lessons in mass

MPM : A Celebration of Her Life

We went to Easter Mass this morning. Actually, our family is not Catholic, but often times we run pretty close and feel pretty content among the liturgy and ceremony. On these holiest of holy days, we enjoy the pomp and circumstance, and often find ourselves walking through the doors of my grandmother's catholic church. 

As I sat there this morning, wrangling a squirming baby, watching families file in, searching for enough seats together in a row, I enjoyed seeing the blending of generations. The constant whine of a baby somewhere in the church, the chatter of teenagers, the dainty nose-blow of the petite old lady in front of me.

It is something we don't get enough of. This mixing. This being together, shoulder to shoulder with someone half or twice our age. We have so much to learn from each other.

But the longer I sat there, and the more time I had to people-watch, I was struck by the teens and younger people around me. I watched the boy in front of me, blasting through levels of a snowboarding game on his phone. I watched the girl in the pew just down from our family, aimlessly scrolling her thumb back and forth across screen after screen of iphone apps while she uncomfortably glanced around the church and bobbed her crossed leg. 

A boy across from me was sending a last-minute text. 

Beside him a lady, greying and old, sat. And did nothing. She flipped through the missal, smiled at people as they found their seats, stared up at the light streaming through the stained-glass windows. 

MPM : A Celebration of Her Life

Another man, closer to the front was kneeling, head in his hands. Doing what I imagine was quieting his heart and mind for the coming celebratory service. 

And it occured to me, in those moments how nice it must be to be part of that generation. To not be bogged down and distracted by apps, and texts, and emails. To be completely unavailable for whole chunks of time. To have no anxiety over what you're missing while you're "away". No worry that someone may have wanted you and you weren't there to answer the call. To have no other "world" to check in to. To be fully present in the life you are living. 

The truth is, our reality is much different than theirs. And for most of us, life requires us to be connected in some way. And for many of us, this connecting is completely enjoyable and good. But just for a moment, don't you ever wish you could turn it all off? And just experience life that much more simply? To know what it's like to be unavailable, and undistracted?

MPM : A Celebration of Her Life

There is something to be learned, I believe. If nothing else, those moments in the pews reminded me to take chunks of time and turn off. To disconnect. And as overused as the saying is, to be more present.  

And like the incense of the Easter Mass that clung to our clothes as we left the church, I hope this lesson clings to my heart and mind as I step back into my life this week. 

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livin' on love

film. christmas eve at thomas run

I'm singing the same old, tired tune I've been singing on and off for what feels like years, "money's tight". We sit and talk about all the "unexpected" things, the fuel bills that make me cringe every time I hear the thud of the furnace kicking on under my feet in the dark, damp basement, the repairs, the bills...blah, blah, blah. Blech.

We are fortunate though. We are blessed. There is light at the end of the tunnel.

But for now, we are having to cinch our belts so tight, it is sometimes painful. 

As the main spender in this family, the person who basically controls where, when, how and on what our money is used, I've had to step up and tighten my belt the most. 

And so, the grocery budget is the primary place that I've made major changes. 

To be honest, I can't even remember the last time I went to the grocery store and did a major, formerly-typical shop. I think it was sometime around new year's day. I have been forced to get seriously creative in the kitchen. If I've been to the store, I've been able to carry all my purchases in, with one trip. No loading, unloading, unpacking.

I am using what I have on hand.

I am digging deep, very deep into my pantry shelves.

I'm pulling out cans and boxes and bags of things that I usually pass by and am "not in the mood" for. 

I've forced myself to figure out how to cook up cuts of meat that have been sitting in the bottom of my freezer, looking at me with intimidating eyes.

I've found forgotten goodness stashed in bottom freezer drawers, in the backs of cupboards.

I've discovered that if we want it, oftentimes, I can make it from scratch. Soft pretzels? I have a recipe for that. Warm rolls? I can handle that. Cereal? How about a batch of granola?

I've learned to make the mundane special. Candles at dinner. Cream for oatmeal (again) in tiny pottery pitchers. Dinner tables set with nice dishes and linens.

I've learned to use less meat. To use it for flavor and protein instead of bulk. 

I've learned to make my grocery list and then examine it again. What really is necessity?

I've learned that flour, sugar, butter, milk, cheese, eggs and beans go a long way for a little money.

I've learned that we really need a milk cow.

I've learned (again) that soup makes a great meal and can have so many variations it doesn't get old. Especially with good homemade bread or biscuits.

I've learned that if you let your children get hungry enough, everything looks and tastes good to them!

It's funny, when we first were married, my husband was the best person to cook for. He'd moan and groan and 'ooh' and 'aaah' about my cooking. But over the years, his exclamations have quieted a bit. (He forgets how good he has it.)

But these past few weeks, when we are eating on a shoestring, when I'm putting together meals that are made up strictly from the things I'm finding in my cupboard, those moans and groans have returned. When things are pieced together, whipped up with less, suddenly everything tastes really good. And I have to admit, I've made some pretty good meals, I might even dare to say a few of our best. We sit down at the table and say, "Look what we did with almost nothing!"

film. waffle hill farm, kitchen

I've pushed myself. I've changed my perspective. When I go to the store--we still need milk, cream for coffee and some fresh fruit and veggies now and then--I look at what I buy so differently. Before I buy something I think about how flexible it is, how many meals I can get out of it, how far I can stretch it. 

