Seven Quickish

We're less than a fifteen minute drive from three little towns that nestle in the Uncompahgre River valley on the western slope of Colorado.  Each of these towns is a total treat -- like corner grocery Mary Janes and blowpops to me after years of big city vending machine living.  I gotta tell ya, I am just plain silly-in-love with my little towns. They're still fairly slow and simple, still somewhat Norman Rockwellesque. I can very often go through life  pretending I'm living on the edge of the 1950s here -- until I pass the local high schools when school is getting out, or stumble upon a crowd at a festival or street fair...  See, I've found out, much to my annoyance, that the sepia-toned glasses I like to wear when I'm out and about in our picturesque valley can't really modify or hide the neon that occasionally shows up around here.

Didn't actually see this
particular girl...

 We went to the big community gathering in one of the towns  this evening, what amounts to a weekly street fair.  The good folks that run the place close off Main Street every Thursday and open it to street performers, muscians, and vendors.  If you are so inclined, you can have your face painted, or have feathers braided into your hair; if you want to stand in line forever, you can get  free hotdogs and the kids can bounce for free in a couple of those big balloon bouncy things that the children love. There's tons to do, tons to see.  I'm glad we went.  It was a great time!  But I couldn't get over all the neon hair.  Green, blue, pink.  Mostly on teenage girls --  and I have to give them credit, the hair color did usually coordinate with their outfits, but, oh, for goodness sakes...  Silly kids. Such a teenage thing to do...


Teenage. A kid thing to do.  Right?
 


Didn't actually see this one, either...

 So, what's with the ladies my age dying their hair these same bright colors?  I mean, seriously?  On a teenager it's a passing fad, something you might expect, something us old folks brush over remembering our grunge or punk or preppy days.  But, come on now....  Tie-dye pink and purple hair on a forty-something woman wearing bi-focals?  That just hits me square in the face every time. Really, ladies.  Y'all look ridiculous. 

 

 But, while I'm on subject of teenage vs. middle-age mom fads...  Why is it that my teenage daughter can throw her hair up in a half pony-tail, half bun thing, with hair sticking up haphazardly askew -- and it looks cool.  But when I inadvertently do the same thing, it looks messy?  Same reason pink neon hair would look stupid on me?

Soooo....  Now that I've let slip a peek at my latent and only somewhat hidden curmudgeonly side, I guess I can segway into how much I hate Harry Potter, right?

  Dan and I decided after reading the first H.P. book that there are libraries full of good reading material that have no chance of making confused connections in our children's brains regarding witchcraft, sorcery, and the occult -- and just didn't introduce the series to our children. 

When the subject has come up over the years, we've explained our objections, and the children have liked the logic and moved onto other books.  No biggie. I love that they read Jane Austen, James Herriot, Lucy Maud Montgomery and Owen Francis Dudley, instead. It hasn't been an issue for us, personally.  Still, it concerns me to see what an obsession the JK Rowling books have become for so many people. Frankly, I'm just really tired of all the press, all the hype, all the raves.  I'm glad this is the last movie. My hope is that the vibrations of the series will finally fade out like Where's Waldo? finally did.  The lead character of which, by the way, bears an eerie resemblence to Master Potter, I think.  Check it out:  All he needs is the hat and striped shirt...  No offence meant, lovers of H.P.  Please don't be mad at me.  Or put a hex on me or anything.  This is just my own personal opinion.










I love this song I just heard on Pandora.  Sounds a lot like Ingrid Michaelson, whose musical stylings I greatly admire....  But, I digress...   I like the lyrics to this song, as well,and I would like to dedicate it to Dan -- whose been gone all week at Boys' Camp. I kinda like that guy I married.  I miss his face!  (And Gabey's, too!  We'll all be glad to have them both home tonight!)

Indiana Jones meets James Bond.  Does it work?  Anyone seen Cowboys vs. Aliens yet?  What do you think?

