestern truckstops,

Styrophome cups sipped at a traffic light . 

It's wood and steel and cables and hardworking tabletops,

Grounds like earth, honest and forthright.

It's Saturday morning with eggs and bacon, 

Starting another pot when the last cup's taken; 

All-nighters studying for final exams,

Up before daylight, preps and plans. 

Made on the run,

Pot set for dawn,

For round eyes and high fives

And days full-drawn. 

Brash and bold, the big brother of tea,

 Coffee is for going.  Coffee is for me

A No Sky Friday

From two Fridays ago...

The fog comes

on little cat feet.

It sits looking

over harbor and city

on silent haunches 

and then moves on.

~Carl Sandburg

Our fog comes

on little cat feet, too.

It sits looking

over fields and fences

on silent haunches

and moves on.

To see Friday skies all over the country -- and even the world -- go see Crazy Working Mom, Tisha.

Giving Up...

Lots of little things here.  As a family, we're giving up the television (as soon as the Olympics are over), and we're giving up desserts and sweet snacks. The grown-ups here (all two of us) are following the traditional fast, eating only enough at two meals to equal the main meal and meat only once a day, except, of course, for Fridays, which are always meatless.

I'm giving up coffee (Saints preserve me!) and am committing to fifteen minutes of exercise every morning sometime before 10 am (because I really hate to exercise...).  Also, I'm trying to get in more spiritual reading (should be easy once the Olympics are over, I'm thinking.)  and I'm trying (trying, trying, trying) to practice  the habit -- the beautiful, charitable, lilting virtue -- of a kindly-modulated voice.

 Because

in short,

I yell too much, folks.

Aghghghg!

 I admit it.  And I hope this doesn't come as a shock or disappointment to anyone who doesn't know the real Lisa-at-home-warts-and-all, but I'm afraid I'm more a loud mama than a dulcet-toned one. =sigh= 

Hi.  My name is Lisa and I'm a yeller.

  It's a habit. A bad one.  And it's a hard one to break after twenty years now of raising my voice to:  1) be heard over the din, 2) break into the apparently sound-proof worlds of toddlers and teenagers, 3) make good and sure everyone knows when I'm frustrated irritated angry mad.

But, I'm giving it up for Lent.  Seems like a goodly goal, doesn't it.  But we're -- what?  two days into Lent now?  And I've only hollared at the children, um, let's see...  two three  five or six times?  =sighing again=

It's gonna take some time, I think.  I'm only just at the "catching-myself-after-the-fact" stage right now.  But I'm working on it.

Thing is I really handicapped myself, giving up coffee, too. It's going to be a challenge this Lent. But I'm not giving up.  It'll be worth it in the long run.  One step at a time.  One bitten tongue at a time.

Prayers needed here.  

mine. 

What are you doing for Lent?

Not Just What Makes My Monday...

Things That Make My Day, Any Day. 

I think it's important when the world is swirling around us with its maelstrom of disappointments, confusion, and worries to take stock of the little things that make us happy. It's a sanity-preserving thing to do.  Even though the big picture may seem pretty murky sometimes, we know that our Heavenly Father has the whole thing in the palm of His hand.  And that is the greatest comfort in the long run, but there's also immediate rest in the here and now.  We can always find an eye in the storm by focusing on the good things close to our eyes and within reach of our hands.  So, because we're in the midst of our own personal little squall here with Dan's job situation in turmoil -- in the middle of the bigger storm of a world that sometimes seems to be spinning out of control, and because Alena asked me, here is a list of:

The Things That Make Me Happy

* My friend, Arlene's, cinnamon rolls. 
We bought a dozen of them at the church bakesale yesterday...
and I've been so anxious for some small picture happiness
that I've eaten three of them. 
 And I don't regret a single calorie.
(No, I really don't.  I just told the kids: You snooze, you lose!)

* Same goes for the cheesecake Alena made for us last week. 

(I'm not divulging how much of that I ate...)

* Making up stories about my kitchen window collection of funny little chefs.  Makes me smile while I do the dishes...

* Finding a five dollar bill in a coat pocket. 

And buying a Starbux Venti Mocha with it -- Justifiable found-money spending, doncha know...

*The smell of coffee.

* Simply but perfectly made fajitas for lunch.

* Getting texts from my sons

 and their wives and girlfriends.

* The sound of my new reader, Anna, reading  Dr. Seuss to her little brothers.

* Owning the Mommy magic of being able

 to kiss a booboo and make it better.

* Tickling these:

* Listening to Theresa's fingers tickling these:

* Flowers. 

 Anywhere, anytime. 

 Someone else's or mine.

(These are the Blessed Mother's Valentines Day flowers.)

* BFFs

(Michelle and friend, Noelle)

*  Gabey's BFF

 (stuffed monkey, Lester)

* My BFF :

*When sweaters match eyes.

* Annual events we can count on.

  Like the annual Catholic Homeschool St. Valentine's Day Skate Rink Party. 

 Where we get the chance to meet up...

...and fall down with a kazillion Catholic homeschool buddies.

* Simple, but special celebrations at home.

Especially when Dan cooks.  At our annual sweethearts dinner every year, the boys cook for the girls.   The fare is usually seafood, since it is a well-known fact round these parts that I'm a fish-aholic.  (Gee, a lot of my happiness seems to revolve around food, doesn't it?)  And Dan makes a mean salmon dinner.  The menu this year: crackers and brie, crackers and salmon dip, crab rangoon, asparagus and hollandaise, grilled salmon.  Yum!

* A husband who not only cooks

but washes the dishes, too. 

*  Friends and family,

 far and near --

 their smiles, their hugs,

and their messages in my combox...

And, lots more, Alena.  I'll get back with you on this... But now you

have to tell me:

What makes you happy?

For more Makes My Monday happy thoughts, run over to Cheryl's!