September days (soon to be no more)

This morning I observed a large bare patch of branches on the tree in our front yard. In years past we've had issues with tent caterpillars, so my first thought was, 'What a pity. They've struck again.' Then I noticed the gathering leaves underneath the tree and remembered that, hello, this was fall.

This is my third autumn down in Georgia. The first year, I was a newlywed. The second year, I was pregnant. Now I have a baby whose age in months I can still count on one hand, and I love the season more than ever. As we take our early morning walks together I am struck once again with the beauty of the world and the excitement of a crisp, clear autumn morning.

All right then, today's walk was only the second morning one I've taken this week and before that it's been ages since I hauled out the stroller and patrolled the neighbourhood, but it was so nice and refreshing that I've resolved to make a habit of it. Earlier this week I found myself imagining what this walk would be like in a few years when I can point things out to Jane, and it was simply fascinating to put myself in her place and visualise the future. I spent some time watching a caterpillar inch along the ground, and could just imagine talking through it with Jane, explaining why it crawls and what the deal is with coccoons and all that stuff. This parenting thing is going to be really fun!!

That is SO weird

Something must have been drastically wrong with my browser, because for the past two weeks or so I have not seen any updates on blogs. It's as if all my friends have fallen silent since about the second week in September. Suddenly all the blogs register scads of new posts that I've somehow missed, and I feel a bit like Rip Van Winkle as I scramble to catch up on current events. Rum...very rum.

Speaking of, Michael and I just recently discovered that for many years we had both been under the same childhood misconception. It took us both a long time to discover that the RIP on gravestones stood for Rest In Peace and not, as we had supposed for years on end, RIP [Van Winkle]. I had just always assumed that Rip Van Winkle must be a very famous fairy tale character, because it was always his tombstone that was featured whenever the topic came up.

The soul felt its worth

On Sunday, while we were driving to church, Michael began singing O Holy Night to Jane. (We've discovered that singing aloud soothes her during longish car rides.) I chimed in heartily at the familiar bits like 'Fall on your knees' and 'O night divine,' but got rather lost and wandery through the complicated parts. I was very much impressed at how well Michael knew it. (I always love admiring everything he does better than me.)

Me: How do you know it so well? It's way too complicated for me to remember.
Michael: We sang it quite a bit in chorale, so I've sung it often enough.
Me: A hymn should be simple and singable, with a basic memorable pattern like ABCB, as in I Sing The Mighty Power of God. O Holy Night is way too complex for a hymn.
Michael: Well, then, it must be a her.

New beginnings

Today is Michael's first day at his new job. He is working for InTouch Ministries, a wonderful ministry whose mission statement is a masterpiece of simplicity and believability: 'Our mission is to lead people worldwide into a growing relationship with Jesus Christ and to strengthen the local church.'

Because InTouch Ministries is connected to our church, I had always assumed it was just responsible for the editing and production of the Sunday sermon broadcasts, but it actually does so much more. As a company, it's a wonderful place to work in that it seems the perfect combination of ministry - meaning it's a good cause that one can whole-heartedly believe in - and professional - meaning that they believe in taking care of their employees. (In a way, it almost reminds me of HSLDA, down to the exploitation of local youngsters for volunteer work, thus employing good stewardship of resources and giving said youngsters a real thrill by serving them a free lunch.) =)

This new job process has happened incredibly quickly, but we are very excited at the new direction in which God is leading us - it has very clearly been entirely His doing, since we weren't out there career prospecting at all. It began with the Fiddler performances, when Michael was chatting with various fellow cast members about their jobs, and soon enough Michael was encouraged to submit his resume for a new position so freshly opened up that it wasn't even on the website. The interview process followed, and we had such fun one night running out to shop for a suit for his job interview; and the crowning touch (well, not quite the, but it was a great moment) came after he accepted the position and discovered that all employees receive a free lunch as served daily by the cafeteria (it sounds so weird to say that, but they actually call it a cafeteria; I have to keep catching myself from choking on it and wanting to say Dining Hall instead). So no more packing his lunches, which I've done fondly for the past two years. The end of an era indeed!

Tomorrow Jane and I are going to join him for lunch and explore the premises. I'm still learning new things about the ministry and the job perks every day, but I am so excited about this new adventure!