Would you wear these?  They're supposed to be the next best thing to being barefoot:

They're called "Five Finger" shoes, and are made by Vibram.  They retail for around $45.  Remember the Croc craze?   Don't get me wrong: I do not mean to disparage crocs; a lot of people still love their crocs.  Unlovely as they are. (The crocs, not the people who love them...)  I wonder if  these crazy Five Fingers shoeless shoes would catch on like crocs if they weren't so pricey.  Do you suppose they'd allow these in classrooms?  Would you get funny stares everywhere you went in them? 

I'm thinking I'll stick with the original facsimile of these, myself, regardless.  Much cheaper. 



"Sit in reverie and watch the changing color of the waves
that break upon the idle seashore of the mind."
- Henry Wadsworth Longellow

We'll only be just getting this little guy back from his first trip with the Knights of the Altar to Boys' Camp before we'll lose him next week to another week long outing.  Because it's the summer of Gabriel's seventh birthday, he gets to follow in the footsteps of all his older siblings in the much-honored and fondly-remembered tradition of going to California to be spoiled by Grandma and Grandpa for a few days.  It's so important for each of the children to be singled out occasionally in ways like this -- especially when you are one of ten or eleven blessings -- and we're so grateful to Dan's parents for making these trips so special for each of the children.  Even though Gabriel just went to California with everyone else, and aready got to go to Disneyland and the beach -- it was important to his grandparents to make sure he had his seven-year old vacation.  Michelle will be accompanying Gabe as a kind of 16th birthday soiree, but also so she'll be able to guide Gabe through his first airplane ride -- which is part of the seventh summer ritual. Grandma and Grandpa are just the best!

But, get this. By the time Michelle and Gabe get home, it'll be only a week or so until Michelle heads back to school in Omaha -- and another week or so before all the rest of the children go back to school here, too.  Can you believe it's already August??  What has happened to the summer?? 

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Real Beauty

100 years old, Felma Schrimshire, was chosen on Monday as the 2011 Ms. Alabama Nursing Home Queen.  Born and raised in Covington County, AL, Ms. Schrimshire retired in Abdalusia, AL after a busy and well-traveled life.  In addition to having journeyed abroad, she has visited every U.S. state. As a young woman, she did a one-year stint in the army and retired in 1976 from a civil service job. A woman of faith and manners, Schrimshire taught Sunday school for 78 years. Among other reasons for winning the pageant, Ms. Schrimshire impressed with her poise and positive outlook on life. 

No, there was no bathing suit competition or talent show.

Felma didn't need either to show how beautiful she is.

Isn't she a doll?  She reminds me a lot of my dear grandmother.  But, my grandmother was even prettier.

Feast of St. Anne!

Prayer to St. Anne

Good St. Anne, you were especially favored by God to be the mother of the most holy Virgin Mary, the Mother of our Savior. By your power with your most pure daughter and with her divine Son, kindly obtain for us the grace and the favor we now seek. Please secure for us also forgiveness of our past sins, the strength to perform faithfully our daily duties and the help we need to persevere in the love of Jesus and Mary. Amen.

St. Anne is the patroness of:  cabinetmakers; carpenters; childless couples; equestrians; grandmothers; grandparents; homemakers; housewives; miners; mothers; pregnancy; pregnant women; women in labor and is patron of Brittany; Canada; France; Quebec; archdiocese of Detroit, Michigan; diocese of Norwich, Connecticut; Santa Ana Indian Pueblo; Taos, New Mexico, and against poverty


Sketch by Leonardo daVinci thought to have been of St. Anne.

 Sending up thoughts and prayers of love and honor to dear St. Anne today and many thanks for favour obtained through her intercession!

Simple Woman's Daybook

Outside my window…  Clouds are building and have finally moved in with some much needed shade and promise of rain. The wind is picking up now and the chimes are dingling.

I am thinking…  If it rains I'm going make some more ice tea and sit down with the girls in front of some good old girly black and white movie. (May do that even if it doesn't rain!)

