Friday, September 4, 2015

to market , to market



"Life is certainly different here- got to Trader Joe's."



Daughter's text from the subway in NY and going to one of the busiest Trader Joe's in the nation but today is the friday of a long weekend so it was less crowded.
Sometimes the line to get in is wrapped around the building!



 I went too today -  here at home. 
Drove in , parked, shopped and left. No lines.  

the day



It has seemed like Friday all day on this Thursday. 
Empty nest is quiet. BUT I do text and talk and email
my college daughter. Here are a few things I have been 
doing:

- I bought each of these handmade mugs for 1.00.
Plus the fabric basket which is hiding in the dark behind
the peachers. It was 1.50. ( thrift store finds) Plus an art book on Durer who I am going to teach this year. The mug on it's side has a flower right at the bottom of the handle. So cute. 



- Getting ready for classes. All sorts of classes this year 
and it is keeping me on my toes for planning. Once it 
all gets on the road, I will be fine. 

- Reading Harper Lee's new book GO SET A WATCHMAN to my friend who runs this lending library: Living Books Library.
Or if you are interested in a great series of videos , watch 
here

- books on the stack:




Wednesday, September 2, 2015

today: September 2


September 2

WENDELL BERRY

Friday, August 28, 2015

poem



I adore Rebecca Reynold's poetry and writing at her blog "Thistle and Toad." She also writes for The Rabbit Room 
and The Story Warren

Her oldest went to college and as you know my youngest went to college. 
She has poetry oozing  and I imagine her brain to be full of images and words  every morning. 
Here is her latest poem and you must  listen here. 

I have listened about a dozen times. I love her voice and the way she knows how to say what the poem says.  Her heart is overflowing. My tears did. 





"Grace is Gossamer"
 
I used to whisper in my oldest son's ear at night,
"Love Jesus," and now I wish I hadn't done that
because it's a weighty thing to say;
it's too weighty.
 
It's the weight of a first born mother telling her firstborn son to worship, as if getting to know the Almighty were as simple to follow
as a recipe for chicken noodle soup.
 
Two teaspoons of unsalted butter.
Three stalks of chopped celery.
Two diced carrots.
Make them sweat, Son, before you add the broth.
 
It can't be done that way.
 
It's not that I'm a Calvinist, see,
but I've always done wrong by trying to make
my heart the Divinity chaser,
trying to make my love worth love,
trying to slap mud on rudimentary, homemade cathedrals woven from split reeds I found in the woods.
I stay a little bit nervous
about bears.
 
And I'm not sure where that happened,
maybe in some Baptist church way back, way back,
when some preacher was telling me that I might miss out on glory.
Or maybe keeping your foot on the accelerator is just a natural casualty of being a first born of a first born.
 
But no wonder my kind has always stood out in a field sulking
while some renegade kid comes home from a party
to a party --
because my kind digs holes, digs holes, digs holes
and expects heaven to come up wherever we plant it.
 
Sins of a parent go down three generations they say.
Trauma gets in the DNA and changes a person
inside out, and probably bad theology does the same.
 
Lord, forgive me, for I tried to push the same gravity on my children
that I carried inside myself
when Your yoke is easy
and Your burden is light.
 
Grace is gossamer,
sunlight caught in a spider's web,
it is lake water thrown from the tail of a carp,
and that is so hard for me to believe, no matter what you say.
 
I wish I had taken more deep breaths,
taken more cool baths.
just reveled,
just waited,
just watched glory before trying to make anything of it at all but wonder,
just whispered, "You are loved,
and Honey, that's the sweetest thing in all the world."
 

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

back and tired

It is hard to let a fledgling go. 
She is there.
We are here. 

Our cat sat outside her room waiting for her to return.

Her backyard and a page from the journal she made me which became my HOPE journal.

  • comments




  • Thursday, August 20, 2015

    Take off



    Mixed feelings: scared and excited

    This is Emma and I last September on Cape Cod ( thus the sweatshirt tied around me as it got hot) and we are in Plymouth. We saw those chairs in front of a lovely bed and breakfast and my sister took the photo. Sunglasses were courtesy of my nephew's wedding. 

    Going to miss my girl. Period. 

    Tuesday, August 18, 2015

    book review: Richard John Newhaus

    Richard John Neuhaus by Randy Boyagoda

    Here is one of the most influential men in the 20th century. I wanted to read about him because he founded the journal  "First Things". This is a full biography and shows his  calling and vocation. In his childhood, he imitating his father's preaching but was not allowed to step into serving communion. Not even in play. What is most interesting is reading about a Lutheran becoming a Catholic.  In 1961, he began his ministry in Brooklyn at a poverty-stricken church. He revitalized the church with his powerful sermons in a time of great civil unrest.In  1990, when starting "First Things", he was  then ordained a Catholic priest. He stood against abortion, euthanasia, and same-sex marriage.  This Canadian born, son of a Lutheran pastor, had a voice to examine the recent past. His death six years ago still leaves much to examine in his life.  This is quite a lengthy book ( 480 pages with footnotes)  and so was this man's life. If you want to know more about a preacher who brought Christianity into the public square, get to know Richard John Newhaus by Randy Boyagoda.

     "I received this book from Blogging for Books for this review."