MommyCoddle

loss, love and miracles

As if we didn't have enough sadness to deal with last week, the girls and I were faced with the strange disappearance of one of our beloved cats, Rosie. Most of you will probably recognize Rosie as the "upside down cat". She was a total sweetheart. The kind of cat you're constantly tripping over as she flops her body down in your path hoping for a rub of the belly or a scratch behind the ears. And she put up with all kinds of loving "abuse" from the girls.

At first, we thought she'd disappeared to have her babies. But I still remained suspicious, knowing it was about two weeks too soon for her to be due. Emma wandered the yard every morning and every evening calling for her. It was heartbreaking. She didn't understand why Rosie would disappear for so long because she always showed up when it was time to eat.

After being gone for two days, I decided it was time for me to check along the roadside and this time when I did, I found the grass littered with clumps of her fur. I can only imagine that she must have gotten carried away by something in the night.

I've been gently trying to warm Emma up to the idea that Rosie might be gone for good. And she's finally embraced the fact that she's not coming back.

Though the heartbreak is difficult, I believe these times of loss teach my children a lot. I truly believe they've been able to process and talk with me freely about the death of their great-grandmother because they've experienced death in other forms, since we've lived on the farm. Though no animal is as dear to their heart as my grandmother, I still believe these times have been used for their growth and understanding.

Meanwhile, by the sweet grace of God, there was a kitten in this newest litter of Black Walnut's that is the spitting image of Rosie. It really is miraculous because Black Walnut is, well...black. And the father was a solid, dark grey cat. But somehow in a litter of all black kittens and one grey kitten, there emerged a striped cat, just like Rosie.

I told Emma she could keep her. And Emma's pouring all her energy and love for Rosie, into the new little Rosie.

grateful to the last

I haven't been sure if I was going to write this post. But tonight it feels right, sitting in a quiet house. Rain hitting the window behind the chair I'm sitting in. Dog sleeping soundly across my feet.

My grandmother died last Saturday. It happened very quickly. Which I know was merciful. Just days ago, on Elizabeth's birthday, we sat at the table and I listened as she sang her 'happy birthday'. I remember purposely not joining in, because I wanted to savor the moment. Her voice. Her joy. Her love for my sweet little Elizabeth.

And I knew she wasn't doing well. But I still held out hope. She was this force in my life who I knew, deep down, wouldn't be there forever. But somewhere, this little child inside me wanted her to be and wouldn't acknowledge it being any other way.

Her passing truly marks the end of an era. Her influence reaches well beyond her fifteen children, her grandchildren, her great grand children and into neighbors, the community, the church, even lives in other parts of the world.

I hold those two years we lived on her farm close to my heart. I find myself frantically searching my mind for memories, moments we shared. My family, my children became part of her routine--expected for lunch, Sunday dinner, the walk up to feed the kitties, the push-mowing of the driveway, the daily paper laid out beside the telephone.  Having us there became normal.

I learned her routine. If I didn't hear her pull out of the garage for Mass at 8:35, I'd make my way over to the house to find her, make sure everything was okay. If she wasn't home by 9:30, I'd know it was a grocery store day and I'd try my best to be home at 11:00--to help her carry bags into the house.

What I learned from her and what she taught me in those two years is endless and not easily put into words. Some of it is simple, some of it has become such a part of me now, I can't figure out when it wasn't there at all.

There are gifts that she gave to my children, that I hope I can continue to give them.

People ask me how I'm doing. I'm doing okay and I'm not doing okay. I feel blessed to have had my life become intertwined with hers for those two years. I feel blessed that I was able to help with her care, in her last days. That I was able to sing for her. And tell her that I loved her. And that she taught me so much. That I got to kiss her soft cheek many, many times. That I walked to her bedside one evening, and she looked up and said my name, the way she did every time I walked in the door to her kitchen.

I feel blessed.

That one day, we stood shoulder to shoulder and made granola at her counter.

That one day, she told me I was an amazing mother.