Ex libris

The other night Michael and I decided to be productive with our time and spend the evening going through boxes in the bonus room. These are random boxes stashed away there from various events, some left there since the move and some shoved up there to get them out of the way when guests have descended. We opened the first box and started unloading books. In the process of trying to determine whether these were books destined for giveaway or simply looking for space on the overflowing bookshelves, we started paging through the books. And, hang it all, rather than make any progress whatsoever toward de-cluttering our lives, we spent the whole evening on the floor of the bonus room reading our respective books.

I read Miss Manners' Complete Guide to Excruciatingly Correct Behavior, giggling repeatedly at the witticisms and reading occasional extracts aloud to Michael, who had heard of her but never read her writing ('She's kind of like a modern-day Jane Austen, without the British spelling'). Michael read a book on some particular WWII battle, occasionally pausing to show me interesting pictures or read some commentary. All in all, a thoroughly delightful evening. But not nearly as productive as intended.

You learn something new every day

Please tell me I'm not the last person on earth to discover that you are not supposed to put certain garments in the dryer, because the heat will damage the elastic. Hence the laughter in the scene from The Parent Trap (the original) when the dad discovers certain garments hanging over the shower rail, which I thought was simply due to the fact that dryers hadn't been invented yet.

Today is the most medium day of the year in terms of length, tying with spring equinox.

Music hath charms

To make room in the living room for the growing array of free Jane pictures which we haven't hung on the wall yet, I cleared off the top of the entertainment center, which necessitated moving the CD boombox elsewhere. What better place to put it than in Jane's room, where it can play Mozart music to her every night and nap time? The beauty of this plan is that the baby monitor sits on the dresser, too, which means that Mozart music is piped to us free and clear and we have the advantage of falling asleep to its soothing strains every night. Good for our intellects? You would think so.

The other night I made this delicious chicken and broccoli casserole, which someone brought to us after Jane was born and which I was eager to replicate. Michael took the first bite, as usual, and I waited anxiously for his good opinion.

Michael: The broccoli tastes a little crunchy. Did you cook it long enough?
Me: I should say so! The recipe said to cook it for four minutes, and I cooked it for ten!
Michael: Hmmm. Let me see the recipe. (Looks at recipe.) This is a microwave recipe! Didn't you take that casserole out of the oven?
Me: Yes, that made more sense.
Michael: It says to cook the broccoli four minutes in the microwave, which means that ten minutes in the oven wouldn't be enough. Why didn't you just follow the recipe?
Me: I didn't know you could bake things in the microwave. That seems too easy. I mean, if you really could bake things in the microwave, then why wouldn't we cook everything in the microwave? Why waste the electricity of a conventional oven at all?
Michael: Microwaves are a shortcut. Some things don't turn out the same way, but a lot of things do, and in a lot less time. Hence the recipe.
Me: Honestly, all I ever thought microwaves were good for was reheating leftovers and melting butter.
Michael: How about next time you want to not follow the recipe, you check with me first?

Apparently Mozart's music is not making me smart enough.

An afternoon at the mall

Yesterday Jane and I had the most delightful outing, making me realise all over again how glad I am to have a little girl and how much fun we shall have together. First we went to get her portrait taken at Picture People. Now I highly recommend, to everyone who has a child or two, signing up on Picture People's mailing list, because they are constantly coming out with free picture promotionals. At this point we have on display about four or five pictures of Jane, absolutely free. The disadvantage, of course, is that we have only the one copy on display, and had to exercise tremendous sales resistance not to spend a lot of money to buy the complete package, but at least one professional quality portrait is better than nothing! And I love dressing her up and taking her in to get her picture taken.

After the adorable little child smiled and laughed at the camera, we walked across the street and had lunch at Chik-fil-A. (Another place I highly recommend signing up on the mailing list for - we had a coupon for a free sandwich with purchase of drink.) While there I noticed a promotional on the cup for the Million Nugget Giveaway (www.millionnuggets.com), which has a lot of incomprehensible rules and prizes involving football, but which ends up giving away a coupon for a free Dr. Pepper if you enter to win. Not having a watch, I had no idea how quickly the time passed but I knew I had an hour to spend before the pictures were ready, so we wandered back through the mall, stopping at various stores to admire ourselves in the mirrors (Jane loves looking in the mirror, although I don't think it's dawned on her yet who that baby in the mirror actually is). It was such fun wandering through the mall with a happy little girl, who was cheerfully chewing away on her thumb and making soft gurgling noises while passers-by admired and complimented her, and contemplating all the bargains we were getting. Of course the pictures turned out beautifully, and it was sheer agony to choose just one for the free 10x13, but we made up our minds at last and came home well satisfied with our day.

