Healthy Homes

7 Tipping Points that Saved the World

2011-12-29T07:48:00.000-08:00

One thing I love about homeschooling my children is that it supplements my own education - especially in history.

I appreciated how much history I had learned when I read 7 Tipping Points That Saved the World by Chris and Ted Stewart.

Their focus is on freedom and individual liberties. They make a good argument in the introduction that we live in a very unique time in history in which liberty is the norm. The purpose of their book is to point out specific moments in history which could have destroyed the foundations of our liberties if the outcome had been different.

The cool thing, for me, is that I was familiar with each of the events - not from my own schooling, but from teaching my children at home. Even if you're not familiar with the historical events, you will enjoy this book.

This is not a dry, technical history book. The Stewarts incorporate narratives, bringing readers to the time and place they are discussing in that chapter. Then they include relevant historical information, and make their claim that if the outcome had been different, the world as we know it would not have been.

I'm looking forward to reading their first book, Seven Miracles That Saved America.

Once in Royal David's City

2011-12-21T13:17:00.000-08:00

Once in Royal David's City

Cecil F. Alexander

Once in Royal David's City

Stood a lowly cattle shed

Where a mother laid her baby

In a manger for His bed;

Mary was that mother mild,

Jesus Christ her little child.

He came down to earth from heaven

Who is God and Lord of all,

And His shelter was a stable,

And His cradle was a stall;

With the poor, and mean, and lowly,

Lived on earth our Savior holy.

And through all His wondrous childhood

He would honor and obey,

Love and watch the lowly maiden

In whose gentle arms He lay:

Christian children all must be

Mild, obedient, good as He.

And our eyes at last shall see Him,

Through His own redeeming love;

For that child so dear and gentle

Is our Lord in heav'n above,

And He leads His children on

To the place where He is gone.

Not in that poor lowly stable,

With the oxen standing by,

We shall see Him, but in heaven,

Set at God's right hand on high;

When like stars His children crowned

All in white shall wait around.

Merry Christmas!

Sir Winter

2011-12-07T05:03:00.001-08:00

When I think of winter, this is what I imagine: the aftermath of the Blizzard of 2011 last February.

Thankfully, we've had no such snow this winter, and I'm not sure we're expecting anything like this (much to my children's chagrin). They would love winter to be snow this deep every day.

Quite frankly, if it weren't for the digging out part, I would too. Because then my children would be outside every day, playing in the snow. Playing outside in the cold, without snow, does not hold the same charm or excitement.

So far this year, we've been fortunate. We've had relatively mild weather and only a dusting of snow (which does not make for dramatic pictures). But this week it's starting to get colder and colder.

Brr!

Sir Winter

Jean Kenward

I heard Sir Winter coming,

He crept out of his bed

and rubbed his thin and freezing hands:

'I'll soon be up!' he said.

'I'll shudder at the keyhole

and rattle at the door,

I'll strip the trees of all their leaves

and strew them on the floor.

'I'll harden every puddle

that Autumn thinks is his -

I'll lay a sparkling quilt of snow

on everything that is!

'I'll bring a load of darkness

as large as any coal,

and drive my husky dogs across

the world, from pole to pole.

'Oho! How you will shiver!'

- And then I heard him say;

'But in the middle of it all

I'll give you

CHRISTMAS DAY!'

Yay for Christmas! As the radio is playing right now, "It's the most wonderful time of the year!"

If you're lucky enough...

2011-12-05T14:14:00.001-08:00

... to live near a Trader Joe's, or know someone who does...

And if you love peppermint tea...

I highly recommend you high-tail it to your nearest store,

or politely beg your friend or relative,

for Trader Joe's Candy Cane Green Tea.

I read about the Candy Cane Green Tea in the holiday Fearless Flyer, and thought, "Well, if it tastes half as good as they say it does, then I'll probably enjoy it."

Oh. my. word.

Best peppermint tea I've ever tasted. Hands down. Sending my dear husband for another box before they're gone (maybe the rest of the store's inventory?).

And don't ask for some when you come visit. I'm not sharing mine.

(Unless you're Dawn Swendsen. Cause she's having twins, so she's special.)

Breaking Stalin's Nose

2011-12-01T14:21:00.001-08:00

Interesting title, isn't it? Breaking Stalin's Nose by Eugene Yelchin is a children's book, written from a young boy's perspective during the time of Stalin's rule of the USSR.

Sasha Zaichik is about to join the Young Pioneers - and he cannot wait! He writes a letter to Stalin as he waits for his father to come home from work. His father works in State Security, and Sasha is proud of the work he does, rooting out traitors from their country.

Suddenly, his world changes completely. The Secret Service comes and arrests his father. Sasha is shocked, and he immediately tries to go see Stalin, the great leader. Sasha is sure Stalin would realize a big mistake has been made, and would immediately release his father.

However, things do not go as planned, and events go from bad to worse when Sasha makes his way to school the next day.

Yelchin does a masterful job of slowly exposing Sasha's naivete' throughout the course of the book - and exposing the sinister underpinnings of the system Sasha trusted explicitly. Yelchin grew up in the USSR, and used his own experiences to write this book - which he explains in an afterword.

Because of the disturbing nature of peer pressure, group-think, and manipulation, children should not read this book without an adult. (Which is why I'm reviewing it here instead of on my kid's book review blog.) However, with an adult's guidance and discussion, this book can be a powerful tool in helping children (and adults) understand how people survive in hostile dictatorships.

Chocolate

2011-11-30T12:59:00.001-08:00

I found this wonderful poetry book at my library last week. I can't tell you how hard it is to find poetry books I like (really, really hard).

It's called she walks in beauty: A Woman's Journey Through Poems by Caroline Kennedy. I have realized that I enjoy anthologies more than a single poet. And I tend to prefer older poems to newer ones. (The ones I've read are rather depressing!)

I can't say I've read every poem in Kennedy's book, but I've found a bunch I like to share for Poetry Wednesday - and that in and of itself is an accomplishment.

I had found a few I liked, when I came across this poem - which I loved. You who know me know why. And it has a lot to do with the picture up there.

So, enjoy the poem. I'm going to dig around and find something in my stash to satisfy my craving.

And if you're craving more poems, check out Poetry Wednesday.

Chocolate

Rita Dove

Velvet fruit, exquisite square

I hold up to sniff

between finger and thumb -

how you numb me

With your rich attentions!

If I don't eat you quickly,

you'll melt in my palm.

Pleasure seeker, if I let you

you'd liquefy everywhere.

Knotted smoke, dark punch

of earth and night and leaf,

for a taste of you

any woman would gladly

crumble to ruin.

Enough chatter: I am ready

to fall in love!

By the way - if you know of a really excellent Christmas poetry book, let me know!

Lineage

2011-11-23T09:46:00.001-08:00

Grandpa & Grandma Sabourin

Grandma (Nyberg) Nelson (and Anna)

Grandma Marce

Grandpa & Grandma Cotterman

(with all their great-grandkids)

We will be celebrating Thanksgiving tomorrow with Grandma Nelson and Grandpa Roy. The family who can come will converge on Rockford - Fairhaven Retirement Community - where Grandma & Roy live. Not everyone will be able to be there, but I think we'll be almost 30 for dinner tomorrow - including one of my mom's cousins and family.

I'm so incredibly thankful for my family. I know I am blessed - not only to be a part of my family, but also to marry into my husband's family. Even though we cannot see them all tomorrow, all are in our thoughts.

I admire all of our grandparents so much. So many times I've thought of Grandma Marce reading to Uncle Junior as she washed the dishes - remembering to be thankful I have the opportunity to cuddle on the couch with my children because the dishwasher is running in the kitchen.

This Poetry Wednesday, I dedicate this poem to my grandmothers especially - all four of them. Even if they didn't all work the ground as this poem suggests, they all worked very hard and raised wonderful children.

Lineage

Margaret Walker

My grandmothers were strong.

They followed the plows and bent to toil.

The moved through fields sowing seed.

They touched earth and grain grew.

They were full of sturdiness and singing.

My grandmothers were strong.

My grandmothers are full of memories

Smelling of soap and onions and wet clay

With veins rolling roughly over quick hands

They have many cleans words to say.

My grandmothers were strong.

Why am I not as they?

The Dressmaker of Khair Khana

2011-11-22T11:33:00.001-08:00

As I was browsing the shelf of new books at my library, several books caught my eye - and this was one of them. The Dressmaker of Khair Khana by Gayle Tzemach Lemmon tells the story of Kamila Sidiqi, an Afgani woman who came of age just as the Taliban took over Afganistan.

Kamila had just graduated from a two-year teacher training course, despite of her country's civil war. She was looking forward to teaching at one of the many schools in Kabul, but soon after her graduation, the Taliban moved into the city, closing schools and forcing women indoors.

Kamila's story is one of courage, strength, and taking reasonable risks - all while trying to live within the rules imposed upon her as a woman. Because of past political affiliations, Kamila's parents had to leave Kabul for the northern part of the country. The journey was too dangerous to take all their children with them, so they left Kamila in charge of her younger siblings.

The responsibility became heavy as the streets were too dangerous for the young women to venture out. Kamila and her sisters became bored and restless, and Kamila became anxious as she watched their reserves and savings dwindle.

Kamila searched for a solution, trying several ideas before deciding to start making dresses. She risked the marketplace, found a buyer, and started a business which kept her and her sisters busy at home. Over time, she hired more help, and then started an apprenticeship school for younger girls.

Kamila's story is remarkable. Her drive, energy and determination are admirable. But I especially admire her desire, and ability, to start a business within the severe restrictions imposed upon her. Instead of fighting, and losing, a battle with the Taliban, Kamila worked hard to quietly pursue her dream - and she succeeded.

Habits of the Hippopotamus

2011-11-09T08:43:00.000-08:00

I was going to share a somber poem, and write a book review of the latest book I've finished.

Then I looked outside. Oh, such somber, yucky weather. Amazingly, the sun peaked through the clouds at just the right time to illumine the books I was reading to the older two. We paused and drank in its delicious beauty. Then it was gone.

So, instead of a book review, with it's accompanying serious poem, I present to you this delightful poem which I read to the younger two this morning. They enjoyed it, but could not fully appreciate its fun plays on the word 'hippopotamus.' I hope you will!

Habits of the Hippopotamus

Arthur Gutterman

The hippopotamus is strong

And huge of head and broad of bustle;

The limbs on which he rolls along

Are big with hippopotomuscle.

He does not greatly care for sweets

Like ice cream, apple pie, or custard,

But takes to flavor what he eats

A little hippopotomustard.

The hippopotamus is true

To all his principles, and just;

He always tries his best to do

The things one hippopotomust.

He never rides in trucks or trams,

In taxicabs or omnibuses,

And so keeps out of traffic jams

And other hippopotomusses.

Eletelephony

2011-11-02T09:13:00.000-07:00

I had my poem all picked out for Poetry Wednesday last Wednesday. Honestly, I did!

Then our day got CRAZY. We read our schoolbooks, I dropped the younger two a friend's house, took the older two to a corn maze, went to the library to write my lecture for Bible study, picked up the older two, picked up the younger two, home in time for Anna to be picked up for AWANA, dinner, clean up, kids to bed, run out to pick up Anna, get home and COLLAPSE.

So, no Poetry Wednesday last week.

This week, I'm in my sweats. At home for most of the day. School books read. Dinner planned. A couple of errands to run later. Time to breathe, and time for a poem.

We read this poem last week in school. It's a lot of fun, and rather difficult to read aloud if you go too quickly. Enjoy!

Eletelphony

Laura E. Richards

Once there was an elephant

Who tried to use the telephant -

No! No! I mean an elephone

Who tried to use the telephone -

(Dear me! I'm not certain quite

That even now I've got it right.)

Howe'er it was, he got his trunk

Entangled in the telephunk;

The more he tried to get it free,

The louder buzzed to telephee -

(I fear I'd better drop the song

Of elephop and telephong!)

Twins

2011-10-19T13:20:00.000-07:00

I mentioned last week I've been feeling particularly uninspired this fall when it comes to poetry. I even checked out a poetry book from the library last night - but I didn't particularly like his poems. Rather depressing.

This morning, I read Wynken, Blynken and Nod to my younger two children in school. I decided to glance at the other poems we have read and found Twins.

This poem made the three of us laugh when we read it. When I glanced at it again this morning, I was reminded of my friend Beth, whose Wonder Twins have just turned four.

My grandmother was a twin, I have twin boy cousins, and I lived in constant fear with each of my pregnancies that I would have twins. A few months ago, my friend Dawn and I were sitting at her kitchen table, discussing her newly-discovered pregnancy.

"I'm afraid I'll have twins," she told me.

"Don't worry," I said. "I had that fear as well. I'm sure it'll just be one baby in there."

I spoke too soon. Way too soon. Dawn and her husband are not only expecting twins, but they found out last week, they're expecting twin boys.

I think they should name one of them John. Don't you?

Twins

Henry S. Leigh

In form and feature, face and limb,

I grew so like my brother,

That folks got taking me for him,

And each for one another.

It puzzled all our kith and kin,

It reached an awful pitch;

For one of us was born a twin,

Yet not a soul knew which.

One day (to make the matter worse),

Before our names were fixed,

As we were being washed by the nurse

We got completely mixed;

And thus, you see, by Fate's decree,

(Or rather, nurse's whim),

My brother John got christened me,

And I got christened him.

The fatal likeness even dogged

My footsteps when at school,

And I was always getting flogged,

For John turned out a fool.

I put this question hopelessly

To every one I knew -

What would you do, if you were me,

To prove that you were you?

Our close resemblance turned the tide

Of my domestic life;

For somehow my intended bride

Became my brother's wife,

In short, year after year the same

Absurd mistakes went on;

And when I died - the neighbors came

And buried brother John!

Poetry Wednesday

Battle Hymn of the Republic

2011-10-12T18:23:00.000-07:00

I've been struggling to find poems this fall. I had a few earlier - in August and September, but since then this well has dried up.

I had been counting on the poetry books from our homeschool curriculum. Unfortunately, my older two were scheduled to repeat a book (second time for them, third time for me. I love reading, but that was too much), and my younger two have a rather small poetry book, from which nothing has stood out so far.

One thing we are doing is singing our way through Wee Sing America - a collection of songs tied to our nation's history.

This morning, it struck me:

Songs are poetry put to music! (Yes, I knew this. But I was excited to remember it.)

I took a few pictures of my younger two, belting their hearts out, singing this week's song The Battle Hymn of the Republic. They were singing so well, I also took some video.

They were so amazed and excited to find the song in the old church hymnals I have on the shelf for singing Christmas carols, they pulled them out this week to use instead of the tiny little Wee Sing America songbook. (I'm not sure they understand that you would find a hymn in a hymnal. They're of that generation, you know.)

I hope you enjoy their rendition of this Civil War era song.

The Battle Hymn of the Republic

Julia Ward Howe
(historical note: Howe heard the Union soldiers singing "John Brown's Body," a popular Union song. The melody stayed with her and during the night she got up and wrote the words of this song.)

Mine eyes have seen the glory
Of the coming of the Lord;
He has trampled out the vintage
Where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loos'd the fateful lightning
Of His terrible swift sword,
His truth is marching on.

(my favorite verse is the last:)
In the beauty of the lillies
Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in his bosom
That transfigures you and me;
As He died to make men holy
Let us die to make men free,*
While God is marching on.

(*newer hymnals say "Let us live to make men free", but it's not historically accurate.)

Poetry Wednesday

Look at that!

2011-10-04T14:02:00.000-07:00

This week has been bee-u-ti-ful! The sun is out, the weather is warmer - it's been lovely.

It almost makes me forget how downright cold it was for the previous three weeks. And how it rained for nearly eight days straight.

Almost.

But, there's a silver lining to every cloud, isn't there? Last Thursday, when I despaired of ever seeing the sun again, it peaked out from behind the clouds at just the right time.

The weather forecasters had been promising us a change from the dreary days, and then Thursday afternoon it poured and poured. Just before sunset, as I was on my way to Bible study, this is what I saw. Amazingly enough, I even had my camera in the car to capture it.

Beautiful! What a great ending to the dreary days.

Wedding Celebration

2011-09-26T15:41:00.000-07:00

After we returned from our big trip to DC and Ohio, we had a few days before we traveled again. This time to Wisconsin for another big celebration.

On 9/10/11, we celebrated the marriage of my cousin Erik to his bride Meaghan. It was a beautiful wedding - outside on a farm with lots of friends and family.

these two pictures courtesy of Molly Sabourin

I'm partial to this musical act.
My aunts & uncles sang the same song at my wedding 16 years ago.
It was just as beautiful this time around.

My parents

cousins

loving cousins

Charis, Erik's niece, would not cooperate for me.
Molly, however, was able to take this precious shot of the littlest flower girl:

The bride and groom especially thought of the children - most of them their first-cousins once removed, but including a niece and nephew. Hay rides, badminton, pinata, croquet were just some of the activities included in the afternoon - all accompanied by various bands or musicians, friends of Erik's.
It was a beautiful night - the perfect ending to a perfect wedding celebration. Welcome to the Nyberg-Neave family Meaghan! We're so glad you're a part of us.

Family Reunions

2011-09-22T17:23:00.000-07:00

The end of August and the beginning of September were big weeks for us. We had so many big events crammed in so few days it's taking me quite awhile to catch up.