That one day, I listened to her tell someone else what wonderful children I have.

That one day, she told me how much she loved hearing me sing and play her piano.

That one day, she brought over six baby chicks in the back of her car and handed them to my little girls.

That one day, she stood against a fence post and watched my daughter ride.

That one day, she told me I was looking particularly lovely.

That one day, we sat on the edge of her bed and watched derby races.

That one day, we worked in her garden.

There were many, many days.

I feel blessed. I will miss her dearly. But I know we'll see each other again, in a much better place.

Until then, I'll see her in others, in her gardens, in my father, in my children, in myself.

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“We measure time by its deaths, yes, and by its births. For time is told also by life. As some depart, others come. The hand opened in farewell remains open in welcome. I, who once had grandparents and parents, now have children and grandchildren. Like the flowing river that is yet always present, time that is always going is always coming. And time that is told by death and birth is held and redeemed by love, which is always present. Time, then is told by love’s losses, and by the coming of love, and by love continuing in gratitude for what is lost. It is folded and enfolded and unfolded forever and ever, the love by which the dead are alive and the unborn welcomed into the womb. The question for the old and the dying, I think, is not if they have loved and been loved enough, but if they have been grateful enough for love received and given, however much. No one who has gratitude is the onliest one. Let us pray to be grateful to the last.”

{Wendell Berry :: Andy Catlett}

promises, promises

I've been on a rampage lately. Cracking down on my children for the fact that they don't take care of their things. The things they supposedly love.

I dangle a toy by its ear over the trashcan: "Emma, I found this outside in the rain. It is soaking wet. And dirty. I think I may have even heard it crying last night during the thunderstorm. You must not love this toy because you don't take very good care of it."

She yelps and squeals in terror leaping for the toy and clutching it to her chest, a long-lost prodigal toy returning home.

"Okay. If you really love that toy, show it to me by putting it where it belongs. Put it somewhere safe."

It usually doesn't get this dramatic. And usually my children know that I won't throw away their favorite toy. (I'd at least give it to Goodwill. Kidding. kind of.) But generally it gets my point across, they learn something from it.

And that lasts for five minutes.

So today when I had the sheer pleasure of birthday present shopping for a young cousin, with all three children along for the trip, Emma became extremely attached to one of these mewing, purring, robotic "Fur Real" toys. (yuck.) And when I say attached I mean like she might perish if she has to live without it. I mean tears walking down the aisles of the store with longing looks over her shoulder in the general direction of the "fake pets" aisle.

You'd think the girl could settle for the real stuff. The fact that she has five mewing kittens on her mudroom porch. And four purring ones hanging out in the back yard. But I guess our kittens don't come with purple-flowered carrying cases and pink plastic brushes. (gag.)

So we made a pact. Right there in the store, we shook on it. She dried her eyes, collected herself and made an agreement.

I'm beginning to think I went easy on her. Fourteen days? Maybe I should have made it forty.

But I'll be watching her every move. Tallying up the toys left behind, left out, out of place. She's got to keep up her end of the deal. Fur real this time.

another simple question

Since my last simple question was such a success, I have another one for you this evening:

What is your dinner style? Buffet? Family style? Serve yourself?

Let me explain....for me, the moments right before we sit down to a meal can be pure chaos. Kids are whining for dinner, Dan is walking in the door, I'm still counting out forks and napkins, and realizing I forgot to put out everyone's drinks.

And I'm notoriously guilty of calling everyone in for dinner way too early--so that they're champing at the bit, mulling around the kitchen, and I'm still running around getting things together. (In my defense, it seems like the days I wait until every detail is taken care of, "people" lolly-gag too long and end up sitting down  to a table full of cold food.)

I used to be a fan of the "buffet style" dinner, where I'd serve everything up from the stove and pass out plates to people sitting at the table. But sometimes, this gets a little crazy--the lack of counter space, the ones waiting for their plates to be fixed, hungry little ones digging in (and sometimes devouring) before we've even said grace, the getting up and down every time something is forgotten or someone needs more.

