I'd Leave

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

You can read more poetry here for Poetry Wednesday.

President's Day

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.)