I felt exactly like Merry and Pippin, having enjoyed a taste of the high and adventurous life but reveling in the simple pleasures of Old Toby and Stout. We don't last long on the heights, bless my buttons!

Diary of a good little girl, continued

Remind me again why I'm sitting in this roasting pan...













Why? Because Mama left it outside for two weeks in hopes that the rain would wash out the chicken grease and then she forgot about it and so you had to scrub it out and while you were drying it off you thought you would show her why roasting pans are useful to keep indoors? Oh, Papa, you are so funny! Did you hear that, Mama?








Very well, then, if you won't let me have my thumbs I shall suck on my lower lip.












Mmmmm...leather...

Diary of a good little girl

Look, Mama, no hands!













Let's pretend I'm pretending to talk on the telephone, instead of trying to eat it.












I like it when Papa makes funny faces at me!















Mama's funny faces aren't too bad, either.

Three is company

Recently we borrowed the complete LOTR DVD collection, the extended version with all the extras, from Benjamin and Amanda. I had seen Fellowship five times, Towers thrice, and Return once, which pretty much sums up my respective opinion of the deteriorating quality of the films, and had only seen the theatre cuts of them all. Michael had seen each one only once, also only the theatre cut. So we settled in for a long and enjoyable Fellowship spree last weekend.

Fellowship, it must be noted, is by far the best of the three and is a really good movie in its own right, being extremely well made as well as pretty faithful to the story overall. The extended version was even better than the original (unlike the new and updated Star Wars trilogy, re-released in 1997), and the only drawback to watching it was the mild distraction of constantly saying, 'That's new - that wasn't in the original, was it? No, wait, maybe it was...well, it was definitely in the book.' VERY well done and quite worth watching. The extras, of which there were hours and hours, were fascinating, and I am amazed by how much attention was given to every last little detail. No wonder the movie turned out so well - it simply reeks of quality. No cheap shots and shortcuts here. Or, as Aragorn himself would have said, 'My cuts, short or long, don't go wrong.'

Fast forward one weekend. So last night we watched Towers, which I didn't remember nearly as much of. In its defense, the extended version is much better than the original. And that's about all I can say for it. It is still much worse a movie than Fellowship, still diverges annoyingly from the plot, still casts Faramir as weak and Treebeard as unhelpful and Aragorn as having broken up with Arwen and being actually interested in Eowyn, and still has all the lame moments such as the horse-kissing scene, the indecent orc shot, and Gandalf's 'Hi-yo Silver!' moment at the end. Still, much of the stuff they cut out of the original version did clarify a lot of the plot and should have been left (even if it did make the movie exceed four hours), especially all the Merry and Pippin stuff, which was truly delightful. We have yet to watch any of the extras on this one, and I must say I want to see what the director has to say for himself, going off and making changes pell-mell to the story after spending so much time in the extras of Fellowship casting himself as this devoted Tolkien fan who holds the stories in such reverence and all that.

Where the sidewalk ends

With the price of gasoline so horrifically high these days and the burning holes in my pockets so notoriously absent, I have instituted a moratorium on frivolous gasoline burning, with car trips now being relegated to the strictly necessary. Thus my regular grocery run has been put off for more than a week as I've managed to make do with supplies from the pantry. There are two things we are constantly running out of, however, and that's bread and milk. I packed the last two slices of bread in Michael's lunch today and drank the last drop of milk this morning, leaving us potentially stranded, nutritionally speaking, for the weekend. Rather than break down and heigh-ho the car keys for anything less than an emergency would not be showing the proper Spartan spirit. So I decided that the friendly neighbourhood Kroger can't be more than a mile away, and hauled out the stroller. Jane and I set off on foot (and wheel).