So lately, I've been bringing everything to the table and serving it up family style. It makes for a full table but it seems to make for less trips up and down and a smoother transition into dinner. I *think*.

But I'd love to hear your style.

How do you get everything on the table, get settled and enjoy a family meal?

chicken picnic

Note to self:

Don't feed the cats (and consequently the chickens) your kitchen scraps on the deck picnic table, all winter long. Because come Spring, when the weather is nice and you want to have your own picnic on that same picnic table, the cats (and consequently the chickens) won't make the connection that now this is YOUR picnic table and this food is not THEIR scraps, but YOUR lunch.

Either that, or resign yourself to having a chicken at your picnic.

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Last Week's Giveaway Winners:

STENCIL 101 Book (2 Winners)

Stephanie B:

That looks like a great book! Stenciling is great for those people that can't draw like me.

Lindsey:

Oh I would love to have this book. How very cute!

Pair of Birkenstock Sandals, your style, color choice: (wow! there were a lot of you!!)

Kari:

Those are sooooo cute!

Congratulations to all the winners! I always have a love/hate relationship with giveaway posts because I wish I had something for everyone!

Winners, please send me an email with your contact info so I can pass it on!

Show & Tell : Stencil 101

I'm so excited to share another great crafty book with you tonight--Stencil 101 by Ed Roth. The girls and I broke into it this afternoon and there is tons of potential for great craftiness. The book includes twenty-five pre-cut and reuseable stencils as well as ideas and tips for using them.

This afternoon I used two stencils, the horse shoe and the fawn to customize basic white tees for the girls. The stencils tear out of the book really easily and can even be stored in an expandable pocket in the back of the book, after you use them. (great idea!)

When I stenciled the tees, I laid a pad of paper inside the shirt and used pins, stuck straight into the thickness of the pad of paper, to hold the stencil in place. This was really helpful since I didn't have any type of spray adhesive to hold it and it also kept the paint from bleeding through to the back.

Per the books instructions, less is more. I started out with just a bit of paint on my sponge, dabbing and layering on color, in order to keep the paint from soaking under the stencil. I used a hair dryer to dry the paint quickly before I removed the stencil and then again to set the paint. Tomorrow, I'll iron the reverse sides of the tees to really set it permanently.

And in my opinion, this is definitely a crafty project for older children or adults. My girls only involvement was picking out what stencil they wanted and then being impatient while I worked.

Beginning to end, with distractions, the two tees probably took my 15 minutes to complete.

Now I'm feeling sassy and confident and thinking of putting a stencil above the doorway leading into the girls room or maybe even up the risers of their steps!

And of course, the youngest of our clan had to get in on the modeling session as well. Everyone needs their turn standing on the chair. And apparently, after watching Mary, she determined that you were supposed to run your fingers over your stencil as part of the photo shoot. This girl watches her sisters' every move.

And did you guess? I have not one, but TWO copies to give away!  Leave a comment, I'll announce the two winners (plus the Birk winner) on Monday. And thank you, once again to Chronicle Books!

Happy Weekend, friends!!

black walnut's home birth

I arrived home yesterday morning in the pouring down rain, hands tangled and pinched in loads of grocery bags I was carrying from the car as quickly as I could, to find "Black Walnut" standing in front of the mudroom door, mewing incessantly. She was soaked from the rain and obviously distressed.

Black Walnut is our cat who is about the size of a walnut. She's tiny. It seems she's never grown much bigger than her teenaged-kitten size, but lately she's gotten quite broad and hippy, if you know what I mean. I hate to admit that I didn't get her spayed in time and she "got married" before I had the chance to get her in to the veterinarian.

We knew her time was close as she was getting as wide as she was long, waddling around the farm and eating enough food for an army of cats.

So when I saw her waiting for me at the mudroom door yesterday morning, I knew something was up. And when she turned and I got a glance at her hind end (sparing you the details here) I really knew something was up (or down. or out, maybe).