At the end of our trip to DC, we stopped in Ohio for our annual family reunions with the Leichtys and the Cottermans.

Here are some highlights:

Leichty 2nd cousins

Sweet Grandma Marce

2nd cousins Lydia & Lena

That goofy Paul!

Equally goofy little brother Brady!

Nathaniel & Anna enjoyed the pool table
(until we were informed it was only for 14yo & up)

Highlight of the weekend: West Liberty's Labor Day Parade.
If you love antique tractors, come out next year.
There were about 240 tractors in the parade.
Every year, Uncle Jake pulls all the cousins in the parade.

Glen's cousin Jon and his boy Conner.
That tyke can name every tractor in the parade.

Grandpa got to drive the Farmall!

This year, Nathaniel decided to sit out the parade.
He collected candy instead.
"It's hard work Mom!"
He was sweating. It was HOT.

You know you're getting tall when...
you're almost as tall as Grandma Marce.
You know you ARE tall when....
you are taller than Grandma Marce!

Glen and Grandpa Jake.
What is Grandpa Jake laughing at?

These crazy kids sitting on each other!

The next day we drove an hour south of the Leichtys to spend the afternoon with the Cottermans. While Saturday was HOT, Sunday was rainy and chilly. Not a great day for a picnic, but we stuck it out anyway.

Rain, rain go away.
But while you're here,
I'll sit and play
Suduko.

Katy

Our family

The Pennies

The Roses & Wicklines

The Jarretts

Grandpa & Grandma

Two of my boys!

Glen's sister's family - the Dingers

Great-Grandpa & Great-Grandma Cotterman
with all their great-grandkids

As I was looking through my pictures I realized that I have no pictures of Aunt Judi. I'm sorry we missed you Aunt Judi!

(Look at that - you get a special mention, by name, because you're not in the pictures.)

Highlights of our Trip

2011-09-13T05:54:00.000-07:00

Insanely busy and rather overwhelmed right now.

But, the girls are sleeping in today, so I have a few minutes to share some pictures of our recent trip to our nation's capitol. We had a wonderful time, hosted by my Aunt Bev.

On Aunt Bev's rooftop.
(Do you see the Washington Monument in the background?)

Kids said swimming in the pool was one big highlight - even though the water was freezing because of Hurricane Irene.

Isaac celebrated his 8th birthday while we were there.

My highlight? No more car seats!

Aunt Bev generously took us canoeing & kayaking on the Potomac.
We had so much fun!

And what's a trip to DC without pictures of the memorials?

We were all hugely disappointed by the construction on the Reflecting Pool.
Judging by the comments heard when we walked up the Lincoln Memorial, so was everyone else.

Washington, DC from the Robert E. Lee House in Arlington Cemetery.

Gettysburg

2011-09-07T16:56:00.000-07:00

All the boys at the top of Devil's Den

Looking up at Little Round Top from Devil's Den

Girls hanging out during one of our stops

The place where Lincoln gave the Gettysburg Address

The boys walking through the National Soldier's Cemetery

The muffled drums sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo,
No more on life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few.

On fame's eternal camping-ground,
Their silent tents are spread,
And glory guards with solemn round
The bivouac of the dead.

No rumor of the foe's advance
Now sweeps upon the wind,
No troubled thought at midnight haunts
Of loved ones left behind.

No vision of the morrow's strife
The warrior's dream alarms.
No braying horn nor screaming fife
At dawn shall call to arms.

The neighing troop, the flashing blad,
The bugle's stirring blast,
The charge, the dreadful cannonade,
The din and shout are past.

Your own proud land's heroic soil
Must be your fitter grave;
She claims from war his richest spoil,
The ashes of the brave.

Rest on enbalmed and sainted dead,
Dear as the blood ye gave.
No impious footstep here shall tread
The herbage of your grave.

We read this poem as we walked through the National Soldier's Cemetery at Gettysburg. It's a sober reminder of the sacrifice our armed forces make to defend our country - and was a fitting conclusion to our tour of Gettysburg National Military Park.

It was hard to imagine the horror of the battle, as I stood on the peaceful ridges, looking over the empty fields where thousands of men lost their lives in a desperate Civil War battle. Save for the hundreds (1300 to be exact) monuments marking the positions of every regiment in battle during those fateful days, it could have been any peaceful Pennsylvania countryside.

My boys, including Glen, were transfixed by the markers and monuments - jumping out at every stop to explore and imagine. (One thing I learned - North Carolina lost the most men of any state, North or South, in the battle at Gettysburg. The numbers are astounding.)

The girls - not so much. "Do we have to get out?"

"No," I said, remembering my first visit to Gettysburg. A book was more appealing than the monuments.

But we all emptied the van to walk around the cemetery, remembering the men whose blood made these fields sacred. We counted the hundreds of graves marked with numbers - men who fell, but could not be identified.

To those who have served in our armed forces, and to those who have given their loved ones to serve, thank you.

The Big Birthday - Early

2011-08-25T10:40:00.000-07:00

My parent's have a great tradition. When a grandchild turns 8, s/he gets a special birthday 'date' with Papa and Nana. The girls get a trip to downtown Chicago to the American Girl Doll store to pick out their very own doll. The boys get a trip to the Lego store to pick out a boatload of Legos. (There are some age exceptions, but those don't come into play here, so I won't go into them.)

In a little less than a week, my baby turns 8. He has been planning for his special day for two years.

Do you think I'm kidding? I'm not. There has been so much discussion between him and his older brother about which Lego sets to choose, which sets are the best deal, which sets they like the best that I have left the house (quite literally) because I can't stand to listen to any more Lego talk.

His day finally came on Tuesday! Isaac was so excited, he was up every two hours the night before and finally gave up trying to sleep at 5:20. (He's very precise.)

He very generously invited all his siblings into his room to help him build everything.

And I even allowed an exception to the infamous 'Leichty bedtime'
to allow them to complete the building process.
(For my own sanity, really. The boys have been known to get up at 1am to finish building a Lego set in the privacy of their closet. You can imagine what the next day was like!)

One last note: Those Cars 2 sets came out at JUST the right time. Otherwise my house would have been full of Star Wars Legos. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I just prefer Cars 2.

You Know Summer is Ending...

2011-08-17T14:00:00.001-07:00

...when school work starts piling up in the living room.

...when an open piano lid becomes the norm.

...when the kids actually complain about going to the beach,
"Again?!!"

...when blankets start piling up on the living room floor and furniture.

...when the shadow on the back porch becomes deeper each day.

"There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven"

And yet I still mourn - just a little - for summer fun, summer book club,
the excitement of the beach every possible day, the relaxed schedule.

All while feeling relief - quite a bit - of starting our fall routine,
having motivators for my children to finish their chores,
no more beach sand in the shower, on the floor or in the van,
reading deliciously delightful books aloud to the children.

Yes, I need the change of season.

The Wisdom of Pixar

2011-08-04T06:30:00.000-07:00

This summer I have been reading stacks of children's books to review on my children book review blog, so I've been neglecting my own stack of books.

I've been wanting to read this book - The Wisdom of Pixar by Robert Velarde - and finally got the chance! Velarde consults with Sonlight Curriculum, the curriculum I use in teaching my children at home, so Sonlight has been promoting his book in their materials.

I ordered my children's books for the coming school year, and decided to add one small thing for myself - The Wisdom of Pixar. I just finished reading it last night and thoroughly enjoyed it!

Velarde opens with a quick overview of the philosophy of virtue - a necessary foundation for the rest of the book. I will admit to skimming through it since I was not a philosophy major and I wanted to get to the rest of the book (plus I read right before I go to sleep - not the best time to try to process philosophical arguments).

The rest of the chapters look at different aspects of virtue, including justice, love, friendship, identity, and how Pixar's movies explore each of these virtues. I found it easy to read The Wisdom of Pixar and each chapter left me thinking about the movies and examples of virtue.

I'm also thinking of how this book could be a springboard for great family discussion (or any small group or youth group) on virtue. Velarde includes discussion questions at the end of each chapter, plus a movie discussion guide in an appendix.

I'm thinking a family movie night over the weekend, then reading the chapter as a part of our school week, discussing the questions at the end of the chapter and in the appendix.

When reading the book, it helps to be familiar with all the Pixar movies (before Cars 2). While each chapter focuses on one or two of the Pixar movies, Velarde includes several other movie examples. If your family is like mine, that is not a problem because we love all the Pixar movies.

I highly recommend this book for personal enjoyment, and also for a group discussion. But beware - you cannot cover the entire book in one night.

Blasting into August

2011-08-02T10:50:00.000-07:00

Glen spotted the "All Tchaikovsky" concert on the Ravinia schedule months ago. "1812 Overture," he said. "With live cannons. Plus an instrument petting zoo for the kids. Should we go?"

"Um... sounds good."

"Kids are free."

"Yes!"

We told our children we were going for an adventure. With Papa and Nana and Aunt Carrie. So many guesses ensued. "Museum of Science and Industry?"

"We are packing a picnic. Dress to be outside. And wear sunscreen."

"Field Museum? Are we going on a hike? No, the Botanical Gardens!"

"It's an adventure! You'll find out."

How do you explain Ravinia to children who have never been there?

Sunday afternoon we set out on our great adventure. We staked out a claim in the shade (I'm glad we were there early!) We explored the instrument petting zoo. I thought it was neat, but the kids hardly touched a thing. We stopped at the cooling tent. That felt really good.

We ate our Subway sandwiches, chips and chocolate chip cookies. We listened to the concert. We read, we sweated, we marveled at how much we love air conditioning.

Then came the big finale: 1812 Overture. Papa started humming along. Tons of people gathered around the cannons, while others strained to see them, as if the crowds would part at the crucial moment.

Then, 'BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!'

It was worth it. It was worth the complaints, the heat, the sweat. It was amazing to hear the music as it was meant to be played, with those cannons marking the exclamation points celebrating Napoleon's defeat at the hands of the Russians. Once we were in the van, with the a/c blasting, we all agreed it was quite an adventure (except maybe Nathaniel).

He hardly looked up from his book.

On another note, I just had to snap this picture this morning of my resident team of Lewis and Clark, setting out on their exploration of... the world? Whatever they were exploring, they certainly were prepared. I think they had every map we own in their bags.

Remembering Aunt LaVerna

2011-07-26T09:20:00.000-07:00

"A smile is a window on your face that shows you are home."
-Aunt LaVerna

Grandma (left) and Aunt LaVerna

In my mind's eye, I have a picture of Aunt LaVerna leaning back in her chair, her chin thrown up and her mouth open wide in uproarious laughter.

Aunt LaVerna loved to laugh. She loved people - all people. Even as a child I knew Aunt LaVerna was special because she talked with me (not to me) like she talked with adults.

Plus, she made the best cinnamon rolls. EVER.

Last summer, we said good-bye to Uncle Len, Aunt LaVerna's dear husband and one half of what my mother called "The Dynamic Duo."

Last week, we said good-bye to Aunt LaVerna. Her children said she had waited 11 months to join Uncle Len at the feet of Jesus - and we know they're happy to be together again.

The amazing thing to me is how sad my children were to hear of her passing. Eleven months ago, they met her for the first time at Uncle Len's funeral. That fall, LaVerna moved off the farm to Fairhaven, the retirement community where my grandmother lives.

After that, they saw Aunt LaVerna nearly twice a month. Every time my mom goes to visit my grandma, she takes Isaac and Lydia with her. They love visiting Grandpa Roy and Grandma Nelson, and quickly added Aunt LaVerna to their list of most favorite of people.

When we heard Aunt LaVerna had died, Lydia and Isaac were attending Camp Agape, the day camp at our church. Lydia immediately pronounced, "I don't care if I miss a day of camp. I am going to Aunt LaVerna's funeral. I will miss her!"

(Isaac wasn't quite so sure about missing camp, but I arranged a make-up day for them. He felt very relieved. How could he choose?)

Thursday morning, Lydia said to me, "I remember the last words I ever said to Aunt LaVerna."

"You do? What were they?" I asked.

" ' Thanks.' She gave me a Tootsie-Pop the time we all went to Fairhaven and Daniel & Joel and Aunt Lyn were there."

"What a good memory honey. I know it's sad to say good-bye to Aunt LaVerna. But the good news is that we will see her again in heaven one day. And just think. I bet Aunt LaVerna is mixing up some cinnamon rolls right now and planning a party for us once we're there. And she's not in any more pain, she's not tired anymore..."

"I loved Aunt LaVerna just the way she was," retorted Lydia.

Yes. We all loved Aunt LaVerna just the way she was. But we can still be happy Aunt LaVerna is most likely doing in heaven what she loved to do here on earth - putting the coffee on, pulling fresh goodies out of the oven, and visiting with Uncle Len, and the other family she's been missing.

"Love is the glimpse we are permitted of eternity."
-Aunt LaVerna

I'm Still Here - despite technology

2011-07-20T12:15:00.001-07:00

I told my mother this morning, "Now that it's July 20th, I'm ready to work."

The month started out well - our lovely trip to Upper Michigan (see pictures below). We came home and almost immediately had a very short, very devastating storm which knocked out our internet (and cable TV, and home phone) for six days.

We finally got our internet back, and my computer went on the fritz. Big time. Down-for-most-of Monday-and- takes-me-until-2pm-Tuesday-to-fix kind of broken.

All is good now. Whew.

And while I had a computer, but no internet, I had time to upload my vacation pictures. Which are, by now, old news. But you can look at (dare I say, enjoy?) them anyway.

The Memory Palace

2011-06-28T06:06:00.000-07:00

Over the course of several weeks, I picked up this book, and put it down again, two or three times before it made it into my library bag.

It looked fascinating, but also disturbing. The Memory Palace is a memoir by Mira Bartok, of her life growing up with an absent father and a schizophrenic mother.

Bartok's honest retelling of her life, her memories, and her emotions brought tears to my eyes. She does not hide her deep pain, her feeling of responsibility toward her mother, her guilt over cutting most ties with her mom and changing her name.

Bartok experiences a traumatic brain injury, after which she finds herself making lists, confused about every day activities - and wonders if this is how her mother feels. As she attempts to piece her life and memories back together, she gets word that her mother is dying.

The account of Bartok and her sister with their mother during the last days is especially touching. They are able to be with her when she dies. Bartok realizes her mother was not as alone as she thought - a host of women from the shelter where her mother lived loved her dearly. Knowing that brings Bartok comfort - although she still wonders if she could have done more to help her mother in life.

Readers feel Bartok's pain and her love for her mother throughout this book, in the midst of her fight to survive the home in which she grew up.

Big Family Dinner

2011-06-22T09:23:00.000-07:00

My mother and most of her siblings attended a Nyberg family reunion last weekend in Missouri. Since my aunt was flying in from Washington, D.C., she came back to Mom's for a few days. At some point last week, they decided to stop in Rockford and pick up my grandma and her husband, Roy and bring them to Mom's for a few days.

Which led to a flurry of e-mails to cousins and family living within a two-hour-drive radius. "Please come to Mom's for a potluck Monday night to see Grandma and Roy and Aunt Bev. Bring a dish."

(My cousin, Lindsay, ever the over-achiever, brought two fantastically delicious salads.)

Uncle Dave and Aunt Lyn (who couldn't attend the reunion) drove down from Sheboygan just for dinner. They brought Joel with them - freshly home from a tour in Iraq. We were all glad to see him - especially Grandma and Roy.

Tim and Lindsay and Kelsey and Ryan came from the far corner of Lake County. Uncle Neil and Aunt Rebecca decided to take a short detour and stay for dinner too.

We were missing many - Matthew, Pam Gideon & Charis (in Boston); Erik & Meghan (in Sheboygan); Daniel (in Door County); Natalie (at a summer class in Chicago); Andrew (in Battle Creek); Troy, Molly, Elijah, Priscilla, Ben, & Mary (in Chesterton); Carrie (in Chicago).

When I look at the list, it looks like more people missed than made it to dinner.

But what fun we had - laughing, telling stories, taking pictures.

I told Uncle Neil retirement becomes him. He told more jokes last night than I think I've heard in my entire life combined. Then, he washed the dishes. The first time I've ever seen him do that, so of course I had to commemorate the moment.

Over the weekend, my sister recounted a conversation she had about her family. "How do I describe my family? Well, it's so functional, it's dysfunctional."

True. We know, and love, so many of our extended family (my parent's cousins, aunts and uncles) I remember spending an entire hour with a second-cousin trying to put together all the family connections.

(Just don't tell Cousin Dean, who happened to be preaching during that particular hour.)

Let's Celebrate All Year

2011-06-21T09:21:00.001-07:00

A milestone birthday is worth celebrating all year long. Thursday night I left my family in the suburbs and took the train to my sister's condo in the city. Friday morning, Molly and Beth joined us for a day of eating, and walking, our way through another birthday celebration.

We started at Ann Sather's - the cinnamon rolls! the amazing French toast!

Then walked to, and through, the Museum of Contemporary Art. Carrie wondered if it was worth it - but we saved the best exhibit for last. Success after all!

Then to Carrie's excellent recommendation for dinner - Ciao Amore. Oh. my. word. If you think you've had excellent Italian food, you haven't until you've eaten at Ciao Amore. The Gnocchi are a-maz-ing. So good, so fun - we spent three hours over dinner. Magnifique! (OK- that's French, but I don't know Italian.)

We brushed aside the waiter's recommendations for dessert - we were headed to Margie's Candies! Yummy Terrapins, hot fudge sundaes - the perfect ending to the perfect day.