I am thankful for…  small towns, caring friends, big families and Faith.

From the kitchen…  Making iced tea; even as we speak, Cathy is putting the kettle on.  I'm thinking  orange spice pekoe.  Maybe some scones later.  The big boys -- including Gabe this year! -- have left for Knights of the Altar Boys' Camp, and it's just me and the girls -- and William -- who tells us he is the man of the house and will be responsible for any bears that show up...  So, anyway, since William will eat anything with sugar, white flour, or strawberries, I expect we'll be making the most of our almost-boy-free zone and serving very feminine fare this week.  Plus ice cream.  Lots of ice cream.  (Sorry, boys.  You know, we really do have the better end of the deal here...)

I am wearing... a light blue crepe-cotton gypsy skirt and white tee.  Just changed out of black skirt and black gingham blouse that I wore to our friend's funeral this morning.  Barefoot and much more comfy now.

I am creating… school plans for Catherine's year.  Just ordered her books and we're both excited to get a peek at them.  Since she's a very reluctant math student, we're ditching Saxon this year and trying something new -- something a little more "Cathy friendly"...  meaning something that will appeal more to an artistic, no-nonsense tomboy homebody.  We'll let you know what we think.

I am going… nowhere until I have to.

I am reading… Prisoner of Love as my bedtime read plus occasionally relaxing with Doris Kearns Goodwin's Wait Till Next Year, and looking for the next Amelia mystery to dig into (Getting online to search out The Last Camel Died at Noon, number 6 in the series.)

I am hoping… Dan and Kevvy and the rest of the camp counsellors are on the ball about keeping little  Gabey well hydrated, and slathered in sun screen and away from cliffs and deep water and bears. Not to be a fussy worry-wart Mom or anything, but he is only seven... And I'm hoping they get all my pots get back to me.

I am hearing… the wind whistling through the windows, William making little boy noises as he plays with his blocks and his little guys on the floor behind me.

Around the house… It looks like we've been visited by a tornado.  We all hit the ground running this morning on our way to the funeral, loaded down with food and preparations for the reception afterward -- and the Boys' Camp Boys (being just Dan, Kevin, our good friend, Carlos, and Gabey this year) all had their sleeping bags and personal gear pulled out and packed at the last minute -- plus they were the transportation for most of the other camp necessities this year, from the food (which we'd stored since Saturday), pots, pans, utensils, and the canopy tent for Mass on the mountain.  I'm sure you can imagine the mess they left in their wake.  Bless their hearts.

One of my favorite things… Burt's Bees Honey and Orange Wax Thoroughly Therapeutic Body Lotion  Oh my goodness, does it smell good! Plus it's  an A+ moisturizer, nice and light -- and on sale right now at this site!  Plus you can get Burts' Bees coupons here.  (And, no, I'm not a paid representative; I just like the stuff! :)

A few plans for the rest of the week...  As little as I can get away with.  But, our teaching Sisters come  back tomorrow, so we'll wait to see what they need done and plan around that.

Some picture thoughts I 'm sharing...

Beach Feet:



Nicole treated Michelle for her first pedicure in honor of her 16th birthday. Our gal pals,
 Brenda and Emily, and I joined them.  My first pedicure, too!  But not my last!

That empty seat fourth from this end was mine.So much fun spending the afternoon with the girls, but a fruitful pleasure, too.  I didn't realize how much real good a pedicure can do!  My hard-working feet are baby-soft and callous free, my toenailsare properly trimmed, and,boy, did the massage feel good! 

The finished products.  All had hand-painted floral designs.
They were beautiful!

  These ones are mine.  See my flower? It's almost three weekssince I've had them done, and I'm so happy the pedi is still in goodshape.  It's going to feel like the official end of vacation whenthey chip and wear and I have to wipe the toenail slates clean...

No polish on these little tootsies!

Michelle, Emily and Brenda leaving footprints in the sand.

Good Times!