The girls and I quickly scooped her up from the rain and made her a nest of towels inside a laundry basket on the mudroom. And stood back like a bunch of nervous old ladies, cringing and fussing with her every cry and contraction.

By late afternoon, dear little Black Walnut gave birth to five kittens and I now have a pretty good idea which lurking tom she "married".

The girls were amazed, glued to the action, soothing her and telling her what a good mama cat she is. And now I hear new words in their vocabulary like "after birth" and "nursers" which makes me laugh.

So our mudroom is now maternity ward and gets checked regularly. Often.

My girls will be selling the kittens, to good homes only, for two dollars. Any takers??

Show & Tell : Birkenstock Sandals

When my husband spent a summer in the Holy Lands, he took one pair of shoes--Birkenstocks. And while I could never imagine spending all summer with only one pair of shoes to pick from each day, they served him well for his whole trip.

So when I was contacted by Birkenstocks to review a pair of their new Spring sandals, I was excited to try what would be my first pair. And while I was instantly drawn to the colors of the two new spring styles (I chose the Madrid), what impresses me most about the Birkenstock company is their dedication to making the complete process of creating these shoes environmentally conscious. As they say, "They were green long before green was a trend."

Here are a  few things that impressed me about their green commitment:

• The shoes are made with a commitment to craftsmanship using premium quality, natural, renewable, recyclable and naturally insulating material.
• They are made from durable cork, no trees are cut or destroyed - the bark is simply peeled away and then allowed to re-grow.
• The shoes can be repaired, increasing the life of your shoes and decreasing the amount of waste entering our landfills. (I love this. Rarely, in this day and age, do we think of repairing our shoes. We simply toss them out and buy a new replacement pair.)
• Left-over EVA from the sole production process is broken down and further processed for use in children’s playgrounds, sport fields and sound barriers along freeways.
• You can read more about their green steps here.

I am impressed with the steps they have taken to have a low-impact on our environment. 

And guess what? Need a new pair of shoes for Spring?? I get to give away a pair to one lucky reader, in the style (Madrid {the first pair pictured} or Gizeh{the second pair pictured}), size and color of your choice!

Leave a comment to be entered in the giveaway. I have one more crafty giveaway coming up on Friday, so I will announce all the winners on Monday.

And if you don't win, the other good news is that the sandals are pretty affordable, starting at $49.95, which for a pair of shoes that can be as long-lasting as these, is a really good deal.

Yay for shoes! Good luck.

sewing that stays home

One thing I've always loved about my grandmother's house, is that her handiwork is everywhere--a framed picture of  a family tree made of thumbprinted "leaves" turned into masked raccoons, embroidered and appliqued pillows, cross stitch, oil paintings, curtains, laundry bags, down jackets.

And as I walked through her house a few weeks ago, I was struck that the majority of crafting I do, goes out the door. Though there's nothing wrong with that, I generally craft for gifts, for other people--pillows, knitting, appliqued tees. And accept for a few curtains, a knitted hat or a pillowcase dress here and there, not much of my hand work is around.

With this in mind, I've made a new resolution which I *hope* I can continue. I want to make the girls a yearly wall hanging, for each birthday (a little late this year) that illustrates a few significant events or interests from their past year.

I started with Emma--a horse jumping since this was the year of her first jumps (and falls). And a house-- we've moved into this house almost one year ago. (Is it ironic that it's a little crooked and pieced together with a few stitches?? I think not.)

I only used what I had on hand and most of the fabrics came out of my scrap basket. And a few of them have some special significance--a scrap from Emma's great grandmother, a bit from my own mother.

After I did all the stitching and zig-zagging (lots of zig-zagging), I went back and added some hand-stitching....her initials, the date, a little secret message in the corner, a few buttons, some little stitches here and there.

It felt a lot like scrapbooking with fabric...adding little elements here and there.