When can we do it again?

No Biking in the House Without a Helmet

2011-06-20T09:08:00.000-07:00

Who can pass up a book with such a crazy title as No Biking in the House Without a Helmet? I sure can't.

I checked it out of the library, then almost returned it without reading it. But we were going on a weekend trip, so I thought I'd give it a try - and am I glad I did.

In No Biking in the House, author Melissa Fay Greene tells the story of her family - her four biological children, and her five adopted children.

Greene has a great sense of humor, and I appreciate her honesty in telling the good, and bad, about international adoption. She tells about the struggles with her oldest daughter, about the difficult adjustment to including the adopted children in their family, and her fear of becoming a group home instead of a family.

When I read this book, I thought of my friend Beth, who recently adopted a little girl from Ethiopia (after adopting three boys from Korea). I happened to see her this weekend (what a treat!), and mentioned the book to her. She had read it too, and loved it.

I have not adopted internationally, and do not plan to, but I enjoyed this book immensely. Whether you adopt, or don't adopt, No Biking in the House is an honest, and very funny, look at what makes a family and the struggles in raising teenagers.

Sea Glass

2011-06-15T08:45:00.000-07:00

This summer, I'm hosting a weekly book club. We're reading You Matter More Than You Think by Dr. Leslie Parrott. I wasn't sure I would like this book, even though I picked it out, but it's turning out to be much better than I thought it would be.

One thing I like about it is Dr. Parrott's vulnerability. She's included some of her own poetry in the book, which normally I would skip. But Poetry Wednesday has taken hold of me, so I'm always looking for good poems.

I particularly like this poem. And although Poetry Wednesday has taken a summer hiatus, I'm sharing it with you anyway.

Lately I'm obsessed
With sea glass.
Every piece I find
I collect in a jar,
Marveling at the translucent hues
Browns, greens, blues, and milky whites.
If I didn't know better
I'd think I'm on a quest.
To gather what bits remain
Of my youth.
To discover meaning
In random fragments
Of dreams, goals, connections, experiences
Pummeled
By the velocity of time
Against reality rocks.
If I didn't know better
I'd think I am, simply
The jar
Hoping against hope
I can collect my life
Into a treasure.

The Penderwicks at Point Mouette

2011-06-14T10:34:00.000-07:00

If you've asked me for a good family book recommendation recently, you've probably heard me rave about The Penderwicks by Jeanne Birdsall. My children and I loved the first two books (The Penderwicks and The Penderwicks on Gardam Street) and anxiously awaited the release of the third.

I'm happy to tell you The Penderwicks at Point Mouette is available now - and it does not disappoint!

In the most recent book, the Penderwicks are split up. Dad and Iantha (with Ben in tow) are in England for a honeymoon. Rosalind is heading to New Jersey for two weeks with a friend. That leaves Skye, Jane and Batty in Aunt Claire's care for two weeks - and they're headed for Maine. The great hope is that Jeffery will join them for the two weeks... but his mother is their nemesis and may not let him go.

With Rosalind in New Jersey, Skye is now the OAP, Oldest Available Penderwick. Skye is not used to being in charge, and the responsibility of caring for her younger sisters - especially Batty - is stressing her out. Then she loses her all-important list of things to remember. How will she ever enjoy this vacation?

The Penderwicks at Pointe Mouette is just as delightful as the first two books - full of everyday adventures and roller coaster relationships. And one huge, amazing revelation. Do not read this book unless you have read the first two.

And if you haven't read the first two, what on earth are you waiting for??

Growing a Farmer

2011-06-13T07:17:00.000-07:00

My husband is trying to understand my new curiosity about farming. I don't understand it myself, but I keep reading books about people who farm.

I especially like the books written by people who had a childhood similar to mine - suburban without even a garden. I loved the first book I read, The Dirty Life. (click to read my review)

So, when I saw Growing a Farmer: How I learned to Live Off the Land by Kurt Timmermeister, I picked it up at my local library.

Timmermeister started his career as a chef, then moved to owning several successful restaurants in Seattle.

Quite by accident, it seems, he ended up buying some acreage on an island in the Seattle area. In Growing a Farmer, Timmermeister documents his journey from urbanite to farmer, the lessons he learned, the mistakes he made and how he made his farm a success. For now.

I really enjoyed this book. I admire Timmermeister's tenacity and determination in starting his farm. I appreciate his honesty about his farm, his mistakes, and the difficulties of life as a farmer. It's hard to not make farming sound idyllic, yet Timmermeister succeeds, in some ways, by giving an honest look at the hard, unrelenting work it takes to create and run a farm.

Of course, Timmermeister loves what he does, and his passion shines in this book. So, parts of his life sound idyllic. And it's easy, as a reader, to brush over the years and years of hard work he's put into his land, since he writes about twenty years of life and work in a mere 312 pages.

If, even after reading the whole book, you're inclined to start your own farm, Timmermeister gives a thorough bibliography at the end of books he's found irreplaceable.

Wauconda

2011-06-08T12:06:00.000-07:00

Monday we spent the afternoon at the beach - pictured above. Tuesday the kids spent the afternoon in their second-cousins' pool. Today, we're hoping to dash out to the beach again before the storms hit and the temperatures dive. Most kids are ready to go, we're just waiting for the piano tuner to finish with our piano.

But, before I run off to get ready myself (read: shorts, t-shirt, good book and comfy chair), I wanted to give my offering for poetry wednesday.

This week, I am being bold and daring, and offering up a poem of my own creation. (Gasp!)

Our library is holding a contest to write a story (or poem or ditty) about Wauconda. There are prizes involved, so I did not need much convincing to write something. Amazingly enough, a poem nearly flew out of my figures. With a little revision, I even got it all to rhyme, although my rhythm is sometimes off.

Here it is (please, please! be gentle):

Wauconda Questions
Michelle Leichty

How did Wauconda get its name?
Why isn’t the lake named the same?
These questions haunted me
Most of my life.
Admittedly, they didn’t cause me much strife.

Lake Zurich is a town directly to our south.
“Let’s swim in Lake Zurich!” the residents shout.
Was that their town’s founders’ creative best?
I wonder the same about Island Lake, a town to our west.
Even further west, residents go down
to swim in Crystal Lake in Crystal Lake town.
To our northeast, Grays Lake graces Grayslake.
Why, in Wauconda, is it not Wauconda Lake?

In school I learned Justus Bangs settled here.
He built a fine house and lived here all year.
The children who lived here attended a one-room school
Where the teacher used Cobb’s Speller as one of her tools.
Well, that explains the name of our lake -
Although I don’t think Bangs owned all of Bang’s Lake.

What about the name of our lovely, fair town?
Why didn’t they call it Bangsville or Bangstown?
Instead we have a difficult-to-spell name:
Wauconda. Unusual? Sure. Different? Yes.
Only one other town shares our name in the US.

Tradition says an Indian chief is our town’s namesake.
He might be buried somewhere by the lake;
Though his grave is forgotten, his name has lived on.
Though the spelling of it? Yes, the spelling is wrong.
Chief Wakanda! remembered the leaders of our village.
But spell? No they couldn’t, no matter their heritage.

So Wauconda was founded. And so it grew.
Over ten-thousand residents - amazing from so few.
Two hundred started here in 1850.
Limestone, a mill, a stage coach, a smithy,
Wauconda boasted three stores in the 50’s.

Now we’ve grown larger, and have businesses aplenty.
And we’re not the only town mismatched - namely
Just to our east, practically just down the street,
Mundelein residents swim at Diamond Lake Beach.

Trees

2011-06-01T12:12:00.000-07:00

I apologize for being rather MIA the past couple of weeks. We finished school, took a big, ol' field trip, cleaned bedrooms, and entertained guests.

To catch up a bit: The first order of business after school was a promised field trip to the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago, with a stop at Navy Pier after to wait for rush hour to be over. We all had a great time.

At the U-505 exhibit

On the plane

Posing for pictures

Enjoying the gardens at Navy Pier

After the fun, we worked, worked, and worked at cleaning the children's bedrooms. We had three times the usual amount of trash and recycling that Friday because they had squirreled so much away in their rooms. Yikes! The good news was that everything was ready for Grandpa and Grandma to visit for Memorial Day weekend.

Unfortunately, I forgot to get out my camera. So, here are some pictures from the 60th Annual Wauconda Memorial Day Parade (the largest and longest-running in Lake County, in case you're wondering).

can you believe it? they had tractors!

Grandpa and Grandma enjoying the parade.

Over the weekend, Grandma admired our lovely new tree, planted last summer. That, in combination with the return of some of our schoolbooks from a friend who borrowed them, inspired today's poetry wednesday selection.

Trees
Sara Coleridge

The Oak is called the king of trees,
The Aspen quivers in the breeze,
The Poplar grows up straight and tall,
The Peach tree spreads along the wall,
The Sycamore gives pleasant shade,
The Willow droops in watery glade,
The Fir tree useful timber gives,
The Beech amid the forest lives.

Nice little poem, but nothing about our maple tree. Autumn Blaze Maple it is. I'll post pictures of the bright leaves this fall.

I'd Leave

2011-05-18T10:54:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling again my inadequacies of actually posting a poem for Poetry Wednesday.

My friends who also post love poetry - or love someone who does - and find beautiful poems to fit the moment.

I am not like them. On most Wednesdays, I find myself searching the poetry books I read to my children for school, looking for something, anything, to fit the mood, the weather, the time of year.

This is the situation today. A cool, dreary, threatening-to-rain day at my house. A day in which the hormones seem to surging in my 13yo - and it 'ain't purty.'

I found myself once again, wondering what I would write about, where I would find a poem. This is our last week of 'full-time' school (math, Latin, spelling continue through the summer) - could I find a poem about the end of school? Nothing.

It's spring, almost summer, but feels more like early April - perhaps this poem about April rains would do. But no, at the end it says, "I love the rain." Today I definitely do NOT love the rain.

Then, I happened upon this tiny, little poem. It fits my mood, it fits my house (right now) - and so I offer my modest poem:

I'd Leave
Andrew Lang

I'd leave all the hurry,
the noise and the fray
For a house full of books
and a garden of flowers.

(I have a house full of books, no garden full of flowers, and noise & fray galore. I'm thinking of escaping to my mother's house - plenty of quiet, books and flowers.)

The Sound of Music, World War 2 and Hitler

2011-05-13T09:44:00.000-07:00

I've been reading quite a bit about the time before and during World War II. I guess it naturally comes after the Great Depression kick I was on a little while ago.

Whatever the reason, I've really enjoyed the books. The first book is Agathe von Trapp Memories Before and After The Sound of Music by Agathe von Trapp, the oldest daughter from the Von Trapp family of The Sound of Music fame.

And yes, her name was Agathe, not Liesl. And really she was the second-born. Her brother was the oldest.

Those are just some of the facts Agathe sets straight between real life and the movie version of her family's story. She admits she had a very hard time when the musical, then movie, were released because the producers took such liberties with her family's story.

The most difficult was the portrayal of her father, a loving, warm-hearted man. Yes, he did use a whistle to call them, and she explains why. She also writes about Maria, her second mother, who was only eight or nine years older than Agathe herself when she married Georg, Agathe's father.

Their life and escape from Austria wasn't nearly so dramatic as the movie's portrayal, but it is interesting. I enjoyed reading this book about the history of their family, their life in Austria and then in America, and about Agathe's coming to terms with The Sound of Music.

Agathe's book focuses on her family and not on Germany, Hitler and the politics of pre-war Europe. However, Erwin Lutzer's When a Nation Forgets God certainly does.

Lutzer draws seven lessons from Germany's descent into Nazism for today's American reader. He explores Germany's economy, legal system, and the Nazi propaganda, among other things. Lutzer's writing style is easy to read and engaging - and while some of the conclusions he draws are alarming, he always gives his readers hope.

When a Nation Forgets God is a short book, but well-researched, well-written and worth reading.

In Awe of You

2011-05-11T14:55:00.000-07:00

As I type this, a storm is rolling in. We are seeing lightning, hearing thunder, and are about to experience a big, ol' downpour.

My kids are in the living room, listening to Adventures In Odyssey (The Novacom Saga, in case you're curious) and building with Duplos.

They are lobbying for a movie after dinner (maybe something on Netflix Mom!) because what else do you do when it's storming?

Meanwhile, I'm almost ready to pull dinner out of the crock pot. Just another ordinary day in the Leichty house.

This week for Poetry Wednesday, I want to share a poem with you that a friend wrote. Mom and I lead a Bible study at our church, and last Thursday we asked a couple of ladies to share for our last meeting. This is what one of them shared:

In Awe of You
by Audrey Marie Hessler

That You could create the glorious heavens,
That Your hands hold time and eternity,
That You give and know every breath of life,
And still care about the small world of me.

That You knew mankind from the beginning,
Seeing each of us for who we truly are.
That You would come and live here among us,
And not just watch silently from afar.

And again, again I am reminded
How great a God, how great a God You are!
That You would know the story of Jacob
As You know so well the story of me,
Then love us, is a marvel much greater
Than the mystery of eternity.

So I stand in awe of You, Lord, again.
Thank you, Oh, thank you for loving all men.
Without You, Lord, how hopeless we would be.
Thank you, Oh, thank you, Lord for loving me.

A poetic reflection on the study "Loved by God" by Liz Curtis Higgs.

Mother's Day

2011-05-09T12:24:00.001-07:00

My husband asked what I wanted to do for Mother's Day. My answer was immediate:

1. Giordano's Pizza after church
2. Family walk on the Millennium Trail
3. A big, ol' uninterrupted nap

Amazingly enough - I got my whole list! I forgot to pull out the camera to show you my favorite, yummy, gooey stuffed pizza from Giordano's. (It totally blew my 'diet' and put on the couple of pounds I had lost last week, but it was oh SO worth it!)

Then we hiked a part of the Millennium Trail - which I had never been on before, despite its close proximity to our house. Glen figures we walked nearly three miles - the kids were exhausted - but good sports. Bonus - a jogger stopped long enough to get a picture of our whole family.

Then, at home, I laid down and got a nap. Not a big, ol' nap, but an uninterrupted one.

It was lovely.

Isaac made flowers for me in Sunday School. I think his teacher asked him to write on the flowers what he appreciates about me. Apparently, I'm a "Great Cook" and a "Grat Tucker Inner" (as in bedtime) and a "Grat Sewer." (By the way - it's sew-er, as in sewing machine. Not sewer as in waste management. I was confused for a moment too.)

But the best gift of the day came about 8pm. Glen and Nathaniel worked on cleaning up the living room (including sweeping), and then they folded the first load of laundry out of the dryer - the dreaded 'whites' load. Bless them!

(Lest you think I have an angelic 13yo - Glen took the initiative. Nathaniel was an unwilling participant. I'm appreciative none-the-less.)

Persevere

2011-05-04T15:02:00.000-07:00

As I went looking for some books to review on my kid's book review blog, I came across this poem which I really love.

I found it in The Children's Book of Virtues edited by William J. Bennett.

Persevere

The fisher who draws in his net too soon,
Won't have any fish to sell;
The child who shuts up his book too soon,
Won't learn any lessons well.

If you would have your learning stay,
Be patient - don't learn too fast;
The man who travels a mile each day,
May get round the world at last.

What a great reminder! I remember starting on my homeschooling journey, thinking how overwhelming the stack of books looked and wondering how we would get through them all.

One book at a time, that's how. Little bits each day over the past eight years have added up to hundreds of books read together, many more than once as my younger children started school. Now, as high school looms on the homeschool horizon, I sometimes wonder, "How?"

One day at a time. One subject at a time. One book at a time.

And in ten years, I will look back at our family's journey amazed at the distance we traveled.

Read more poetry here for Poetry Wednesday.

The Dirty Life

2011-04-27T11:12:00.000-07:00

On the Farm
Anne Perez-Guerra

Horses in the pasture lot,
A windmill whirling 'round,
Apples on the orchard trees
Tumbling to the ground,
Cattle grazing 'long the road,
Porkers in a pen,
Chickens scratching near a coop
Where lives the mother hen.
Sliding down a stack of straw,
Jumping in the hay,
When I'm on the far, I go
Barefoot all the day.

I have this idyllic dream of living on a farm, growing my own food and raising chickens and milking cows.

When I tell my husband about it, he laughs. Then he looks at me very seriously and says, "You think you want a farm. But you do not want a farm."

And he should know. He grew up working on his grandparent's and uncle's farm. His parents own five acres - they rent out three to a neighboring farmer. When he was a boy, my husband's parents would bring cows from his grandparent's farm to graze the other two acres. It cut down on the mowing.

But farms still fascinate me. I hate getting my hands dirty, but I like reading about others who do. Kristin Kimball writes about her amazingly quick transformation from city girl to farm girl in The Dirty Life: On Farming, Food, and Love.

Kimball's transformation is a great story. I find it amazing that this freelance writer gave up Manhattan to move north and start a farm. Not just any farm, but a tractor-free farm, designed to provide all the food people would need. In addition to raising vegetables, Kimball and her husband milk cows (by hand), raise beef cattle, pigs and chickens.

I loved reading this book. Kimball not only tells about the hard work on the farm, but also her personal shortcomings she had to confront in the midst of hard work and lots of dirt. In between it all, she tells of meals she and Mark (her fiance) share - some sound fantastic, others made me shudder and shake my head in amazement at her adventuresome spirit.