Sixth Sunday After Pentecost

Gospel today:  The Miracle of the Loaves and Fishes

I've been worrying and fretting a lot lately about my own incompetence. 

 No use making excuses -- it's just a fact that I've been dropping a lot of balls this past year or so, and feeling like I've not been the person I should be, or accomplishing the things I should accomplish.  It's embarassing how many things I just plain old forget. There are so many things I should know and don't know, so many skills I should have and don't have.   I'm very frustrated with what a poor instrument I am for God.  And no doubt I've not made matters better by fretting and worrying instead of digging in and fixing things.  But sometimes that's easier said than done.  Sometimes I think it's useless.   I'm useless.   Especially when I compare myself with the friend we lost this week, who was a human dynamo for God.

 But, God is good, and in the belief (which I firmly hold) that there are no accidents in the universe, I've been picking up some petals of hope and mercy He's been dropping around here lately.  They're in my pocket now.  Here --  Hang on a second:  I'll pull a couple out.

The other day, as I was explaining to myself why I had recently dropped ball x and ball z -- and worrying about how I could make the people who were tripping over these balls understand that I'm not as big a loser as I seem -- really I'm not -- William pulled out a book  for me to read him, one I literally haven't seen in a year.  It was Max Lucado's You Are Special. I remembered this being a neat little book, but it hadn't stood out much -- until I read it this time around, as a lesson to be learned -- maybe more for me than for my five year old. 

The story, in a nutshell, tells about a town of wooden puppets who are very judgmental of one another.  They put star stickers on their puppet neighbors who meet their approval and grey dots on those who don't.  One little puppet named Puncherello has no skills, talents, or beauty to recommend him, so he's covered with dots and very woebegone about it.  In the end he meets the carpenter who made him, where he learns that his maker knows and loves every knothole of him.  His maker explains to Puncherello that if he will spend more time in his maker's house, getting to know the him, he'll come to understand that it's only the assessment of his maker that matters, and the marks of others' opinions won't stick to him. 

This was a reminder I needed.  Everyone doesn't need to know the whole backstory, because God knows it.  Sometimes the chips just have to fall where they will -- and the dropped balls can roll and ricochet off them.  I'm running around to retrieve the balls, but God knows why I'm dropping them --- and He loves me anyway. 

Another little petal:  Today in Father G's sermon, he made reference to all of us being tools in God's toolbox.  He said that, on first inspection, you might look into that toolbox and say, "Ew.  These tools are a mess."  But we shouldn't criticize what we don't know about.  That steel-tooth rake that's missing its tines?  That's perfect for cleaning out the gutters.  That hammer with the broken handle?  A paperweight.  God can make use of all His tools, no matter how faulty they might look. 

He can take a basket of fish and a couple loaves of bread and feed thousands.  He can do anything. 

Lord, I know You'll make something of me, because I beg you to.  But I don't know what you're going to do with a string trimmer that only starts when you hit it on a tree...

"Mommy, you can't say 'Shoo!'"

Do you think the flies will listen to you?

They don't speak English."

~ William

Etiez-vous me cherchez?

Seven Quick Takes

1.  Having a bit of this lately:

2. For which reason I can completely associate with Simcha's post about the same -- which, if you've ever had insomnia, or been pregnant, or if you just like to laugh, you totally have to go read.  (So, go read -- but come back, ok?)

3. Are you back?  Good!  I'm glad to see you.  Wasn't that hysterical? Anyway, where was I?  Oh, yeah...  Because of the lack of zzzzz lately, I find myself careening wildly up and over and around a roller coaster of moods, between having a crazy urge to dance across the living room one minute and collapse on the couch, comatose, the next. Between pulling all my notebooks and files out and spreading them all over my bed to organize for the next school year and then discovering I only have enough brain juice to maybe fold washcloths.  Between gathering up all the littles and herding them up to Cascade Falls for an outing one minute and wondering what the heck I was thinking by the time we got there.  But, still, it was fun.  I survived the hike up.  The kids didn't fall off the cliff.  It was all good.  And we were certainly all better for the excursion.  Though it didn't help a lick to get me to sleep that night.  Here are some pics:



The bottom of Cascade Falls
The Little Falls



Anna



Gabey



William

Cathy

Michelle

Theresa

Heading up the trail to the Big Falls

Cascade Falls
The Big Falls
The Real Thing

Playing in the spray and the pools at the bottom

Climbing up

Way up.
(Yes, that's Dan with William way up there...)