Yesterday I hung it from some willow branches, which I still need to trim back and eventually, once she stops shoving it in her bag and showing it people, I envision it hanging above her bed, until it's replaced by another year of growing.

That is, if I let her get any older....

swarm and settle

I hope you had a lovely weekend. We spent Easter dinner at my grandfather's farm. It is one of my favorite places to be. My grandfather must have one of the best views around--sitting atop a grassy green hill, looking out over his field dotted with black cows and their calves. Watching the grackles swarm and then settle in a different spot in the field. Swarm and settle. Chuckling at a calf who's slipped under the fence, kicking up its heels at its freedom. Watching the collies as they work over the bulls, who are only slightly bothered by their presence.

I found a link to Days With My Father on Molly's blog this weekend. And under the circumstances in my life right now, it really moved me. If nothing else, it will impress upon you the importance of listening, and documenting and even photographing your loved ones. It was really the perfect thing for me to see and read.

The winner of Melissa's honey pot was Rain who said:

That honey pot absolutely sings to me!

Rain, please drop me an email and I will pass your contact information on to Melissa. And thank you, Melissa for this wonderful giveaway!

Show & Tell : Bridgman Pottery

Unless you've been reading my blog for awhile, you may not know that I am a suppressed potter. Over the past five years, I've tried to figure out ways to make my love of pottery fit into my life. For awhile, I had a healthy little supply of buttons and chunky stoneware pendants that I was putting up in my etsy shop and I loved it. Creating things with clay was so relaxing and inspiring.

But sometimes life forces us to set some things aside for others, and for now pottery is on the back burner. But someday, I'm going to rejuvenate that hobby and get back to it. I really am.

Meanwhile, through the joys of blogging Melissa and I became good friends and she quickly became my potter-mentor. And I live vicariously through her flickr stream.

Last spring I said to her that I desperately needed a little one-serving size colander for washing berries and she went to work creating the perfect thing--and then the berry bowl craze began. Really, I'm not sure how I could manage to live without one. Mine doesn't even make it back into the cupboard, but just sits happily on the windowsill above my kitchen sink.

But one of my other favorites of Melissa's creations are her honey pots. Some day I'll tell you my life lessons learned over a broken honey pot, but in the meantime let's just say that Melissa's honey pot is the cutest thing on my kitchen table.

Plastic honey bear's are so last year.

And lucky for you, Melissa is giving away a honey pot to one of you! The honey pot she's set aside looks a lot like the one I have--a buttery yellow with her signature bee stamped on the side. And it even includes the wooden honey dipper. My children have finally mastered the honey dipper "twirl" to get the honey from the pot to the toast without dripping.

Be sure to stop by Melissa's blog or photostream. She is a sweet friend and a talented artist worth getting to know.

And if you just can't stand to play the odds, she's got a few honey pots in her shop right now. And the berry bowl craze will begin again in May or June.

Leave a comment on this post if you'd like to be entered to win Melissa's honey pot. I will pick a random winner and announce on Monday.

Happy Weekend, friends.

a grown up garden

I have to say, it's really quite comical that I'm writing a post about gardening, let alone any kind of gardening advice. Because in reality this is my first grown up garden.

My gardening resume includes an impressive garden during my childhood, which as far as I can remember, I did little to help maintain--other than planting a few seeds and harvesting sweet corn in my socks. (I always went outside in socks. No shoes. But socks.) And I'm sure I put in my one hour of weeding here and there. My mom's classic rallying cry was always, "If we all put in one hour of (fill in the blank for some chore none of us wanted to do, ie. weeding) that's four man-hours of work!!!" My sisters and I especially loved when she'd use this proclamation to get us up and "motivated" on Saturday mornings.

I also had a piddly half row in my grandmother's garden while we lived on her farm, and threw some flower seeds in a patch of dirt in the middle of the yard, when we moved into this house in early Summer.  Which to my surprise turned into a perky little plot of zinnas and cosmos with no help from me.

Are you impressed? Me either.