If you're looking for a book to read this summer, I highly recommend The Dirty Life. If nothing else, you will 1) appreciate your current life; 2) want to investigate a local Community-Sustained Agriculture (CSA) farm; and 3) enjoy a really good book.

Read more poetry here, for Poetry Wednesday.

A Secret Gift

2011-04-14T17:47:00.001-07:00

Newscasters and politicians have often compared the recent recession in the US with the Great Depression. However, after reading A Secret Gift: How One Man's Kindness - and a Trove of Letters - Revealed the Hidden History of the Great Depression by Ted Gup I cannot agree with those comparisons.

In A Secret Gift, Gup tells the story of his grandfather, Sam Stone. In 1933, Sam Stone lived in Canton, Ohio, and took out an ad in the local newspaper, offering a small gift of $10 to families greatly affected by the depression. In order to remain anonymous, he gave the gifts under a pseudonym, B. Virdot.

His offer of anonymity encouraged people who lost everything to reveal their stories to B. Virdot. And in the end, Sam Stone gave $5 to scores of people across Canton, from every walk of life.

Gup tracked down those who received the gift to discover how it affected their lives. He tells their stories, and the stories of their descendants. Some stories are heart-breaking, some are amazing - but every one of them is touching.

In between those stories, Gup uncovers the mysterious man who was his grandfather, Sam Stone. He weaves all together beautifully in this book - definitely worth adding to your summer reading list.

I am an American

2011-04-13T12:24:00.000-07:00

April is a month packed with deadlines, interviews, meetings upon meetings squeezed in between school and home 'stuff' (sorry, my creative juices are all squeezed out of me today).

I'm off to an orthodontist appointment for my youngest daughter, then rushing back home to pick up the rest of the children. Then we head to church, where my beloved, lovely and oh-so-helpful! parents will take my children out to dinner (thanks Mom & Dad!) while I meet with potential counselors, junior counselors and senior staff for interviews.

Before I leave, I want to offer a poem for poetry Wednesday. It's rather long, but I read it to my older two children this morning (before dashing off to another meeting) and I really liked the imagery, rhythm and message of this poem.

I am an American
Elias Lieberman

I am an American.
My father belongs to the Sons of the Revolution;
My mother, to the Colonial Dames.
One of my ancestors pitched tea overboard in Boston Harbor;
Another stood his ground with Warren;
Another hungered with Washington at Valley Forge.
My forefathers were America in the making:
They spoke in her council halls;
They died on her battle-fields;
They commanded her ships;
They cleared her forests.
Dawns reddened and paled.
Staunch hearts of mine beat fast at each new star
In the nation's flag.
Keen eyes of mine foresaw her greater glory:
The sweep of her seas,
The plenty of her plains,
The man-hives in their billion-wired cities.
Every drop of blood in me holds a heritage of patriotism.
I am proud of my past.
I am an AMERICAN.

I am an American.
My father was an atom of dust,
My mother a straw in the wind,
To His Serene Majesty.
One of my ancestors died in the mines of Siberia;
Another was cripples for life by twenty blows of the knout.
Another was killed defending his home during the massacres.
The history of my ancestors is a trail of blood
To the palace-gate of the Great White Czar.
But then the dream came-
The dream of America.
In the light of the Liberty torch
The atom of dust became a man
And the straw in the wind became a woman
For the first time.
"See," said my father, pointing to the flag that fluttered near,
"That flag of stars and stripes is yours;
It is the emblem of the promised land.
It means, my son, the hope of humanity.
Live for it - die for it!"
Under the open sky of my new country I swore to do so;
And every drop of blood in me will keep that vow.
I am proud of my future.
I am an AMERICAN.

I really do love this poem. Find more great poems here for Poetry Wednesday.

Extraordinary, Ordinary People

2011-04-12T11:14:00.000-07:00

For some reason, Condoleezza Rice has always fascinated me. She seems so young to have gotten so far.

When I saw her memoir at the library, I snatched it up to read. My cousin saw it in my arms to check out and commented she had really enjoyed it, which made me anticipate reading it even more.

Extraordinary, Ordinary People: A Memoir of Family by Condoleezza Rice is a very good book. I appreciate how adroitly she handles the topics she covers in her book - from segregated Birmingham and racism to her mother's cancer to her father's illness and death.

Rice herself is an extraordinary woman, but certainly not a proud one. She talks about her accomplishments matter-of-factly, crediting her parents for their investment in her and her education. It's amazing what she has done, and what she has a accomplished. I knew she played piano, but had no idea she was a competitive ice skater.

Rice also has a great ability to maintain relationships and remember names of people who helped her out years earlier.

All this makes for a delightfully easy book to read, in no way showy or proud. It is a tribute to her parents who sacrificed so much for her, and in a very large way made Rice the woman she is today. And despite the difficulties discussed, it ends up a feel-good book which inspires you to strive to be your best.

Plus, she reveals the origins of her name - which is really very interesting.

April

2011-04-06T10:34:00.000-07:00

I have to admit, I'm feeling particularly uninspired today. Perhaps it is the dreary weather. Cloudy skies, drizzly rain without the satisfaction of a thunderstorm. The weather man says we might see the sun later this afternoon, but I'm not holding my breath.

I am looking forward to spring! I do have some tiny crocus blossoms in my front yard, and I raked out the bushes by the house, uncovering the shoots of the daffodils and a few tulips bursting through the ground.

I'll post pictures when they bloom - assuming the deer and rabbits don't eat my tulips before they're able to show their beautiful selves.

(Which is why, although I absolutely adore tulips, I planted over 80 daffodil bulbs in front of my house. The deer hate them.)

Meanwhile, I did happen to find a poem about April in my go-to poetry book Favorite Poems Old and New, purchased from Sonlight Curriculum for Nathaniel & Anna's schoolwork this year. Believe it or not, we will have read all 567 pages by mid-May - and greatly expanded our poetry repertoire (not that we can recite any of them).

Without further ado, here is my offering for Poetry Wednesday.

April
Sara Teasdale

The roofs are shining from the rain,
The sparrows twitter as they fly,
And with a windy April grace
The little clouds go by.

Yet the back yards are bare and brown
With only one unchanging tree -
I could not be so sure of Spring
Save that it sings in me.

Birthday Bash

2011-04-05T09:53:00.000-07:00

Our official family photographer, for various reasons, was unable to document our most recent family gathering.

So, I stepped in - with my inferior camera, and lack of a good eye. However, I think I captured some of the fun the cousins had while together.

It started off with sewing with Nana. The girls made some, ahem, interesting creations.

And it ended with a big birthday bash celebrated Sabourin style - with plenty of ice cream. Yum!

Peace Out!

March Madness

2011-03-30T16:32:00.000-07:00

Yep. That's me. Holding my winning bracket.

"Wait? Is the NCAA March Madness Tournament over?" you ask.

Nope. But for our family it is. For those who care, three of us picked Florida to win, two of us picked Ohio State. But for ALL of the Leichtys, the tournament is over.

All of our teams are out of the running. Every last one of our brackets is completely busted.

But I have to say, I cannot wait for the VCU-Butler game on Saturday! I wasn't sure if Butler could beat Florida - but WOW. My husband says, "I'm not betting against Butler until someone beats them."

(Funny how he says that now that they're in the Final Four. I'm the only one in my family who picked Butler into the Elite Eight. Almost picked them into the Final Four. Bummer.)

Anyway, we love this time of year. And for those inquiring minds who want to know, here are this year's standings in the Leichty household:

1. ME!
2. 12yo Nathaniel
3. Glen
4. 7yo Isaac
5. 9yo Lydia
6. 11yo Anna

In honor of the last weekend of the tournament and Poetry Wednesday, I found this poem online and thought it fit the occasion perfectly.

march madness
Manonton Dalan

i saw tears; tears on sidelines
towels covering their heads
tapping floor mourning lose
well adorn faces; saddened
bowed in silence in defeat
but there's next year's fate

other side filled with jubilation
hugging; jumping, smiling, scream
shared noises; roars of victorious
changing shirts; wearing new hats
kids who saw it wanted to be part
we, we always wanted to be winner

Siblings & Cousins

2011-03-28T12:47:00.001-07:00

I neglected my camera over the weekend, and for that I am sorry.

I did have it in my purse for our Sibling Night Out on Saturday, but left it there. Even though I have no pictures to prove it, I can attest to the fact that Troy, Carrie & I had a wonderful time together. We ate pizza and bowled and laughed and laughed and laughed some more.

January of 2005: Our first siblings only road trip, leaving spouses & kids behind as we traveled north to the UP to visit our grandmother. We reminisced about that trip Saturday night - laughing at Troy's unwavering faith that his little Subaru could do anything. Except drive across the snow-covered bay in Gladstone. After a walk back to Grandma's house for some wood and a face-first fall in the snow by Carrie, we freed Troy's car from the snow and Troy conceded that his Subaru had limits.

April of 2007: My grandmother died a week after my sister was nearly involved in a drive-by shooting. I left my kids with a friend, took the train downtown and met Troy & Carrie for lunch. I remember laughing there too - even though it was a sober occasion.

March of 2011: I won a gift certificate to Slyce - a new pizza place in town. That, plus the fact I needed to attend a Candlelight Bowl hosted by our local chamber and I didn't want to attend alone, led to our third sibling-only gathering. Thanks to Glen for staying home with my kids, and Mom & Dad to staying with Troy's.

Yesterday, we enjoyed an afternoon together at Mom & Dad's, complete with a pop-in visit from our cousin Erik, his wife Meghan, and their friend Jared. Again, my camera stayed in my purse and I have no pictures to record their visit.

After the adults greeted Erik & Meghan, my dad called the kids to come see them. Oh my! All of a sudden a flurry of children ran up the stairs, into the living room and tackled Erik, hugged Meghan, and politely (some of them) shook Jared's hand. (Except Ben. After tackling Erik, turned around and said, "Hey, who are you?" to which Jared said, "I'm Jared." "Oh. I'm Ben." Then Ben shrugged and gave Jared a big hug. Isaac, of course, followed his cousin's lead.)

Today, the boy cousins are hanging at my house, playing with Legos (except when I kicked them outside for awhile after lunch), cleaning their room (with hopes of having a sleepover), and begging to go to the library or Papa & Nana's. The girls are at my Mom's, and there's been talk of sewing skirts for their American Girl dolls. (I promise I'll pull out my camera for that!)

And again I'm reminded of the importance of family. And, as my sister said, "I'm so glad we enjoy spending time together as adults. I can't imagine constantly fighting each other even as adults."

Amen, Carrie. Amen.

Family

2011-03-23T12:49:00.001-07:00

hanging out at Grandma's

The 'Big Boys' - Daniel & Joel, with their mom, Aunt Lyn

Grandkids ('Big Boys') & Great-Grandkids ('Little Boys' & 'The Girls')

My children with Great-Grandma & Great-Grandpa Roy
(yes, Roy did make it up from the floor!)

Twelve of us squeezed into Grandma & Grandpa Roy's apartment yesterday - and they were thrilled.

My cousin Joel is home from Iraq for a short leave. He, and his twin brother Daniel, generously agreed to make the 2.5 hour drive with my Aunt Lyn to visit Grandma & Roy. Fortunately, Lyn told Mom they were coming, and Mom told me - and a road trip was born.

Mom frequently makes the trip to Rockford to spend time with her mother, my grandmother. Generally, she'll take Lydia and Isaac with her - especially when the weather is nice. They throw their scooters in the trunk, and for the next week, my grandmother is the star of the retirement community. "Are these your grandchildren?" she's asked. "My great-grandchildren," she answers. (With pride. But don't tell her that, because we're not supposed to be proud.)

Even yesterday, as we toured around the facility and ate lunch with them, people asked her, "Oh, are these the children who scooter around outside in nice weather? These are your great-grandchildren? Oh, we love seeing them here!"

But, the hero of the day was my cousin, Joel. I could just see my grandmother's smile grow bigger when the 'big boys' came in the door. She wanted Joel to sit by her at lunch and hold her hand. Joel is the first of her descendants to serve in the armed forces since my grandfather Henry was a chaplain in World War II.

It was a very special day - made even more special by a game of Crazy Eights with Daniel in Grandma's apartment, big hugs from super cousins, Great-Aunt Lyn and even Great-Great-Aunt LaVerna, who also joined us for lunch.

Somewhere, there must be a poetry book with poems about aunts and grandparents and cousins - poems about extended family, not just parents. So far, I have not found that book. And, since I'm not a poet, here is my humble, somewhat trite, offering for Poetry Wednesday.

Family
author unknown
Hold fast to your family
Wherever you roam
For life's sweestest words
Are still Welcome Home.

Though the poem is somewhat trite, there is nothing trite about an extended family who drive 2.5 hours one way to spend two hours with you. It's worth driving 1.25 hours just to see them.

The Roots of Obama's Rage

2011-03-14T10:09:00.000-07:00

I picked up this book from my library's shelf because I thought it read, The Roots of Osama's Rage. As I read the front flap, I became confused, wondering what in the world the Civil Rights Movement had to do with Osama bin Laden.

Then I realized it read The Roots of Obama's Rage, and it was about our president. I debated checking it out, since it was by Dinesh D'Souza. Don't get me wrong, D'Souza's a great author - I've read What's So Great About America and What's So Great About Christianity - both fantastic books. But they read like a dissertation - very meaty, well-documented, and slow reading.

I decided to try it, and I am glad I did.

In The Roots of Obama's Rage, D'Souza explores Obama's motivations. Is he a liberal? A product of the American Civil Rights Movement? Why does he do such contradictory things?

It's interesting to note the similarities between D'Souza and Obama - they are the same age, they both grew up in the Pacific, they both attended Ivy League schools, they are both best-selling authors. Those similarities helped D'Souza evaluate Obama - although he admits it was difficult. He says he made three abortive attempts before hitting on a theory which seems to fit some previously unexplainable actions Obama's taken.

D'Souza argues Obama's worldview is one he has adapted from his Kenyan father - that of an anti-colonial. His arguments come from Obama's own writings and speeches, even off-the-cuff remarks in which we see what makes Obama angry.

Like all his books, D'Souza's arguments are well-reasoned and well-documented. I found this book easier to read than his others, perhaps because it wasn't quite so scientific or theoretical as those. It has more of a psychological-science focus rather than a physical-science focus.

I think The Roots of Obama's Rage is an important book for all Americans to read, no matter your political leanings. I think this book will shock even those who strongly support Obama, especially if they read it with an open mind.

If what D'Souza writes is true, then we, as a nation, need to decide if we agree with Obama's worldview and goals. The future of our country depends upon our decision.

Stately Verse

2011-03-09T08:38:00.000-08:00

This puzzle has been a long project. I groaned when I saw the box make an appearance in the living room during school. Anna can't stand to just sit and listen to books, she has to be busy - coloring, drawing, or making a puzzle. But did it have to be so big? And 1,000 pieces?

Yes, it did. And for the past four or five days of school, maybe longer, she has been working on this 3D puzzle of our nation's capitol building. At first, Isaac helped quite a bit, but as the side walls began to take shape, Nathaniel started feeling quite protective of this project, and requested that Isaac keep his distance.

"You're making me nervous, Isaac, being so close."

You can imagine their excitement as they put the roof and dome on this morning - we had to take a break from school to watch the finishing touches. And take pictures, of course.

Then Anna said, "Let's take it all apart and do it all over again!"

To which Nathaniel said, "Let's call Papa and show him first!" (They did inherit the puzzle from Papa's middle-school classroom when he retired.)

In honor of their accomplishment, and in honor of the very rainy day we're experiencing here, I give you this delightful little verse - which has no attribution.

STATELY VERSE

If Mary goes far out to sea,
By wayward breezes fanned,
I'd like to know - can you tell me? -
Just where would Maryland?

If Tenny went high up in air
And looked o'er land and lea,
Looked here and there and everywhere,
Pray what would Tennessee?

I looked out of the window and
Saw Orry on the lawn;
He's not there now, and who can tell
Just where has Oregon?

Two girls were quarrelling one day
With garden tools, and so
I said, "My dears, let Mary rake
And just let Idaho."

An English lady had a steed.
She called him 'Ighland Bay.
She rode for exercise, and thus
Rhode Island every day.

Enjoy more poetry here for Poetry Wednesday.

Greet March with a Smile

2011-03-02T08:10:00.000-08:00

Happy & Mad
I asked them to pretend to be angry.
Isaac said, "I don't like being angry." Neither do I, buddy, neither do I.

Winter has caught up with us. I have never seen, or heard, my children so utterly, completely and entirely grumpy and discontent as they were yesterday. It was awful. Even a trip to the library was only a temporary fix. As soon as they were back in the van, tempers flared again.

The only good thing about yesterday is that my dear husband went grocery shopping - which saved me from taking the temporary monsters out in public again.

Today we all need a smile. A laugh. The sun. Fresh air. We NEED SPRING! Thankfully, we have the sun today, and we will all be getting fresh air this afternoon (especially after I lay down the law: No TV unless you've been outside for at least one hour!).

So, here are some poems which will invoke a smile, and perhaps even a laugh. Thank you Ogden Nash for having such a delightful sense of humor.

The Lama
The one-l lama,
He's a priest.
The two-l llama,
He's a beast.
And I will bet
A silk pajama
There isn't any
Three-l lllama.

The Fly
The Lord in His wisdom made the fly
And then forgot to tell us why.