It was a balmy sunny morning and the walk promised well. We headed merrily off toward the bend in the road and had gotten far enough away from home as to render any notion of turning back unthinkable when we ran up against a vintage Shel Silverstein situation. I mean to say that the sidewalk really ended, suddenly and abruptly, without any warning and no alternatives but the rugged grass or the side of the road. The street's not a highway by any means, but the speed limit must be all of 45, and the way cars - and even the occasional truck - whiz on past convinced me that this was no place for peds. There was virtually no shoulder, with maybe a foot of street between white stripe and gravel that fell off steeply toward the ditch, which certainly was not welcoming to strollers. I tried walking very quickly on the edge of the road, but the way oncoming traffic veered madly into the opposing lane convinced me that I was being a dashed nuisance to them. I eventually crossed the ditch and finished my journey to the store by cutting across front lawns (whose rough and rugged mountainous terrain should not be dignified by the term lawn), very likely trespassing but at least maintaining a steady distance of at least twenty feet from the road.

Shopping concluded, I embarked upon the return journey, only to notice that a gallon of milk and various other comestibles weighting down the storage space underneath the stroller (which was, quite literally, a strolling stroller, not a jogging or cross-country stroller) rendered the notion of traversing rough terrain laughable. Accordingly I laughed, but that did not address the issue at hand, so off we set on a spine-tingling sprint for home base. We started on the opposing side of the road, of course, looked both ways, and at the next lull in traffic hightailed it along the narrow strip of safety to the harbour of the next driveway, where we pulled off and paused, gasping for breath while cars whizzed past at dangerous speeds. And so it continued. Every time there was a momentary lull in traffic, we made a mad dash for the next driveway up, which in some cases were farther apart than you would expect from such a rapidly-developing area. At one point the next driveway seemed to recede like the fabled oasis in the desert while a huge truck loomed up over the brow of the next hill, and I felt exactly like the kid in the lame movie scene when the locomotive is steaming full tilt toward him as he runs in peril of his life to get off the railroad bridge in time. At last we got back to the place where the sidewalk inexplicably started up again, and it was all safe and happy from there.

That's our exercise for the day. Shall I be making the trip again? I think if I were a carefree young college student or something, short on money but high on dash and recklessness, I wouldn't even think twice before doing it again. But considering I have a baby to look out for--well, to quote Dr. Seuss,

By the light of the moon, by the light of a star
They walked all night, from near to far.
I would never walk. I would take a car.

Never say never

There are a lot of things I intended ('swore' is too strong a word) never to do, yet in the throes of parenting find myself doing after all. However, so far I have been able to document verifiably logical reasons for so doing:

-Talking to Baby in falsetto baby talk. I have always scoffed at this language as sounding patently silly, childish, and uneducated. Why set out to raise a person to talk like a baby?? No son por me! Yet when one has such a cute, cuddly, adorable wittle baby to play with and talk to, one finds out how absolutely irresistable speaking this language can be. The comfort, however, is an article I read recently that explains how infants have a highly developed sense of sound that is keenly attuned to the higher frequencies, such that speaking in a high register appeals very strongly to their senses. Aha! So we as mothers are only acting on the impulses God placed in our brains in order to wire us more securely to our babies!

-Writing or talking as if on behalf of my baby. Although this has been carried off with great success for Ben, Stuart, et al, I always assumed that if I tried it the effect would fall flat and sound far too kitschy and kutesy, like someone who (no offense to Barbara Bush, who is a fine and gracious lady) writes a memoir from the perspective of a dog! And yet, now that I actually have a baby of such demonstrable and obvious cleverness, it is imperative that her profound and wonderful thoughts be written down, as I'm sure she would do for herself if she could only reach the keyboard. Besides, it's really fun to imagine what she would say or think and try to project what her personality might be like.

-Taking nude pictures of my children. Disgraceful and tasteless, not to say causing great embarrassment in later life! However, I have discovered that with such a cute baby it was almost impossible not to take a couple of topless shots of her in her bath, and then from there it was a slippery slope as I rationalised away any potential angst by deciding that with a digital camera, I could always blur away any indiscreet angles later. See, as long as we don't print any immodest pictures, it doesn't count.

Good intentions and all that rot. But I beg you, stop me cold if you ever overhear me saying to my child, 'Because I'm the mother, that's why!' or 'You don't need to worry about it.'