So this year marks my first grown-up garden. My first attempt at growing food (other than eggs) and possibly storing bits of it away for the winter months. Which I suppose depends on my initial success.

Our approach to gardening this year is Try it. See if it works. Learn from it.

We'll see what happens.

Over the weekend most of you know that our neighbor came by and plowed our plot. Just a word of advice (see I'm already spewing advice and I haven't even planted one seed), if you're having someone else plow or till your garden, you may want to give them a smaller proportioned garden than you are planning. Dan and I stood back and watched as each swipe with the tractor seemed to get longer and longer and longer. And we're now committed to quite a sizable plot of upturned earth.

Today, Mr. Dorsey came back with the discs on the back of his tractor and ran over it several times, breaking up the large clumps and shouting to me from his tractor that "My cookies were really good and he'll bring back the container soon!" But it still needs a good tilling and this weekend we'll put up a fence around it--an attempt to keep these curious hens from gobbling up innocent seedlings as they poke through the ground.

So what's going in this ambitious garden? Well, I'm glad you asked, because when I went to my order on the Park Seed website, I noticed that somehow half my order is missing. I must have deleted some of the order and now I need to go through it again and add more. But what we plan to plant are the following (with absolutely no reason for choosing them other than the three sentence description in the seed catalog which makes everything look perfect. And easy.) :

• Jersey Knight Hybrid Asparagus
• Kentucky Wonder Bush Beans
• Everlast Hybrid Cabbage

• Nantes Organic Carrots
• Temptation Hybrid Sweet Corn (we had this at a church picnic. It won Grand Champion at the MD State Fair. It was the best corn I've ever had. Not sure if that's attributed to the seed or the sower.)
• Eureka Cucumbers
• Speckled Swan Gourds (i LOVE these!)
• Sugar Snap Pea
• A Variety of Tomatoes including a purple tomato
• A blueberry bush or two.

Flowers:

• Blue Moon Lilliput Aster
• Cinderella Asclepias
• Dahlia Mix (Bishop's Children)
• Purple Majesty Ornamental Millet
• Maya Daisy Gloriosa
• Summer Berries Yarrow
• VanGogh Sunflower Mix
• Park's Pix Zinna Mix

We'll still probably add a few more things here and there from local sources. One of Dan's customers gave us nice tomato plants last year (oh! add that to my resume). And Dan put this R.H Shumways Illustrated Garden Guide in my hands last night, which is equal parts art and seed catalog. It is lovely. And now more things are catching my eye.

But I'm always ambitious at the start. And then the heat and humidity set in and I can barely gather enough energy to get dressed let alone weed a garden.

So there's my gardening plans and/or advice. Which in truth, probably isn't worth a hill of beans.

[images from the RH Shumway Illustrated Garden Guide]

little mysteries

I'm just popping in tonight to say thank you for your thoughts and comments you shared on yesterday's post. Once again, I woke up with that urge to hit the delete button and keep that post to myself, but your words and understanding made me glad that I didn't. Thank you for taking a moment to read my thoughts and my frustrations, for understanding my perspective and sharing in my joys and trials.

My gratitude is swelling up and over flowing.

I was listening to a song tonight by Josh Garrels*. And the first lines seemed to sum it all up well:

Learn this lesson well, my friend.
There's a time to rejoice and lament.
Every season will find an end.
All will fade and be made new again.

Meanwhile, Emma brought this bird nest in to me on Saturday when high winds were doing things like pulling down branches and knocking out internet connections.

How can I look at this and not be amazed? The shape. The weaving of horse hairs, no doubt collected from the neighbor's fields. Pieces of orange twine that wrap the round bales in our other neighbor's pasture.

How do they do it?

These tiny little birds. With no pattern, no frame, no extra set of hands. It is beautiful. And amazing. And breathtaking. And awe-inspiring.