The Eel
I don't mind eels
Except as meals.
And the way they feels.

And this limerick, with no attribution:

There was a young lady named Bright,
Who traveled much faster than light.
She started one day
In the relative way,
And returned on the previous night.

I feel better already. Don't you?

Read more poetry here for Poetry Wednesday.

Little Princes

2011-03-01T13:25:00.000-08:00

Little Princes: One Man's Promise to Bring Home the Lost Children of Nepal by Conor Grennan captured my attention as few other books have.

As the title implies, this is a very personal story. Personal stories can feel very self-serving, but Grennan manages to avoid that pitfall by providing just enough honest introspection to pull in the reader, then shifting the focus to the culture and children of Nepal.

He tells us of his first introduction to Nepal, the Little Princes orphanage, and the boys in the home. Readers follow his journey from being overwhelmed by all the look-alike boys, to his developing relationships with many of them and recognizing each boy in the crowd.

Throughout the book, we witness his developing friendships with Farid and other foreign nationals working with children in Nepal - as well as his long-distance relationship with Liz. But the overwhelming focus is the children - the boys, and girls, who were trafficked away from their homes and then abandoned in the capitol.

Little Princes is a wonderful introduction to the recent history of Nepal and its continuing problems. Plus, it's a good read.

The Addle-pated Paddlepuss

2011-02-23T14:05:00.000-08:00

There's something about knowing the story behind a poem which makes it even more fun to read.

I tend to choose poems which make me laugh, smile or are fun to read aloud. The Addle-pated Paddlepuss is no exception - and I think the back-story is quite interesting too.

Jack Prelutsky wrote an essay included in a book called The Art and Craft of Writing for Children, edited by William Zinsser. In his essay, he explained his inspiration behind this poem.

"Usually we're unaware that we are storing up images. Then one day, suddenly, a lot of things just come together. When I was a kid there was a television program called "You Asked for It." One of the things I saw on that show was a cat that played ping-pong. There was a man at one end of the table hitting the ball, and at the other end was a cat. The cat never missed. A few years ago I went to the University of Oregon, in Eugene, to give a talk, and they put me up with a local couple. The man's two interests seemed to be astronomy and ping-pong. He had a ping-pong table in the basement. We played, and he beat me 21-0. Then he said, "Now I'll play just half of your side of the table and I'll hit all my shots to either you forehand or your backhand - you choose which." And he beat me 21-3. Then he did the same using half the table and playing with his wallet and spotting me 16 points, and he still beat me easily.

Well, "You Asked for It" and the ping-pong-playing cat and this fellow in the basement in Eugene all came together, and I wrote the following poem..."

The Addle-pated Paddlepus
Jack Prelutsky

The Addle-pated Paddlepuss
is agile as a cat,
its neck is long and limber,
and its face is broad and flat,
it moves with skill and vigor,
with velocity and grace,
as it spends its every second
playing Ping-Pong with its face.

The Addle-pated Paddlepuss
prevails in every game,
its opponent doesn't matter,
the result is all the same,
with its supersonic smashes
and its convoluted spins,
it demolishes all comers
and invariably wins.

President's Day

2011-02-16T08:52:00.001-08:00

I was at my mom's over the weekend for a Valentine's Day dinner, when one of my children brought me this book to examine.

I gasped, and asked Mom if I could borrow it for Poetry Wednesday.

My grandmother earned this book for perfect attendance as a young girl in Nebraska. If I have my dates correct, she was ten when she received it. She just celebrated her 93rd birthday, and still had it to give to my mother.

The title is Memory Gems, poems compiled by Sam Stephenson, a Nebraska Superintendent of Schools. And if you wanted to order one, all you have to do is send 50 cents to Lincoln School Supply Co in Lincoln, Nebraska.

The poetry is 'graded,' so that easier poems are in the earlier grades and more difficult ones for older grades. It starts with First Grade, which has a lot of Robert Lewis Stevenson, and ends with Eighth-Grade, which has a poem spanning 11 pages. It's called The Building of a Ship, and no author attribution. (Trust me, if I had the ability to write a poem that long, I for sure would put my name on it!)

As I was paging through it, I noticed each grade has at least one patriotic poem. A poem about American History or the lyrics to our national anthem. Since my younger two and I are studying American History in school this year and next, they caught my attention. I'll not copy all of them here, but in honor of President's Day on Monday, here are a couple of selections about, or from, our two most famous presidents.

Washington
James Russell Lowell

Soldier and statesmen, rarest unison;
High-poised example of great duties done
Simple as breathing, a world's honors worn
As life's indifferent gifts to all men born;
Dumb for himself, unless it were to God,
But for his barefoot soldiers eloquent,
Tramping the snow to coral where they trod,
Held by his awe in hollow-eyed content;
Modest, yet firm as Nature's self; unblamed
Save by men his nobler temper shamed;
Never seduced through show of present good
By other than unsettling lights to steer
New-trimmed in Heaven, nor than his steadfast mood
More steadfast, far from rashness as from fear;
Rigid, but with himself first, grasping still
In swerveless poise the wave-beat helm of will;
Not honored then or now because he wooed
The popular voice, but that he still withstood;
Broad-minded, high-souled, there is but one
Who was all this and ours, and all men's -
WASHINGTON.

The Gettysburg Address
Abraham Lincoln

Fourscore and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting-place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate - we cannot consecrate - we cannot hallow - this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us - that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion - that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain - that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom - and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

(while not technically poetry, Lincoln's speech is so beautiful and so moving I consider it poetry.)

Madoff with the Money

2011-02-12T12:47:00.000-08:00

Multi-billion dollar Ponzi schemer Bernie Madoff is still in the news, several years after his arrest. Just the other day, I heard an expert interviewed on the radio about the Madoff scandal. The good news I heard is that the prosecutor has recovered .50 on the dollar for investors who lost money with Madoff. (Most people expected them to only cover .10 of every dollar, so that's very good news indeed.)

It caught my attention because I was in the middle of reading Madoff with the Money by Jerry Oppenheimer, an investigative look at the financial mongol who bilked investors of billions of dollars.

In this cleverly-titled book, Oppenheimer reveals what he learned about the childhood and business of Madoff from dozens of interviews he conducted.

He explores Bernie Madoff's parents and siblings, especially Peter, who worked with Madoff in his firm. He follows Madoff's less-than-stellar high school and college career, and explores the questionable start of Madoff on Wall Street.

In this book, we learn of Madoff (and his wife's) foul mouths, disregard for family, and strange quirks.

It sometimes tends to read like a super-long newspaper investigation piece, but it is an interesting and disturbing one. Several of the names were familiar to me from reading Harry Markopolos's book No One Would Listen. (You can read my review here.) Markopolos' role in bringing Madoff down is mentioned in Oppenheimer's book, but he focuses on Bernie, his firm and his family.

After reading Madoff with the Money, I can't help but think that Bernie is the fall guy - and that in no way could he have pulled this off by himself. He wasn't smart enough.

This & That

2011-02-09T08:43:00.000-08:00

Ah, the sun. Finally, we have had a week with more sun than snow, although we did get another 3-4 inches over Sunday and Monday.

I remember a conversation between some scrapbooking friends. One grew up in Alaska, the other had recently spent a year in Mongolia. We were talking about how much we enjoyed the Florida winters, and how sometimes it's nice to have a few days without sun. (Imagine that?!)

Michelle, the gal who grew up in Alaska, said something like "During the Alaska winters, we dreaded seeing the sun. It meant it wasn't only going to be cold, it would be really, really, really cold."

Sarah, my friend who spent a winter in Mongolia, agreed. "If it was sunny, I would not leave my apartment at all. It would get sooo cold on sunny days."

"The clouds," said Michelle, "they act like insulation. They keep the warmer air close to the ground. But when it's sunny, the warmer air just leaves."*

That's true here too. It is bitterly cold here today - at least for the Chicago area. Not as cold as it's ever been, but cold enough for the newscasts to fill with information about warming centers and warnings about space heaters.

I read this poem in school today and it made me chuckle. I hope you are having a 'foine day' no matter the weather where you are.**

This and That
Florence Boyce Davis

Mary McGuire's our cook, you know;
And Bridget McCann, our neighbor,
Does whatever she finds to do,
And lives by honest labor;
And every morning when she comes
To help about the dairy,
"A foine day, this!" says Bridget McCann.
"It is that!" answers Mary.

It may be June, or it may be March
With sleet and wild winds blowing,
Whether it's warm and bright and fair,
Or whether it's cold and snowing,
Bridget McCann comes bouncing in,
Her cheeks as red as a cherry,
And, "A foine day, this!" she always says.
"It is that!" answers Mary.

Read more poetry here for Poetry Wednesday.

*I've rendered the conversation as I best remember it. Since I was either nursing or pregnant and not getting a full night's sleep at the time, I do not claim to remember it word for word.

**I wish I had a cook and a helper with such good attitudes. My kids, who do help, rarely have such chipper, cheerful attitudes. Especially when it comes to helping.

Priceless

2011-02-08T16:13:00.001-08:00

I told my friend yesterday I only allow myself to read non-fiction books. She said, "I can't read non-fiction. They're too boring."

Yes, and no. I told her about the book I just finished: Priceless: How I Went Undercover to Rescue the World's Stolen Treasures by Robert K. Wittman with John Shiffman.

Wittman tells his story of how he founded the FBI Art Crime Team... and how the bureaucracy of the Bureau destroyed it.

More interesting is his background - how he always wanted to be an FBI agent, and how his background uniquely prepared him for undercover work and helped him develop his passion for solving art crimes.

He tells wonderful stories about how he recovered some amazing pieces. But the story that overrides all the others were his efforts to recover the paintings stolen from the Gardner Museum in Boston.

If you're not familiar with the Gardner Heist, read a fascinating book by the same name. I wrote a review of it here.

Wittman came pretty close to recovering those paintings, but several events (and people) conspired against him.

It's a disappointing, but real-life, ending to an great read.

By the way, my friend did admit this non-fiction book sounded interesting. That's because it is!

Hibernation

2011-02-04T14:01:00.000-08:00

Remnants of our biscuit & gravy breakfast - a rare treat.

homemade chocolate chip cookies. not my forte, but the brownies went to the neighbor who rescued us by snowblowing out half of our driveway. It was totally worth it.

Chex Mix in the oven - almost done!

Instead of our usual Friday night pizza, pizza soup for tonight.
I have too much running to do this afternoon.

The piece de resistance - ingredients for Special K bars.
Another rare, but oh-so-yummy treat.

As I was putting the breakfast leftovers away this morning, it occurred to me I should have been documenting all the food I've made and eaten over the past several days - ever since the blizzard struck.

Since I didn't, I decided to document what I made today - with the exception of the chocolate chip cookies, which I made yesterday afternoon.

Why is it that as soon as the weather forecast predicts a blizzard, I immediately think of food? Anthropologists would say it is a remnant of our need to pack on the pounds for a cold winter with few clothes and flimsy shelters.

I say it's ingrained from childhood. I grew up in the Midwest, and so did my parents. When winter started coming in, their parents (and mine) stockpiled food just in case they couldn't make it to the store for weeks on end. That tendency is still with me.

So is the tendency to want to make our snowbound time fun and I can't resist making it fun with food. I think it's worse than Christmas, because at least I'm mentally prepared for Christmas. Blizzards come almost unawares, the instincts kick in, and next thing you know, my jeans are feeling a tad tight in the waist.

But I also have another excuse for all the baking. My oldest has passed his first piano book and will be having a recital tomorrow at my parents' house. For about 11 people, at last count. But the way I could persuade (bribe?) him to play at a recital was to promise him he could pick the treats. So I just finished making the Special K bars, the Hawaiian Punch (a HUGE treat in this house) is upstairs and ready for the trip across town. The gluten- and nut-free Chex Mix has cooled and is put away - all in preparation for tomorrow.

And I'm done cooking, baking, and otherwise spending my time in the kitchen. At least until the next blizzard. Then we'll have to buy some more cinnamon rolls. 'Cause they were GOOD.

Snow-Fall

2011-02-02T09:02:00.000-08:00

In the midst of the blizzardThe early-morning aftermath

Can you believe? The sun!

I was all set with a delightful little poem for today by Jack Prelutsky. Then the blizzard hit. And what a blizzard it was!

We had a ton of snow... and a ton of wind. Because it was so windy, Glen didn't bother to try to keep up with the snow as it was falling. I think the snow in the driveway is at least 3 ft deep - probably deeper. We have drifts on the south side of our house up to 5 feet deep.

It's been a long time since we've had snow like this. I remember the exact day. We were home from Florida for Christmas. Nathaniel was nine months old. He learned to walk on the day of the big snowstorm - New Year's Day 1999. And that time we didn't have the huge wind gusts.

Meanwhile the kids are excited. Nathaniel could not sleep last night because he was so excited about the snow. He sneaked out of bed and watched WGN news from the hallway. How do I know? Because he's been talking to his siblings about it all morning.

It's fun to have Dad home today. The kids were disappointed to have school this morning, but very thrilled with their after-school snack: cinnamon rolls. Hey, this is a once-in-a-lifetime event!

The First Snow-Fall
from "The First Snow-Fall"
James Russell Lowell

The snow had begun in the gloaming,
And busily all the night
Had been heaping field and highway
With a silence deep and white.

Every pine and fir and hemlock
Wore ermine too dear for an earl,
And the poorest twig on the elm-tree
Was ridged inch deep with pearl.

The Coming Economic Armageddon

2011-01-27T07:17:00.000-08:00

Many people have written books about the economic crisis in America - quite a popular topic. Dr. David Jeremiah joins the crowd with The Coming Economic Armageddon.

The title alone makes this book stand out. But so do the contents. Jeremiah writes about our current economy from the perspective of Biblical prophecy. The result is a commentary of current events from a prophetic standpoint.

Jeremiah does not claim to have all the answers to questions about the end times. Nor does he call out any specific dates for future events. Instead, he examines cultural, financial and economic trends and how they fit with what the Bible tells us will happen in the End Times.

I found this book fascinating - and at times quite alarming. The thing I appreciate most about Jeremiah is that he's not an alarmist who leaves us hanging, feeling helpless in the face of the future. He boldly states his point of view, always reminding the reader (who he assumes is a believer in Jesus) of the hope found in Christ.

I particularly appreciated the final chapter, which includes practical application - in light of what we're seeing today, how we can move ahead instead of being stuck in hopelessness.

If you haven't read Dr. Jeremiah's What In the World is Going On?, you should read it first. That book gives a broader look at End Time prophecy and current world trends. Jeremiah refers to it several times in The Coming Economic Armageddon.

Praise of Created Things

2011-01-26T09:30:00.001-08:00

I just finished putting dinner in the crock pot. It's not my children's favorite meal, but I like it because it feeds everyone, with leftovers for Daddy, without a need for a second meal for Isaac, my gluten-free guy.

While I was peeling, chopping and browning, I realized I don't hate making dinner like I did say, seven years ago. Part of it is having the right tools, part of it is growing into my role and responsibility of being wife and mother. And a large part of it is making a dinner menu each week so I'm not panicking at 3pm each day, wondering what I'm going to make. Plus, I love making dinner in the morning and not having to worry about it in the afternoon when the kids, and I, are cranky.

The meal I made today contains a lot of vegetables - pepper, onion, peas, potatoes, tomatoes. That got me thinking about gardens, the earth, the seasons. Which lead me to this poem we read in school at some point in the past few weeks.

Praise of Created Things
Saint Francis of Assisi

Be thou praised, my Lord, with all They creatures,
Above all, Brother Sun, who gives the day and lightens us therewith.
And he is beautiful and radiant with great splendor,
Of Thee, Most High, he bears similitude.

Be Thou praised, my Lord, of Sister Moon and the stars,
In the heaven hast Thou formed them,
Clear and precious and comely.

Be Thou praised, my Lord, of our Sister Mother Earth,
Which sustains and hath us in rule,
And produces divers fruits with colored flowers, and herbs.

Enjoy more poetry here for Poetry Wednesday.

And, in case you're wondering, I'm posting the recipe on my facebook page.

Illinois... Chicago... politics?

2011-01-25T05:46:00.000-08:00

I need to admit a few things: I do not follow politics; I am not a lawyer; I do not live in Chicago.

However, I do live in the Chicago TV market, which means I get plenty of news about Chicago's politics. Mostly I ignore it. But I can't help commenting on the big news yesterday. The Illinois Court of Appeals removed Rahm Emmanuel's name from the ballot for Chicago mayor.

It surprised me to hear this, and I asked my husband what he thought. We discussed a simple reading of the law, the definition of residency, the fact that neither of us have studied the law. But we decided that really, Emmanuel was not a resident of Chicago the year before this election.

Then I pointed out that this is Illinois. And the election is taking place in Chicago. I admire those people who have fought, and continue to fight, against Emmanuel being on the ballot. But I think they're fighting a losing battle.

Our former senator is president. Former governors face trial or are in jail. Chicago mayors are routinely under federal investigation. There is not a lot to admire about Illinois politics.

Emmanuel is connected. Our courts (collectively, state & federal) tend to want to make law instead of read the law and rule. I think the Illinois Supreme Court will rule Emmanuel is technically allowed to run for mayor.

That's just my opinion, which doesn't count for much. The most amazing thing about this whole situation is I'm actually interested in hearing the Illinois Supreme Court ruling (assuming, of course, that they hear the case).