Up to the cave.
Can you see the little cave?
Can you see them all in it?

There they are.
As seen by my camera's zoom.

But here they are in the real life, big picture.

And here they are after they came down.
Playing in the spray.
Soaking wet.

And safe back down again.
Thank-you, God.

4.  Which reminds me about worrying.  You know, like how mothers sometimes do.  And confidence. Like what kids are so full of. 

We keep seeing this tee shirt in the mountain gift shops around here:

Nails it, huh?  Not always, but sometimes, us old-timers (or, more correctly, I guess I should call myself a "middle ager" -- or something like that) actually do have hindsight that has, over time, wrapped around to foresight.  And, when you've been kicking around the old planet a little while and slipped off enough ledges and been blindsided by enough big waves, you come to know that you almost never fully understand the situation.  When this finally sinks in -- if you're lucky -- that which used to be confidence turns to caution.  And that which you feel for those who haven't figured it out yet is worry.  Just so you know, kids.  We have full confidence that we'll worry even more before it's all said and done.

5.  Which reminds me of intrepid William the Conqueror who

                       dared the sea to catch him...

And it did.

Sometimes we have to accept when something really is bigger than we are.

6.  Like getting old.  In my recent bi-polar-zombie-like state, especially in the wee hours of the morning, when I'm pondering things like how my hips creak when I roll over and how I don't think I used to always miss when I slapped at mosquitoes, I think of things like the aging process.  And how it really sucks.  (Yeah, that's slang, but perfectly descriptive slang even for an old timer like me.) And there's nothing I can do to stop it.  It's like the tide eroding the coast.  You can shore things up, you can decorate the edges with brightly colored umbrellas, you can haul away the seaweed... 

You can try to keep your feet dry and the sand out of your bathing suit...

But... Now where was I going with this?  Oh, yes...  on to the last quick take, number seven.

7.  Where I get serious and remember that, truly, we are all destined once to live and then -- the four final things.  A good friend died this week.  Someone I saw nearly every day.  This has never happened to me before, which, I realize makes me very innocent in the way of the world at this late date.  I loved my grandparents, but their deaths didn't impact my world in a practical way because we never saw them more than once a year.  The same is true of friends and other relatives that have passed away in my memory.  When our baby, Matthew, died in utero, I had known him in a real way for six and a half months as his mother, but he had not yet become part of my real daily life.  So, this death in very close proximity has been a rather hard one for me to bear.  Any day I attended Mass, I saw my friend.  And had coffee and conversation with her afterward.  I wish I had been there more often than I was.  For many reasons. 

 My friend was not a young woman, but she was vital, intelligent, and filled with energy; she had lived an extraordinary, purposeful, faith-filled life; she mothered sixteen children and loved many, many grandchildren; she literally built a faith community by her determination, hard work, and prayer; she was respected, admired, and loved -- dearly -- by everyone who was blessed to know her.  Her example and her faith has influenced me more than anyone's I have ever known, and because I only got to know her a few short years, I have to say I feel a little gypped that I couldn't benefit still more by her friendship and her counsel. I will miss her more than I think I even know yet.   But,  I have little doubt that if this dear soul is not already seeing the face of God, she will be very soon.  There's no greater joy than that, and so my sadness is really more for myself.  I'll miss her. 

The world has lost a remarkable, wonderful, dynamic woman.  Heaven has gained her.  God bless you, Jan.  Look down on me from where you are and nudge me when I need it.  And don't worry, we're all going to make sure that the flowers in the Grotto are weeded.

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