* I cannot say how much this latest CD from Josh Garrels is getting to me lately. The music is poetic and has such depth. He paints pictures with the sounds and the words. It is so good. So true. So pure.
I especially like Jacaranda Tree :: The Original Spacefan :: Don't Wait for Me ::

living a complex life

This weekend has been a strange one for me. I'm not sure what it is exactly. I feel like I've experienced all the ups and downs of life in a "fixer upper farmhouse in the country". I feel them all weighing on me in a spectrum of emotions.

I find myself in one moment, swooning over the setting sun on the forsythia and the pure white muzzle of a new born calf at the fence. I stand back and watch as my 72 year-old neighbor, a man who was born in our house and now lives next door, slowly rolls his tractor into our yard. Using a two-bottom plow that he hasn't hooked up to his tractor in more than fifteen years, he pulls it back and forth, slicing through the green earth and turning it over to reveal damp dark soil underneath that will be our vegetable garden.  I sit on the back porch and stitch, while my husband builds bluebird boxes, and I listen to the faint squeals of my girls wading barefoot at the stream crossing.

I send a container of my oatmeal raisin cookies to the neighbor as a thank you, and throw brush on a burn pile--that Dan has cut back from a fence row in order to help the neighbor, for helping us. I stand outside and am struck that the only thing I can hear are the spring peepers and the ticking of our neighbor's electric fence across the road.

But despite these obvious treasures that come with where we've planted our feet, I find myself also feeling frustration with some of the trials. I get tired of every weekend being sucked up by something that is broken, needing repair. This weekend--an upstairs toilet, leaking down into the kitchen ceiling. I want to take a shower, but have to use a wrench and a pair of pliers to turn on the water and adjust the temperature, because the handle has fallen off and there hasn't been time to fix it. I get tired of always having to figure out how to do it ourselves because we don't have the time or the money to call someone else up and get the job done.

I once again experienced animals being animals, acting on their ingrained instincts, and yet I hate being faced with the near-death and the worry and the trauma. I get tired of twisting ankles on rubber boots kicked off just inside the door and weary of a kitchen floor that is never lacking its collection of mud and grass and leaf litter. I get tired of working, working, working and figuring out how to make work-time into family-time. I wonder if there will ever be a weekend where there isn't a major project on the agenda. I wonder if I'm cut out for this.

Late last night, when we were finally sitting down to dinner at eight o'clock, I know Dan could sense my weariness. And he said something to me that has not left the back of my mind for the rest of the weekend. It was something he heard Wendell Berry say. In so many words, Wendell Berry says that this life we are leading or striving for, so many people refer to as "the simple life" or "living simply". But in reality, what we should be striving for, is actually "the complex life".

It is simple to go to the store and get your strawberries in January, or call up the repairman on the weekend and get your toilet fixed and your shower handle replaced, or throw your load of laundry in the dryer. But what we think of as the simple life, is actually very complex. It is work and sacrifice and timing and waiting and figuring out how to make do. It is far from simple.

My mother always says, "this too shall pass" and those words are also ringing in my head tonight. It seems whenever I write a post like this, I find that the next morning, once I've slept on it, I have to resist the urge to go in and delete. I want to go back and add a footnote and say that I'll be fine. That these feelings will pass. That there is joy to be found in a new day. That often, all it takes is spewing out all the thoughts and frustrations and emotions. And then they are gone. Weightless. Carried away.

And as I sit here in the dark, typing, I can hear the raspy breathing of a little girl asleep in bed beside me, in droopy, tangled pigtails and a flannel nightgown. And I hear knocking and banging behind the closed bathroom door and know that repairs are being made and he's still working. And he's okay with it. And he's probably doing it for me. And I've married a good man, who works hard.

And I know that tomorrow this place will win favor with me again. And a good song will come on the radio while I'm sweeping the kitchen floor and picking up boots. And I'll stop trying to figure out why my life isn't simple and marvel at how beautiful a complex life can be.

152

It must be all the kitchen scraps........or the cat food......or the love.

I'm so glad we're keeping count. 152 eggs since 2. 13. 09