The Months

2011-01-19T09:04:00.001-08:00

When I was young, the months seemed to drag... Winter lasted forever, school would never end, endless summer days at the beach.

Now, I feel like the days whip by so fast I almost feel whiplash.

I cannot believe how long ago some events happened. Didn't I just move back north a couple of years ago?

Nope - that was in 2004. It's now 2011. Yikes!

As much as I try to savor the moments, the days quickly fly away and I grow older. My children grow older.

I think the years go almost as quickly as this poem:

The Months
Christinia Rossetti

January cold and desolate;
February dripping wet;
March wind ranges;
April changes;
Birds sing in tune
to the flowers of May,
And sunny June
Brings longest day;
In scorched July
The storm-clouds fly,
Lightning-torn;
August bears corn,
September fruit;
In rough October
Earth must disrobe her;
Stars fall and shoot
In keen November;
And night is long
And cold is strong
In bleak December.

Enjoy more poetry here for Poetry Wednesday.

Speak, O Lord

2011-01-12T08:56:00.000-08:00

Quite frequently, I enjoy the privilege of helping lead the music in our church on Sunday mornings. I enjoy the opportunity to sing alto, blending with the worship leader and hearing the skill of the musicians backing us.

Many years ago, some of our Florida acquaintances complained about the '7-11' choruses we sang at church. They preferred the old hymns, with their meaty lyrics. I was puzzled by the '7-11' tag.

"You know," they said. "The song has seven words we sing eleven times. Look for them. They're everywhere."

After that conversation, I started to notice them. I enjoyed the choruses, but I too started to long for some variety. I wanted songs that made me think.

Since then, many artists have updated the hymns, simplifying the chord progression for guitar players, speeding them up a little, updating the lyrics a bit (do you know what "Here I lift mine Ebenezer" means?), adding drums and bass lines.

I've welcomed my old friends, dressed up for the modern day worship team. And I welcome, too, a husband-wife team of musicians, Keith & Kristyn Getty, to whom some refer as 'modern hymn writers.'

I can't say I know all their songs, but I have noticed that of my most favoritest (forgive my grammar) songs to sing on Sunday, they've written several of them.

The tunes are catchy, easy to harmonize, and the words - like sitting down to a banquet. You want to savor these songs.

This past Sunday, we sang one their songs. I think this is my favorite of theirs - at least this week.

Speak, O Lord
Keith Getty, Stuart Townend

Speak, O Lord, as we come to you,
To receive the food of your Holy Word;
Take your truth, plant it deep in us,
Shape and fashion us, in your likeness;
That the light of Christ might be seen today,
In our acts of love and our deeds of faith;
Speak, O Lord, and fulfill in us,
All your purposes, for your glory.

Teach us Lord, full obedience,
Holy reverence, true humility;
Test our thoughts, and our attitudes,
In the radiance of your purity;
Cause our faith to rise, cause our eyes to see,
Your majestic love and authority;
Words of power that can never fail,
Let their truth prevail over unbelief.

Speak, O Lord, and renew our minds,
Help us grasp the heights of your plans for us;
Truths unchanged from the dawn of time,
That will echo down through eternity;
And by grace we'll stand, on your promises,
And by faith we'll walk, as you walk with us;
Speak, O Lord, till your church is built,
And the earth is filled with your glory.

Exiles in Eden

2011-01-06T15:22:00.000-08:00

If this book weren't due at the library, I'd dig through my pictures to find one of our first little house in St. Cloud, Florida.

We, by the grace of God, built the house - which sits on a retention pond (but because it indirectly feeds into Lake Toho at some point, is deeded a lake) on Pine Chase Circle. We moved in February of 1998, just a few months before our oldest was born.

It was a small house, but we have so many happy memories there. We brought all our four children home from the hospital to that house, we entertained family, we got to know our neighbors, we took walks to see the Christmas lights after dinner. I didn't realize until I moved away how much I loved that little house.

Which is why I picked up this book from my local library here in Illinois - Exiles in Eden: Life Among the Ruins of Florida's Great Recession by Paul Reyes.

I had heard rumblings of the horrors of the Florida housing market from my friends who still live in St. Cloud. Exiles from Eden brought it even closer home.

Reyes spent several months helping his father clean out foreclosed homes in the Tampa Bay area. He sifted through personal things - pictures, letters, and other personal items abandoned along with the houses. He also followed up with former owners, asking them for their stories, their hopes, where they will go from here.

Reyes engagingly keeps the reader's attention not only with his personal stories, but also the stories of people who have lost their homes, the stories of his father's crew, with some Florida history thrown in for good measure.

I found the story of Lehigh Acres fascinating. It's all the more intriguing because of Reyes' parents' personal connection to the community.

Our family moved from St. Cloud in 2004, right when the housing market was starting to really take off. I remember our Realtor telling us that this was a crazy bubble, the banks were making crazy loans and everything was going to burst in about three to five years.

She was right on the money. What she didn't know - and we didn't either - was that the family who bought our house would be a causality too. There was a divorce, then the air conditioning broke, and with no money to fix it, the mother and her children abandoned the house, first stripping it bare.

My former neighbor told me that. I've not heard if it's still sitting empty and forlorn on that block, or if someone bought it for a song from the bank and fixed it up. I have a feeling it's the former.

It makes me want to run down to St. Cloud and rescue my little house so full of memories.

Incredible Headache

2011-01-05T13:04:00.000-08:00

I have to admit what my closest friends know:

I thrive on routine.

Not only that, but being out of my routine seriously messes me up.

So you can imagine how hard it is for me to recover from ten days of birthday/holiday/family parties - as fun and enjoyable as they were.

Yesterday morning I woke up with a horrible headache, and ended up spending most of the day in bed. I felt better enough to make dinner last night. I felt well enough to plow through a school day with my kids today.

I even remembered that today is Poetry Wednesday, and sat down with Jack Prelutsky's The New Kid on the Block to find a poem while I iced my neck in my continuing attempt to get rid of my headache. This one made me laugh.

I've Got an Incredible Headache
I've got an incredible headache,
my temples are throbbing with pain,
it feels like a freight train with two locomotives
is chugging about in my brain.
I'm sure I can't stand it much longer,
my skull's being squeezed in a vise,
as regiments march to the blaring of trumpets,
and thousands of tap-dancing mice.

My head's filled with horrible noises,
there's a man mashing melons inside,
someone keeps drumming on bongos and plumbing,
as porpoises thrash in the tide.
An elephant herd is stampeding,
a volcano is blowing its top,
and if I keep hitting my head with this hammer,
I doubt that my headache will stop.

(by the way, no hammer was harmed in the creation of my headache.)

Proofiness

2010-12-28T06:53:00.000-08:00

As a high school student and a journalism major in college, I took several different probability and statistics courses. I'm NOT a numbers person by any stretch of the imagination, but I was fascinated by how numbers can be manipulated - especially in polls, just by how you word your questions.

When I saw Proofiness: The Dark Arts of Mathematical Deception by Charles Seife (who, incidentally, is a journalism professor) on my library shelf, I picked it up.

I'll be honest with you. I got through the first 80 pages before putting the book down. It's actually very well written, and I like the terms Seife gives to different types of 'number-laundering.' Terms like fruit-packing, apple-polishing, and cherry-picking.

And Seife gives plenty of real-life examples from recent years of how different people manipulated the numbers to support their opinion.

I had to put the book down because, first of all, it's all about numbers (and numbers are not my best friend) and secondly, because of the holidays. I was too tired to follow his book when I had time to read. I knew it would take me too long to read through this book.

But I was impressed enough that I wanted to remember the title. I thought this book would be a great foundation for a class on understanding and analyzing how numbers are used in our society. (I even started creating a syllabus in my mind.)

Proofiness is a book I want my children to read in high school - especially in conjunction with a probability and statistics or a media analysis class. And if you are a numbers person, Proofiness is a book you would enjoy.

Birthday Girl(s)

2010-12-23T10:15:00.000-08:00

The above are some of my favorite pictures of my birthday girl over the past year.

She doesn't clamor for the spotlight (like her little sister). She quietly works hard on her housework, her schoolwork, her piano and her crafts. She loves to take pictures of her sister on her camera - they work well together. She loves to take pictures, her little sister adores posing.

She also loves little ones - always taking responsibility for watching the littlest ones in our family gatherings. When she was about three or four, I remember my sister-in-law suddenly panicking at the table, "Where's Ben? What's he in to now?" (Ben must have been about one or one-and-a-half at the time.)

She rushed downstairs and came back up just as quickly with a look of relief on her face. "Anna's downstairs. He's fine. She's keeping an eye on him."

I think she was born responsible.

She also shares a birthday with her lovely great-grandma (below). I remember calling home from the hospital in Florida when Anna was born. "Hi Dad! You have a granddaughter now!"

"Oh, born on Grandma's birthday? That's great! Now you need to call her Eldora Charlotte after her great-grandma." I groaned inwardly, knowing he was just kidding, but wondering about Grandma's expectations.

Then Grandma got on the phone. "Don't do it Michelle! You don't need to name her after me!"

I think she saw the smile of relief over the phone.

Anna will share the spotlight with Great-Grandma today. The big bonus of sharing with Great-Grandma is that everyone who is able will be at Nana's tonight to celebrate both 'girls.' Anna's the only one of our children who will celebrate with 26 of her family members at once.

Happy Birthday to my dear Anna and
beloved Great-Grandma Eldora Charlotte Gustafson Nyberg Nelson!

And

Merry Christmas
from the Leichtys!

Christmas Joy

2010-12-22T10:34:00.001-08:00

My children are eagerly counting down the days until Christmas - and trying to fill the time so it will go quickly.

Unfortunately, they either fill the time chasing each other around the house, yelling at the top of their lungs (which drives me crazy) or fighting and whining at each other (which also drives me crazy).

I did have a few hours of quiet this morning as the boys were working on Lego creations and the girls went outside to sled. Now it's lunch time and they are all dying to watch one of the movies I checked out from the library this week.

But my rule is: everyone has to go outside and sled for at least a couple of hours before the TV goes on.

(We'll see how that goes. Right now, one is in tears because his sister is trying to build something with a few of his thousands of Legos. Deep breath, Mommy, deep breath!)

Switching gears - here's a song one of my angels chose last night as a part of our evening sing. There are so many good Christmas carols I could never choose a favorite, but this is in my top 10 for sure.

Angels from the Realms of Glory
James Montgomery

Angels, from the realms of glory,
Wing your flight o'er all the earth;
Ye who sang creation's story,
Now proclaim Messiah's birth:
Come and worship, come and worship
Worship Christ, the newborn King.

Shepherds, in the fields abiding,
Watching o'er your flocks by night,
God with man is now residing,
Yonder shines the infant light:
Come and worship, come and worship
Worship Christ, the newborn King.

Wise men, leave your contemplation,
Brighter visions beam afar;
Seek the great Desire of nations,
Ye have seen His natal star:
Come and worship, come and worship
Worship Christ, the newborn King.

Saints before the altar bending,
Watching long in hope and fear,
Suddenly the Lord descending,
In His temple shall appear:
Come and worship, come and worship
Worship Christ the newborn King.

Wishing you a wonderful, lovely, stress-free, harmonious and joyful Christmas!

Lo! How a Rose E'er Blooming

2010-12-15T11:12:00.000-08:00

I just sat down at my computer, wondering what poem I would choose today for Poetry Wednesday. I grabbed the hymnal (conveniently located because of the season), and opened it to the Christmas hymns. These are always great 'go-to' poems during the Christmas season.

The hymnal opened to #174 "Lo! How a Rose E'er Blooming." This is not a song which I remember with great fondness from my childhood. I barely remember hearing it until I got First Call's "An Evening in December" album early in my marriage.

Now it is one of my favorites. Perhaps because I appreciate the words; perhaps because I adore their acapella rendition of it.

As a read over the words today I thought, "I wonder if I have a picture of a rose somewhere I could use?" Then I remembered snapping a few pictures of the last of the roses from my dad's bushes.

(Just as an aside, it's amazing how parents change as they grow up. My dad always mowed the lawn, but that was it. Since he retired from his summer job several (many?) years ago, he's now more than a lawn-mower. He is an avid gardener. It's amazing. These rose bushes have been at the side of their house since I was eight and we first moved there. With my dad's recent attention, they are producing beautiful roses, and nearly every year bloom until the beginning of November. I never would have guessed my dad would turn into a gardener.)

The rose above was one of those November blooms which graced the table of our fall family gathering the first weekend of November. Beautiful, isn't it?

Lo! How a Rose E'er Blooming
Traditional German Carol

Lo, how a rose e'er blooming
From tender stem hath sprung!
Of Jesse's lineage coming
As men of old have sung.
It came, a flower bright,
Amid the cold of winter,
When half-sprung was the night.

Isaiah 'twas foretold it,
The rose I have in mind;
With Mary we behold it,
The virgin mother kind.
To show God's love aright
She bore to men a Savior,
When half-gone was the night.

The flower, whose fragrance tender
With sweetness fills the air,
Dispels with glorious splendor
The darkness everywhere.
True man, yet very God,
From sin and death He saves us
And lightens every load.

Come Thou Long-Expected Jesus

2010-12-08T12:33:00.001-08:00

I really should be checking schoolwork right now, but I'm sneaking onto my computer for just a few minutes.

The first week of December is always, always, always the busiest. I've just returned from my third Christmas party in as many days. I enjoy parties as much as the next gal, but a part of me wants to sit in my living room when it's dark with a warm cup of tea and just bask in the lights of my Christmas tree.

If I could, I would do that morning and evening, every day of Advent. (And, honestly, I'm trying to figure out a way to keep my lighted tree up until the end of February. I think it would help my attitude in the dead of winter. But then it wouldn't be so special in December. You see my dilemma.)

You can see by my pictures we tend to be kid-centric around the holidays. I've always wanted nativity sets, and I've ended up with three. I could never justify the expense of a beautiful, adult nativity with four young children dying to put their hands all over the figurines. I could, however, justify buying nativities on which they could lay their hands.

Once the tree is up and decorated, the next thing my children look for are the nativities. They've been spending quite a lot of time in the living room, under the Christmas tree, playing with these sets, even though they are past the can-I-fit-baby-Jesus-in-my-mouth stage. (OK, way past that particular stage.)

And every evening, we eat by candlelight, read a short devotional and chose our favorite Christmas songs to sing. And we sing every, single, solitary verse. Even in The First Noel, which has about 500. Well, perhaps I'm exaggerating, but just a little bit.

This week, I got to chose my favorite:

O Come Thou Long-Expected Jesus (#168 in our old church hymnal)
Charles Wesley

Come, Thou long-expected Jesus
Born to set Thy people free.
From our fears and sins release us
Let us find our rest in Thee.

Israel's Strength and Consolation
Hope of all the earth Thou Art

Dear Desire of every nation
Joy of every longing heart.

Born Thy people to deliver
Born a child, and yet a King.
Born to reign in us forever
Now Thy gracious Kingdom bring

By Thine own eternal Spirit
Rule in all our hearts alone.

By Thine all sufficient merit
Raise us to Thy glorious throne.

Amen.
Enjoy other poetry here.
(And one day, I will get an official, grown-up, adult nativity. Promise.)

Song for a Little House

2010-12-01T17:05:00.001-08:00

I searched for a Christmas poem to share today, but my mind is still on Thanksgiving. I've been thinking about family - again. 'Tis the season, right?

I looked for a poem which expressed the joy I feel when I spend time with my aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, nieces, nephews, and first-cousins-once-removed (my cousin's children). I even toyed with the idea of writing one.

Fortunately, for you and for me, I did not write a poem - or attempt to do so.

We spent a lot of time at home this Thanksgiving, which is unusual for us. My sister-in-law had very kind words about our house (which I feel is a hodge-podge of various hand-me-downs which don't quite fit together). She helped me look with new eyes at our house, and realize it really is rather comfortable, although it seems much smaller when we cram six or eight more people in here. Somehow, we managed.

Above is my favorite picture of the house. Probably because the focus in on the daffodils instead of the house. We had snow flurries today - so, I feel obligated to include my favorite picture of the view from my front door below. Soon, our front yard will look like this again.

Meanwhile, we are thankful for our snug little house which keeps us warm during these cold winter days.

Song for a Little House
Christopher Morley

I'm glad our house is a little house,
Not too tall nor too wide;
I'm glad the hovering butterflies
Feel free to come inside.

Our little house is a friendly house,
It is not shy or vain;
It gossips with the talking trees,
And makes friends with the rain.

And quick leaves cast a shimmer of green
Against our whited walls,
And in the phlox the courteous bees
Are paying duty calls.

Read more poetry here for Poetry Wednesday.

Now, just because, some of my favorite pictures from the weekend, thanks to our resident photographer, my beautiful sister-in-law, Molly. Be prepared for lots of pink.

My Earliest Thanksgiving Memory

2010-11-24T11:06:00.000-08:00

I looked around. All the adults were preoccupied - either watching the football game, playing with the baby or reading the newspaper. My brother & sister were playing a game.

I quietly crept up the stairs to the kitchen. My mom had made my most absolute favorite dessert bar ever - Special K bars. Special K, peanut butter, and corn syrup, topped with melted chocolate chips. Just thinking about them made me drool.

The pan was on the counter. We had already had dessert, so I was safe sneaking one without anyone making a fuss. Mom would think one of my aunts or uncles took it.