Fan mail

Jane has gotten several pieces of mail in her lifetime, but despite all the attention remains calm and dignified in the midst of the frenzy. The first item was from the government acknowledging her existence, which was helpful. She got a couple of personal letters along with baby gifts from close friends, who despite their concern for her spiritual welfare chose not to go through her parents but bestow the loot directly on her. But by far the most overwhelming response has been from abroad, all from people who never met her and who simply can't stop showering her with tokens of their affection.

Today she received yet another package from Holland friends we met while over there in March, and it is so touching to see how excited they all are for her! Dutch little girl styles are distinctly different from American styles, but so very cute! And the sizing tags are hilarious and totally non-helpful - they consist of random numbers that have no relation to age, weight, or English sizes. It's pretty funny to get a package from Holland, because customs dictates that the identity and value of the item be declared on the postage, so of course we already know what's in the package and how much it cost before we even open it. So fun!

We are so blessed

I'm on the winning edge of a fight with a bad cold, feeling much better now that the worst is over and I can breathe lying down again. I spent much of last week feeling wretched, being glad that Jane was so easy to take care of and non-requiring of much energy/chasing down, trying not to sneeze or cough on her lest I transmit some deadly pneumococcal infection to her, and happily filling Michael in on the long-term life expectancies of cold virus germs trapped in moisture globules. ('So if I sneeze on the keyboard and you touch it any time within the next five weeks, you could still catch my cold, long after I've ceased being contagious!' Hence lots of warm soapy water.)

The long weekend has given us a bit of time to mull over the aftermath of the hurricane. At first we were concerned and solicitous. I remember last Wednesday talking very seriously about what we could do to help, and Michael stated that if he owned a boat, he'd take off work and go down there and pitch in. We talked about Dunkirk and the ability of the average citizen to pitch in and make things better, and how good deeds do not require an immediate organisation, even though massive-scale rescue endeavours like this really demand it: the first step is the good will and the industry of the participants. This is, or should be, the natural reaction to great human disasters like this.

After that I was just mad at the attitudes of the survivors and felt like, if all they were going to do was to hurl invectives and reproach at their would-be rescuers, then I'd gladly wash my hands of the whole sympathy business. Can you imagine treating a convoy of National Guardsmen - who are showing up to save your life - with contempt because they didn't get there sooner?? If that's how they respond to genuine and sincere attempts at help, then I'd just as soon leave the desperate people to their fate.

But, of course, that's not how God deals with us. He does not lightly declare that we've burned our bridges when we fail to show sufficient gratitude for His goodness. Plus there are a lot of innocent people trapped with the bad apples. Plus a bit more time of reflection convinces me that what I hear from New Orleans survivors is not vox populi, but the desperate attempts of the liberal media to manufacture a story where there is none. Apparently not so many people as they would like us to think are blaming Bush for the crisis.

Anyway we spent yesterday going through our closets and drawers and collecting all the extra clothes that we've been meaning to take to Goodwill eventually. We now have several bags to take to a local disaster relief center, which will distribute items directly to hurricane victims, many of whom have already begun arriving in our county. Somehow it's so much more motivating to give something that I know is going directly to help a basic need, like putting clothes on the back of someone who has lost everything, rather than to donate to a generic charity that will help raise money for a good cause.

And I can't help thinking how very blessed we are. We can easily spare so much stuff! Giving these bags away is a very small step toward helping those in need, and won't even feel painful, because we're not even going to miss this. How great of a sacrifice can this be? We could do so much more! But right now, on the very face of it, we have the opportunity to help people out through such a no-brainer as just giving away excess stuff, which was just cluttering up our lives anyway. (Note: a lot of it consisted of hand-me-downs that were given to us in the first place, and it's all nice, albeit used, stuff. I am not advocating giving away junk to charities just to feel good about yourself and to get rid of it.)

I don't think anyone would consider that we live a fancy lifestyle. I certainly don't feel that our living standard is by any means opulent or luxurious, and yet at times like these, when confronted with the image of destitute people who have literally nothing but the clothes on their backs, I realise just how good we really have it. Knowing that I have the ability to give from my abundance makes me feel wealthy. I always tend to be wary of giving money away, just because of the whole stewardship issue and the concern that the recipient may not use the money in the most prudent fashion; we make our charitable donations very cautiously and well-advisedly and only to organisations that we believe in and trust. But there is no reason not to give to basic needs. (Okay, I suppose someone could conceivably pawn or sell some of the clothing that we give and use it to buy drugs, but that's a long shot.) Food and clothing we all have, probably to spare, and these will always be needed and (I hope) appreciated.