I slid my finger under the piece I wanted and eased it out of the pan.

Where to eat it? It was too cold outside. I decided the bathroom. I could savor it, and if any adult came looking for me, it was a good excuse to be gone from the family gathering. Then I could wash the evidence from my hands and mouth.

I still remember sitting on the edge of the tub in my newly-married aunt & uncle's rented house, savoring that bar. We were celebrating Thanksgiving with Neil & Becky, my mom's brother and his new wife. My Aunt Lyn, Uncle Dave and cousin Matthew were there too, along with my grandmother and my family.

We were a much smaller family then. I was eleven, so Matthew was about 18 months that Thanksgiving. Now, I'm *eh-hem* older. Uncle Dave & Aunt Lyn had three more boys, Uncle Neil & Aunt Becky had four children - over the next eight years I went from having one Nyberg cousin to having eight. And I loved it.

And every year we would descend upon Uncle Neil & Aunt Becky's house in Battle Creek. Not just for Thanksgiving, but for a whole weekend. I remember camping out on the living room floor, the family room floor. I even slept under the dining room table a couple of years.

After entirely way-t0-many years, the family decided that Neil & Becky needed a break from hosting our family - which had grown from ten people to about 30, depending upon whose significant other was going to join us in any given year - or which cousin had gotten married.

(And in case you're wondering, yes, we would all stay with Uncle Neil & Aunt Becky. For two nights. In their house. In recent years, their very generous, and out-of-town neighbor allowed the family to use their house for sleeping, which helped keep the sleeping bags out of the living room.)

This year, we're carrying our Thanksgiving traditions to Rockford, where my grandmother and her husband recently moved into a retirement home. It will be a different location, but we will still sing the doxology in four-part harmony, Uncle Neil will still read Psalm 100 before we eat, and we will still share around the tables for what we are thankful this year.

Then, out-of-town family will descend to my mother's house, and to my house, for two nights. Because, you know, that's tradition. And because we love to be a family together.

In the midst of the hurried "can-I-figure-out-how-to-keep-it-warm-tomorrow" pre-baking, in the midst of the hurried "children-will-you-please!" cleaning, I remember the reason why I'm doing all this.

Because my family - my grandmother, my aunts & uncles & cousins, my brother, my sisters, my nieces and nephews - so enjoy each others' company that one day is just not enough.

What a blessing.

Doxology
Praise God from whom all blessings flow
Praise Him all creatures here below
Praise Him above ye heavenly hosts
Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.
A-men.

Poetry Wednesday
photo property of D Sharon Pruitt, flickr.com

Infidel

2010-11-19T06:31:00.001-08:00

For some reason, I've been attracted to books about the Middle East, Islam and especially women's experiences as Muslims.

Ayaan Hirsi Ali has a new book out titled Nomad, which I picked up off the shelf at our library. However, when I read the front flap, I realized she had written another book titled Infidel. It sounded like I should read Infidel first, so I did.

I appreciate Hirsi Ali's brutal honesty throughout this book. She describes her childhood - born in Somalia, moved to Saudi Arabia, Kenya, back to Somalia, then back to Kenya. She struggled in school, her mother physically abused her, and she worked hard to be a good Muslim.

Her story of how she escaped her father, an unwanted marriage, and her religion held my attention throughout the book. What I didn't know is that she is such a controversial figure in Dutch politics, which is all explained in the book as well.

I appreciate books like this which helps me to understand different perspectives of people in our world. In addition to a better understanding of the Somali culture, this book highlights the struggles Muslims face when confronting the west. Hirsi Ali helps us to understand that Muslims deal with the dissonance between what they're taught and what they encounter in very different ways. She also stresses the importance of integrating Muslims into Western culture instead of allowing refugees to isolate themselves into Muslim enclaves.

Challenged

2010-11-17T11:26:00.000-08:00

I'm feeling particularly poetically challenged this week.

My older children dissected poetry last week. This week they are learning all sorts of methods of writing poetry (I'm not sure what else to call them). Things like imagery and personification, of which I am familiar. Today we (as in ME TOO) learned about apostrophe.

And here I thought it was a simple punctuation mark.

It is, but in poetry apostrophe means something else entirely. It's when a poet speaks directly to an object in the poem. Then my children, poor things, had to write a poem using apostrophe.

They tried hard, and I give them credit for that. Tomorrow, we discuss theme.

Personally, I'm looking forward to getting back to standard essays - especially those factual ones, like compare/contrast or classification. Those, I can handle.

All this dissection of poems, etc, is making me look for simple little rhyming poems that give me pleasure. Like this one I found on the back of a bookmark we picked up at our library (sorry the picture didn't scan well):

Fall
Nancy Giffy

In fall every
leaf is
a
fiery jewel
We
walk
in
long
lines
down the
halls
at
school
The sunset
comes
early
and
shortens
our day
We study
our lessons
before
we can
play.

And then, I think perhaps I am learning something - because I'm seeing the imagery (use of sound & senses) in the following poem. Things I wouldn't have particularly noticed before attempting to teach my children about poetry.

November Night
Adelaide Crapsey

Listen. . .
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break from the trees
And fall.

Perhaps there is still hope for someone like me. Maybe I should find the Poetry for Dummies book at the library (surely there is one!) to supplement our homeschool. Then again....

Here are poems other, more poetry-savvy bloggers chose for today, Poetry Wednesday.

Stuff: Compulsive Hoarding & the Meaning of Things

2010-11-12T16:29:00.000-08:00

It's interesting that this book review comes after my selection for Poetry Wednesday and the issue of contentment. I think the two subjects are intimately intertwined, but I have yet to see any books, studies, or articles discussing the relationship between contentment and our (America's) continual pursuit of stuff.

There is no question we in America are blessed - or is it a curse? If you’ve ever watched Hoarders on A&E or Peter Walsh on TLC’s Clean Sweep, you know that some Americans are buried under their stuff.

Now Randy O. Frost and Gail Steketee delve deeper into hoarders attachment to their stuff in Stuff: Compulsive Hoarding and the Meaning of Things. Frost and Steketee keep this from being a dry, textbook look at hoarding by taking readers into the homes and lives of many of their clients. Throughout the book, they give us somewhat of a history of hoarding (who knew it’s been a problem for centuries and not just decades?) and the story of an infamous pair of brothers in New York whose home could only be entered through a third-floor window.

I found this book quite interesting, and a little bit horrifying. I have a small (and now, not-so-secret) fear of becoming as attached to my possessions as their clients. So I continue to clear out my house of things I don’t need anymore.

As I was reading this book, my other reoccurring thought was, “How do I help my children from becoming hoarders?” Fortunately, the authors include a chapter about children who hoard.

Unfortunately, they don’t offer much hope for the recovery of hoarders, especially if they’re forced to clean out their houses. The authors recently started working with children hoarders, so while they’re hopeful children will be more open to therapy and recovery, they don’t have much hard evidence that hypothesis is true.

This is not a self-help book designed to help you get your stuff organized and sorted. This is more of an analysis of people who hoard and their relationship with their things. I picture this book being used for a college-level psych class, although it is very readable for the average person (like me). If you have a hoarder in your family, this book will help you understand them, their attachment to their things.

Rum Tum Tugger

2010-11-10T14:44:00.000-08:00

This week, I have learned more about poets than I have for a long time. My older two have had to dissect a poem yesterday and today (thankfully it was a poem, and not a pig!), and then write one of their own.

(I was hoping to share their original poems today for Poetry Wednesday, but... well, I think they inherited their mother's poetic gene. That is, they have none. But bless their hearts, they tried!)

Both poems they dissected have been about cats. I like cats. If I were to have a pet, I would like to have a cat. They're so furry and cuddly (if you have the cuddly kind).

However, I'm allergic to cats, so I will continue to live in a pet-free home. Which is OK with me. Costs less that way, plus less mess. (I think. With four children it's hard to believe this house could get much messier, but I suppose it could.)

I enjoyed the first stanza of The Rum Tum Tugger quite a lot. As my father would say, "I resemble that remark." This cat is never content - often too true of my life as well. And that's all I'm going to say on that particular subject.

The Rum Tum Tugger
T.S. Eliot

The Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat;
If you offer him a pheasant he would rather have grouse.
If you put him in a house he would much prefer a flat,
If you put him in a flat then he'd rather have a house.
If you set him on a mouse then he only wants a rat,
If you set him on a rat then he'd rather chase a mouse.
Yes the Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat -
And there isn't any call for me to shout it:
For he will do
As he do do
And there's no doing anything about it!

The Rum Tum Tugger is a terrible bore:
When you let him in, then he wants to be out;
He's always on the wrong side of every door,
As soon as he's at home, then he'd like to get about.
He likes to lie in the bureau drawer,
But he makes such a fuss if he can't get out.
Yes the Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat -
And there isn't any call for you to doubt it:
For he will do
As he do do
And there's no doing anything about it!

The Rum Tum Tugger is a curious beast:
His disobliging ways are a matter of habit.
If you offer him fish then he always wants a feast;
When there isn't any fish then he won't eat rabbit.
If you offer him cream then he sniffs and sneers,
For he only likes what he finds for himself;
So you'll catch him in it right up to the ears,
If you put it away on the larder shelf.
The Rum Tum Tugger is artful and knowing,
The Rum Tum Tugger doesn't care for a cuddle;
But he'll leap on your lap in the middle of your sewing,
For there's nothing he enjoys like a horrible muddle.
Yes the Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat -
And there isn't any call for me to spout it:
For he will do
As he do do
And there's no doing anything about it!

No One Would Listen

2010-11-04T17:45:00.001-07:00

I picked up No One Would Listen: A True Financial Thriller by Harry Markopolos with trepidation. I had heard about Bernie Madoff and the huge pyramid scheme he ran under the cover of a hedge fund. However, not being a financial guru, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to follow the story.

Markopolos does a very good job of focusing on the people involved in the Madoff scandal. Because of the subject matter, he does have to delve into the financial and investment world, but he does his best to simplify it for the average reader. I still don’t understand all the jargon surrounding investing or hedge funds, but that didn’t hinder my ability to understand the drama unfolding.

Markopolos is uniquely qualified to write a book on the Madoff scandal because he spotted Madoff as a fraud years before the pyramid scheme finally collapsed. He tried to warn the Securities & Exchange Commission (SEC) about Madoff more than a half-dozen times, but no one would listen to him.

The fall-out of the scandal is heart-breaking. Markopolos introduces us to several of the people he personally knew who lost millions and millions of dollars.

Since reading this book, I’ve read several articles in my local paper about people losing millions of dollars in locally-run hedge funds which turned out to be pyramid schemes. The lesson I’ve learned? Don’t invest in a hedge fund unless you can follow the money and the transactions.

The Light is Sweet

2010-11-03T11:46:00.000-07:00

This morning we were all so cranky from late nights and too many sweets I wasn't sure we would last the day. I hate bickering, it makes me even more cranky and short-tempered. The fact that the morning was cloudy and dreary added to my bad mood.

Fortunately, we managed to turn our attention from the minor frustrations of the morning to our schoolwork. All bickering was forgotten in the quest to complete schoolwork and chores before 11:30, when my good friend picks up the girls on Wednesday.

My 10-year-old is her 'mother's helper' and my 9-year-old is a 'mother's helper's apprentice.'

(OK, this is totally not relevant to my topic today, but I just have to tell you this story:

My friend and I meet about once a week to pray together. My kids usually come along to play with her kids. Last week, Anna was caring for her baby, my Isaac and her Ezra were playing, and my Lydia was playing with her Lucy. My friend walked into the bathroom after we left to find long strands of Lucy's hair on the bathroom floor.

"Lucy, what happened here? Did you cut your hair? I want you to tell me the truth."

"Will I get a spank Mommy?"

"No, honey. I just want the truth."

Pause. "Will Lydia get a spank?"

"No, honey. What happened here?"

"Lydia cut my bangs."

My friend called me laughing hysterically. (I am SO GLAD she wasn't mad!) "I promised Lucy Lydia would not get in trouble for this. And I think that Lydia has a future in cosmetology - she did a really good job cutting her bangs. But please ask Lydia not to do it again."

At dinner that night, I related the story. "Lydia, what happened?"

"Well, Lucy wanted me to cut her bangs. I tried to say no (keep in mind here: Lydia is 9, Lucy is 3), but she just insisted!"

I tried not to laugh. "Honey, this is why you are a mother's helper's apprentice!")

I'm glad that my friend was willing to give Lydia another chance at being a mother's helper's apprentice today. And so was she.

With the distraction of schoolwork and chores, and a warm cup of tea, my mood lifted. Then, joy of joys, the sun came out! I never take any peak of sun for granted since moving back to Illinois, especially in the fall or winter.

All afternoon, I've tried to find excuses to sit on the couch in my living room, enjoying the sun streaming in through the window. One of my excuses was to find a poem about the sun for Poetry Wednesday. As I paged through the poetry book, I came across this short poem, from the Bible. I have no idea the reference, the poetry book doesn't give it.

The Light is Sweet
The Bible

Truly the light is sweet,
And a pleasant thing it is
For the eyes to behold the sun.

What more is there to say?

Minnows

2010-10-27T15:40:00.000-07:00

We enjoyed a late fall visit from good friends last week. They came from Indiana to our house - the first time ever.

Nathaniel's friend is an avid fisherman. Nathaniel had won a free dozen bait minnows at a community event this summer, and immediately thought of his friend.

While his friend was here, we picked up the minnows, borrowed fishing poles from the Wauconda Park District, and headed off to the fishing pier.

The weather was beautiful, but the fish weren't biting. Nathaniel, who didn't know how to operate the fishing pole, had some theories as to why. His friend also had some theories. I wonder as to whose were more accurate?

Either way, the biggest attraction for all five boys were those minnows, swimming around in the big orange bucket. The younger three had a hard time keeping their hands out of the bucket, even after repeated admonishments from the older boys that "just putting your hands in the water will kill them! So will touching them!"

I've got to give my girlfriend credit. She helped Nathaniel bait his line, taught him how to use the pole and cast the line. I watched from a safe distance and managed to avoid touching any of the fishing equipment or, more importantly, the minnows.

MINNOWS
John Keats

...Swarms of minnows show their little heads,
Staying their waxy bodies 'gainst the streams,
To taste the luxury of sunny beams
Tempered with coolness.
How they ever wrestle
With their own sweet delight, and ever nestle
Their silver bellies on the pebbly sand.
If you but scantily hold out the hand,
That very instant not one will remain;
But turn your eye, and they are there again.
The ripples seem right glad to read those cresses,
And cool themselves among the em'rald tresses;
The while they cool themselves, they freshness give,
And moisture, that the bowery green may live.

POETRY WEDNESDAY

When Mother Reads Aloud

2010-10-20T11:16:00.000-07:00

When Mother reads aloud, the past
Seems real as every day;
I hear the tramp of armies vast,
I see the spears and lances cast,
I join the trilling fray;
Brave knights and ladies fair and proud
I meet when Mother reads aloud.

When Mother reads aloud, far lands
Seem very near and true;
I cross the desert's gleaming sands,
Or hunt the jungle's prowling bands,
Or sail the ocean blue.
Far heights, whose peaks the cold mists shroud,
I scale, when Mother reads aloud.

When I first read this poem, a face popped into my mind. I enjoy reading to my children, and they enjoy it too. But one of my children seems to engage in a way the others do not.

Perhaps it's because he's the youngest, and has been listening to me read for several hours a day since he was one-year-old, when I made him sit on my lap while I read to his older siblings. There was no way I was going to use my precious nap time for school!

Perhaps it's because he has a vivid imagination. Or perhaps because he's, well, himself.

Isaac, my seven-year-old, constantly amazes me with the connections he makes, the vocabulary he uses, and the context he has for life.

What other five-year-old would recruit his friends to play "the North and the South," complete with flags for both sides (fairly accurately drawn too)? What other seven-year-old would say, "That news distresses me!" at the dinner table? What other seven-year-old, when asking for a short bedtime story, pulls out the Usborne Book of World History so I can reread two pages of history to him?

In a world this vast, I'm sure there are others. But let me share with you why I think my little boy is unique.

His older brother and sister are studying world history this year, and one morning, their Usborne Encyclopedia of World History was sitting on the coffee table after school.

Isaac spotted it. "Oh, this is so cool!" he said, and started looking through it. Pretty soon, I hear him yelling, "MOM! Come here! You gotta see this!"

I go into the living room, and he points to the picture at the right.

"Isn't this neat, Mom? I was just looking at this page about the first cities, and they have a pyramid in it! One that reminds me of the ancient Egyptians and the Aztecs! Isn't that neat?"

I stammered something intelligible in reply. "That is neat. Archeologists call it a ziggurat, and that's a picture of Ur, Abraham's home town."

(Just in case you think I'm smart, I had just read those pages to his siblings in school a few moments before.)

One of my friends, after hearing this story, told me, "You have a treasure!" I agree - each of my children is a treasure. And I having a feeling that trying to teach Isaac is going to be like trying to stay ahead of an avalanche.

But I think I'm up for the challenge.

Poetry Wednesday

There Isn't Time

2010-10-13T08:36:00.001-07:00

It's amazing how many clocks are in our house - all reminding me how quickly time is passing.

Today, I'm trying to ignore the headache I've been nursing for about 36 hours. I told my husband this morning that I think I'm stressed because of everything I have going on this week.

He very nicely said, "Duh."

As we started our fall activities, my very-wise-dear husband pointed out to me I have too much on my plate. Yes. I admit it. I do. But what could I give up?

Not teaching my children at home.
Not leading women's Bible study at church.
Not attending Bible Study Fellowship.
Not singing on Sunday mornings when asked.
Not my Shaklee business.
Not my writing/video business.
Not my chamber involvement.

So. In the future, I have agreed to not say 'yes' to anything without discussing it with him first.

In the past, I was the one saying to him, "Please do not say yes to anything without discussing it with me first." I guess the old adage is true: "What goes around, comes around."

The ongoing struggle - managing my time wisely, managing my energy wisely, managing my family, home, church activities wisely.

This week, I give myself an "F." Hopefully, next week will be better.

There Isn't Time
Eleanor Farjeon

There isn't time, there isn't time
To do the things I want to do,
With all the mountain-tops to climb,
And all the woods to wander through,
And all the seas to sail upon,
And everywhere there is to go,
And all the people, every one
Who lives upon the earth, to know.
There's only time, there's only time
To know a few, and do a few,
And then sit down and make a rhyme
About the rest I want to do.

Enjoy more Poetry Wednesday selections here.

The Red Pyramid

2010-10-11T12:21:00.001-07:00

My older children and I have greatly enjoyed Percy Jackson and the Olympians, a series of books about the Greek gods in contemporary world by Rick Riordan. So, when my son came home from a library book club excited about a new series of books “Just like Percy Jackson Mom, but with the Egyptian gods!”, I looked forward to reading the book too.

The Red Pyramid is the first book in The Kane Chronicles, the newest series by Rick Riordan. My son read it first, and loved it. I read it next, and was horrified.

Don’t get me wrong: Riordan is a wonderful writer. He writes The Kane Chronicles from the perspective of Sadie and Carter, two siblings who don’t see much of each other. Carter travels the world with his father, while Sadie lives with her grandparents in London. On their biannual visit to Sadie, Carter and his father take Sadie to a museum. Something strange happens, and Carter’s dad vanishes. Carter and Sadie escape, and end up discovering some pretty strange stuff about their parents - and their heritage as descendants of the ancient Egyptian pharaohs.

Riordan included some great themes about courage, family and loyalty in this book. So what horrifies me? The relationship between Carter, Sadie and the Egyptian gods.

Carter and Sadie discover they have great power because they each have an Egyptian god inside them. They travel great distances in short amounts of time, they converse with these gods in their minds, and learn the gods’ perspective on world history.

Their experiences are too close to reality for my taste. And not enough reality as well. At the end of the book, the children take off their Egyptian amulets, and walk away from the Egyptian gods, for now.

Please understand the perspective from which I am writing. As a Christian, I believe that there is real evil in this world. I believe Satan is real, and that demons are real. And I believe that demons can inhabit people. And from what I’ve read in the Bible, and from what I’ve read about other people’s experiences with demons, it is impossible to just decide to walk away from them when they’ve started to inhabit you.

The experiences Carter and Sadie have in The Red Pyramid are eerily similar to experiences I have read former witch doctors describe in other books. That fact alone is enough for me to caution parents and children greatly against this book and this series.

Does this mean I will forbid my children from reading them? No, but I will require that I read it too and we discuss the book when we’re done. I would rather they know what other people are reading and talking about and what a Biblical perspective of that is, than to completely shelter them from it. And, I will require them to read the books about witch doctors I mentioned earlier, so they can see the similarities themselves.

Shattered Silence

2010-10-09T09:54:00.000-07:00

It took a lot of courage for Melissa Moore to write about her childhood and her relationship with her father in Shattered Silence. She is the daughter of the "Happy Face" serial killer, who killed women up and down the West Coast.

My heart ached for Melissa, as she remembered loving - and fearing - her father throughout her childhood. She tells of her parents' divorce, her mother's poverty, living in her grandmother's basement. Her mother's remarriage to an abusive man, and she and her siblings attempts to escape from their home.

That Melissa has endured so much, and is able to write about it without bitterness, is amazing to me. She has narrowly escaped the cycle of abuse, taking control of her own life and coming to grips with the fact she is not responsible for her father's crimes. She also realizes that she's not responsible for her mother's choices, even though they greatly affected her.

Shattered Silence is the story of a girl who had to fight her way through every step of life to find herself and a future not defined by her past.

Extremes

2010-10-06T10:34:00.001-07:00

I am enjoying a rare moment of quiet in my house. As you can see the three children home are eating lunch, reading books at the same time. And it is lovely.

This morning was a series of door slamming, baby crying (not mine, a friend's), feet running, children crying (mine and my friend's), boom box playing loudly noises.

Every time I get irritated by the noise, I remind myself that soon - sooner than I can imagine - my house will be quiet. Very quiet. My children will be grown, and it will be just my husband and I.

I can hardly imagine it.

In the meantime, I live in a world of extremes.

EXTREMES
James Whitcomb Riley

A little boy once played so loud
That the thunder, up in a thundercloud,
Said, "Since I can't be heard, why, then
I'll never, never thunder again!"

And a little girl once kept so still
That she heard a fly on the window sill
Whisper and say to a ladybird, -
"She's the stillest child I ever heard!"

(As an aside, both my boys are loud, but only one of my girls is quiet. However, that doesn't keep me from enjoying this poem!)

Read more poetry here.

September

2010-09-29T11:52:00.001-07:00

The past couple of years, September has felt more like August - the heat and humidity of a Midwestern August hanging on much too long.

This year, September surprised me. Labor Day weekend was beautiful and - boom! - it was fall. Before I was even ready for it.

Not that I'm complaining. I love fall weather! Cool mornings, warm mid-days, t-shirts and sweaters. This September has been particularly beautiful - sunny day following sunny day with the autumn crisp in the air.

Ahhh...

The kids are anxiously awaiting for the trees to lose their leaves. They love to make 'leaf houses' and 'leaf towns' and play outside all afternoon.

It's lovely for me too.

In honor of September:

September
Helen Hunt Jackson

The goldenrod is yellow;
The corn is turning brown;
The trees in the apple orchards
With fruit are bending down.

The gentian's bluest fringes
Are curling in the sun;
In dusty pods the milkweed
Its hidden silk has spun.

The sedges flaunt their harvest
In every meadow nook;
And asters by the brook-side
Make asters in the brook.

From dewy lanes at morning
The grapes' sweet odors rise;
At noon the roads all flutter
With yellow butterflies.

By all these lovely tokens
September days are here,
With summer's best of weather,
And autumn's best of cheer.

Enjoy more poetry here.

Quoth the Raven

2010-09-22T11:25:00.001-07:00

I'm not very inspired today. All my creative energies went into a piece I wrote for the writer's group at the library last night.

I tend to write best on a deadline, but I really cut this one close. I wrote the whole thing Monday afternoon - half of it while my children were asking, "What's for dinner Mom?" "When are we going to eat Mom?" "Are we going to be late for AWANA tonight Mom?" "We need to eat NOW!"

They got fed, they were on time, I e-mailed off my article. Whew.

Lucky for me (and hopefully for you), I have created a file on my computer of poems I like but haven't yet shared. Today's poem came from that file.

I read quite a bit of Edgar Allan Poe in junior high. Doesn't that seem the perfect age for his short stories and poems? A bit creepy, a bit scary, a bit thrilling. Just like junior high. Although I think they call it "middle school" now.

In eighth grade, I was in the advanced English class. The librarian taught the class - my sister could tell you her name. (I could too, if I took the time to dig out my junior high year book. Not gonna do it though.)

I remember stop-motion animation projects (pre-computer days), IQ tests, vocabulary words like harbinger (The robin is a harbinger of spring.), Ivanhoe by Sir Walter Scott, and Edgar Allan Poe. Particularly this poem. I love the repetition of the line "Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'"

I suppose I should understand it at a deeper level now that I'm ahem years older. But I've not really thought about it. I enjoy the rhyming, wording & cadence of it. I hope you do too.

By the way, it's a really, really long poem, so I've just included my favorite stanzas here. (I think that's what you call them. We'll pretend I'm right. And after you enjoy this poem, you can read more poetry here.)

The Raven
Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore -
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
‘ ‘T is some visitor,’ I muttered, ‘tapping at my chamber door -
Only this and nothing more.’

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.
...
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
‘Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou’ I said, ‘art sure no craven,
Gastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore -
Tell me what they lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’
Quoth the Raven, ‘Nevermore.’
...
‘Prophet!’ said I, ‘thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.’
Quoth the Raven, ‘Nevermore.’

‘Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!’ I shrieked, upstarting -
‘Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!’
Quoth the Raven, ‘Nevermore.’

That totally awesome, amazing photo came from kevindooley on flickr

Ancient History

2010-09-15T10:33:00.000-07:00

I had an epiphany this week.

Yesterday, I started back at one of my favorite places, Bible Study Fellowship. I'm so excited because they're offering a new study this year - the book of Isaiah. I love studying the Old Testament, and am looking forward to digging into this year.

Yesterday afternoon, I sat down in my living room and read the introductory notes on Isaiah. In a part of the notes, it discussed different enemies of Israel that Isaiah prophesied against over the course of his 60-year ministry in Judah.

Here's the epiphany: I recognized every single name on that list!

That may not seem amazing, but I feel like a lightbulb has turned on! I'm going through World History again with my older two children, just finished a 2-year World History study with my younger two. So, discussing places like Ur, Babylon, Nineveh, Egypt, Assyria, etc, is almost second nature to me. Names are my downfall, but something must be sticking.

I love homeschooling! I have learned so, so, so much, and this year I can sense it coming all together.

My older kids and I are in the middle of reading a fabulous historical fiction book called God King (watch for a review on KidsBooksThatRock.com). Some of the minor characters in the book are key characters in the Old Testament - King Hezekiah, Isaiah, Sennacharib.

This morning, I opened the poetry book I read with the younger two and found this poem. I was as surprised as you are.

The Destruction of Sennacherib
Lord Byron

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen;
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

By the way, you can read about Sennecharib & King Hezekiah in various places in the Bible, including 2 Kings 18-19, 2 Chronicles 32:1-23, and Isaiah 36-37. It's a very interesting story - and I like Byron's perspective.

You can read more poetry here, for Poetry Wednesday.

Animal Crackers

2010-09-08T17:11:00.000-07:00

Animal Crackers
Christopher Morely

Animal crackers, and cocoa to drink,
That is the finest of suppers, I think;
When I'm grown up and can have what I please
I think I shall always insist upon these.

What do you choose when you're offered a treat?
When Mother says, "What would you like best to eat?"
Is it waffles and syrup, or cinnamon toast?
It's cocoa and animal crackers that I love most!

The kitchen's the cosiest place that I know:
The kettle is singing, the stove is aglow,
And there in the twilight, how jolly to see
The cocoa and animals waiting for me.

Daddy and Mother dine later in state,
With Mary to cook for them, Susan to wait;
But they don't have nearly as much as I
Who eat in the kitchen with Nurse standing by;
And Daddy once said, he would like to be me
Having cocoa and animals once more for tea!

~*~*~*~

We read this poem in school yesterday morning. It's a fun poem to read, fun to think about, but it was made even more fun by our company yesterday.

We were watching my friend's daughter, Kaylee, who is almost two and a half. She was hanging out with us in the living room, playing with the Little People princesses, horses and castle. She was so quiet, I almost forgot she was there.

Then, I read this poem and a little voice piped up.

"Does Kaylee want animal crackers? Yes please!"

Don't you love how toddlers ignore pronouns? So cute! I told her she may after I was done reading the poem.

The next time she heard 'animal crackers' in the poem she repeated herself, "Does Kaylee want animal crackers? Yes please!"

We had to interrupt the poem, find Lydia who could dig in the diaper bag for animal crackers for Kaylee's snack.

In three years, when I read this poem again to my younger children, I'm sure I'll still hear the little two-year-old Kaylee's voice, asking for animal crackers.

I love making memories.

Enjoy more poetry here in honor of Poetry Wednesday.

Nothing to Envy

2010-09-07T16:59:00.000-07:00

This book nearly screamed at me to grab it off the shelves of my local library. In Nothing to Envy: Ordinary Lives in North Korea, author Barbara Demick weaves together stories from the lives of defectors from North Korea, based upon hundreds of interviews she conducted while living and working in South Korea.

The book immediately drew me in with a satellite photo from NASA of the Korean peninsula at night. The contrast is startling. I thought I knew something about North Korea - but that picture told me how little I knew about this hermit nation.

North Korea is like a black hole - virtually no lights on throughout the entire country.

South Korea is lit up like a Christmas tree.

Demick starts telling us how darkness can be a blessing to some in North Korea and then takes us into the lives of Mi-Ran and her boyfriend, Jun-Sang, as well as four other North Koreans.

Their stories completely pulled me in. I found myself fascinated with their journeys, their struggles, their triumphs, their pain. I knew that North Korea had experienced a famine fairly recently, but knowing it as fact is completely different than feeling it through the lives of these people.

Demick expertly weaves the stories together, along with the history of the Korean peninsula, North Korea in particular.

I nearly cried so many times during the book. I raged at the selfish pigheadedness of the North Korean dictators. When my husband's cousin mentioned pulling weeds and throwing them over the fence of their backyard, I immediately thought, "That's what the North Koreans would gather and try to cook for something to eat."

Thank you, Barbara Demick, for introducing me to these ordinary people who fought so hard and lost so much. It's changed my outlook on life, and helped me realize how blessed I am.

The Bridge Builder

2010-08-25T09:58:00.000-07:00

I went to the farm this weekend. In my husband's family, that means either his parents' house on 1000 West in Rensselaer, Indiana, or his uncle's (now his cousin's) house in West Liberty, Ohio.

In my family, it means Stillman Valley, Illinois, southwest of Rockford.

My mother's uncle and his wife farmed the land on that Nyberg farm for as long as I can remember. And Uncle Len and Aunt LaVerna would have us out for a Memorial Day picnic every year when I was little.

I hunted out these pictures at my mother's this afternoon. This is what I remember of the farm - playing with the cats, eating Aunt LaVerna's homemade Swedish pastries, playing by the creek, driving a tractor, and hay rides.

Most of all, I remember big hugs and big laughs from Uncle Len. Uncle Len was my grandfather's youngest brother. I don't remember my grandfather much because he died when I was six. Yet, there he is in the bottom picture, in the little jalopy, sitting up behind my dad.

I do remember Uncle Len. Dear, laughing, teasing, oh-so-much-fun Uncle Len. I took three of my children to Stillman Valley this weekend to remember Uncle Len, who died a week ago. I had not seen him in a very long time, but he's the closest I remember to a Nyberg grandpa.

And I feel so lucky to have him.

Our visits slowly stopped after Uncle Len's son, Dan, and his family, moved out to the farm when I was about 10. I remember feeling an insane amount of jealousy towards those tiny little kids I didn't really know. I wanted to live on that farm so badly!

Uncle Len's presence in my life lives on. His family chose to include this poem in the program for his memorial service. I was amazed at the words, and how they describe my great-uncle. Uncle Len chose to build a strong bridge into my life and the lives of my siblings, I think, especially after my grandfather died. I appreciate him so much for that!

At the farm, after the service, I overheard my mother's cousin, Marsha, telling Aunt LaVerna what she remembered about the poem. Marsha's dad, Uncle Phil, was another Nyberg brother.

"I remember being out here on the farm, and Uncle Len and Dad had figured out a way to build a bridge across the creek. So they started every single engine on the farm and lined them up along the bank, not because they needed them, but because they could. They had a crane from somewhere and dropped an I-beam across the creek, and my father stood there, next to the bridge and quoted this poem. Then, Aunt LaVerna, you were the first to cross the bridge and you fell off into the water!"

Aunt LaVerna laughed a big laugh. "That's true! I was stepping high, making a big show of it, and I lost my footing and fell in that creek! Oh, your memory is amazing."

My family is amazing. Amazing that I knew every one of my great-aunts & great-uncles on both the Nyberg and Gustafson side, and can probably name most of my mother's 20-something cousins on each side. Amazing that we all consider family so important that Aunt LaVerna said to us, "Relatives are the most important. I am so glad to see you all could make it."

Uncle Len and Aunt LaVerna never met a stranger and couldn't count the number of friends they have. Yet, they still value us, as distant relatives as we are. Dear Aunt LaVerna recognized me as soon as she saw me and could name all four of my children by name.

Family is so important. Thank you Uncle Len and Aunt LaVerna for all the wonderful memories you created through your love, laughter and hospitality. I love you dearly.

The Bridge Builder

Will Allen Dromgoole

An old man, going a lone highway,

Came at the evening, cold and gray,

To chasm, vast and deep and wide,

Through which was flowing a sullen tide.

The old man crossed in the twilight dim;

The sullen stream had no fears for him;

But he turned when safe on the other side

And built a bridge to span the tide.

"Old man," said a fellow pilgrim near,

"You are wasting strength with building here;

Your journey will end with the ending day;

You never again must pass this way;

You have crossed the chasm, deep and wide --

Why build you the bridge at the eventide?"

The builder lifted his old gray head:

"Good friend, in the path I have come," he said,

"There followeth after me today

A youth whose feet must pass this way.

This chasm that has been naught to me

To that fair-haired youth may a pit-fall be,

He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;

Good friend, I am building the bridge for him."

Enjoy more poetry here on Poetry Wednesday.