Panic and pandemonium

As the news filters slowly back from New Orleans of the rampant devastation and danger, I am growing both more concerned for the innocent people caught up in the thick of all this and more irritated than ever at the people blaming President Bush for the disaster and his response to it, as if they expect him to wave a magic wand and make things better.

I've been reading the headlines all week, and it's still dawning on me just how bad the situation really is. First of all, we all breathed a sigh of relief on Monday when it appeared that the hurricane turned away and dropped to a Category 4, as it seemed that predictions of massive destruction were well overblown. It wasn't until the levees gave way that things got this dangerous, and the situation has been deteriorating since then. Again, it's been a gradual process, with the SOS's getting more and more desperate as the week wears on; it's understandably hard to absorb the scope of the aftermath if you're not there in the thick of things.

Second, since when is it the federal government's job to bail people out of bad situations? It's nice for disaster-stricken countries/communities that we have a generous federal government so willing to adopt the role of charitable organisation and divert billions of dollars in fixing problems, but that is not its job. It's a bonus - it's a gift - and the people of New Orleans should appreciate that instead of complaining that the federal and local governments are letting them down. The city had back-up plans - the Superdome and other relief shelters - which were touted up-front as being last resort contingencies, because of course the first order of business would have been for people to take responsibility for themselves and get out of there instead of expecting the city to make all their travel plans for them. Now conditions are worsening and it's somehow the government's fault for not coordinating these massive relief endeavors on a grander scale?

We saw this hurricane coming good and well. People were warned and then ordered all last week to evacuate, and I do recall reading articles over the weekend interviewing inhabitants sitting on their front porches who had decided to simply weather things out and take their chances. That's their prerogative, but are these the people now roaming the streets with guns, cracking open with forklifts the buildings left by responsible people who had the judgment to leave when the leaving was good? I know this sounds harsh, and I'm sure it takes guts to pack up what you can in a car and drive off, leaving everything behind and not knowing whether you'll have anything to return to or even if you'll be coming back next week when it's all blown over, the laughingstock of the neighborhood because it wasn't so bad as predicted. (I can only assume that's why people didn't leave last week, well before the interstates clogged up - because they refused to believe it would really get this bad.)

What's alarming to me is how easily the bad side of human nature is taking over. Crises like these always call out the best and the worst in people, but it seems as if usually the good tends to prevail with a bit more victory. On the Titanic, you had your occasional cads trying to squeeze onto a lifeboat with the women and children, but the decent men in the crowd were always plentiful enough to keep them in line. Now utter and complete anarchy prevails, and the mobs seems to have no good influences from any quarter. Is this a reflection on our times or simply on the character of the city?

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Michael called me on Wednesday to let me know that rumours of gas shortages had hit the airwaves and to advise me to get gas if I were low. So I ran out to the nearest gas station, figuring it could never hurt to take precautions. On the way there I noted a high volume of traffic, and thought to myself, 'Ha, ha, wouldn't it be funny if all these people were headed to the gas station in a panic to buy gas?' Ha, ha, indeed. The lines were incredible and the parking lot was overflowing; the price was ridiculously higher than it had been the day before, and the radio stations were all blaring the news of the gas shortages as if it were a real live crisis. I still had half a tank, so I turned right around and came home. The governor is assuring us that the pipelines will be back up by the weekend, so I shall simply conserve gasoline, as he admonishes us all to do, and not hoard.

When I visited Atlanta three years ago, Catherine told me how it was practically a state pastime to panic every time there was a winter storm brewing; so much as hint at possible snowfall and the news channels all carried reports on the lines forming in grocery stores to get bread and milk. Apparently it's a Georgia tradition to panic, lemming-like, early and often. To my knowledge a few individual gas stations have run out, but I'm sure that's due to the panic and not to any actual shortage. It's exactly like a run on the bank - and I, for one, refuse to participate in it. I may find myself stranded at home next week, but at least I'm not wasting any money on high-priced gasoline this week!

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I've been playing 'Down At The Twist And Shout' for Jane several times this week. It's our first attempt at unit studies.