But don't be fooled, it isn't this daily great experience. I don't go skipping into my kitchen each afternoon, ready to tackle another creative dinner. There are days I'd trade my youngest child for takeout. (kidding! she's too cute and she doesn't add much to the grocery bill.) There are days I stand in front of my open cupboard doors and want to scream, "I'm so sick of this!!!!!!" But in general, I've been up for the challenge. 

I don't know how much longer we'll need to live like this. The state of our cupboards, freezer and refrigerator is pretty Old Mother Hubbard-ish. Eventually, I'll need to replenish. But like I said, there is light at the end of the tunnel. But I need to hang on for a little bit longer.

The good part of all this, is that I feel like my perspective has changed. I've learned a lot about my grocery shopping habits. I've learned that I can do a lot with less. I've learned that we can survive. 

And I've learned that we are rich in so many other ways.

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motherhood

motherhood

With all the baby talk around here, it seemed somewhat appropriate that this mama would drop her calf yesterday morning, just inside the fence on the edge of our property. She belongs to our neighbor, but my girls "adopt" these calves as if they were our own. 

There was much concern over this calf. Lots of checking in. Lots of reports coming in to me in the house. And a handful of stern warnings from me about nervous mama cows who need to protect their new calves. And the flimsy piece of barbed wire standing between you and that mama.

The patient nudging of this mama cow reminded me of where I was last week in my feelings about motherhood. I found myself in another season of feeling at the end of my rope. Feeling like nothing I was saying or doing was making a difference. Feeling like I somehow was failing at guiding my children in the right direction. Feeling like none of my children were inherently wanting to make the right and good decisions. Feeling like I had a house full of attitudes, that unfortunately and embarrassingly, probably matched my own. 

I shot an email to my husband at work -- what do I do? How do I handle this? What should I say to them? 

He gave me a few ideas. But a few minutes later he wrote me another email. Just remember, he said, it takes a long time to train a child. It’s like doing the dinner dishes. I get upset at the girl’s lack of attention but they are slowly (very slowly) getting better. It will take time for them to get in the habit of doing the job with the right amount of focus. Then it will take a while for them to learn how to do it right. Then it will take a while for them to anticipate what comes next so I won’t have to tell them. But this all takes time.

I keep reminding myself of that first and last line. It takes a long time to guide and train my children. This all takes time. 

Telling them once, doesn't equal a change in heart or an automatic change in the way they do things. They need to be reminded. Reminded again. Taught. Shown. Guided. Encouraged. And reminded again. 

Change comes. But it often comes slowly. Much more slowly than I'm willing to allow. But it does come, and is coming, if I look closely. 

If I give up, get frustrated, get angry, then no one is learning anything except the wrong way to handle a situation that requires resilience and endurance. And I wonder why I'm not seeing any change.

But the changes are there.

They're not leaving the sofa cushions on the floor when they're done.

The boots are (generally) making it back into the boot box.

She's trying to walk away from the situation instead of reacting in anger.

They're drying the dishes without complaining and reminding.

She's talking it out with her sister, before raising her voice. Sometimes.

This all takes times. 

It is the mantra that breathes an extra portion of patience into my mothering. 

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weathering the storm

weathering the storm

Stuck to my fridge are two sheets of paper ripped out of a spiral notebook. They are scribbled with notes and words, addresses, appointment times. Some scary words that I don't want to think about. Some possible procedures and roads that I hope we don't have to travel down. 

Without getting in to a lot of the details, every day last week found us in another doctor's office or lab. We are trying to piece together some of Mary's medical history and make sense of what might be the root of some of her troubles. The migraines. Some issues with her feet. The Lyme's Disease.

It's funny, but I find that I'm not overly worried yet. At least I don't think so. But I'm anxious for answers. Tomorrow we head to John's Hopkins to see a few specialists. I'm grateful to have such great medical care at our back door. 

But I would be lying to say that all of this isn't weighing me down. The back and forth to doctor's offices. Mary's deep fear of each new person we see, each blood test we have to take. It's agonizing. Even things like when do you fit in the grocery shopping? suddenly become extremely complicated issues.  

On Friday, I felt myself snap. All these worries, and exhaustion and back and forth suddenly came spilling out as I found myself lashing out at my children. It was totally uncalled for. It really had nothing to do with the problem at hand but had everything to do with my need to relieve some of the pressure bubbling up inside me. 

weathering the storm

After sitting at the kitchen table alone for awhile, letting some of it go, I finally got up, took a breath, found them and apologized. On the outside, I was better, I was okay, but this aching funk still lingered on the inside.

It seems my first reaction in these kinds of moments, days, weeks is to walk away from this blog. It feels like the last thing I could muster up are words. I'm good at learning lessons and reflecting after the days have passed, but when I'm in the thick of it, I don't want to talk about it or think about it. But these days have got me thinking about what exactly it is that pulls me out of these funks. How do I shake the cloud hanging over my head?

I still don't know the full answer. 

But one thing I do know, is that there is healing and relief in writing it down. There is value in telling your story. There is comfort in putting words and sentences together, even if it is only a few. 

There is something about writing it down that sheds light on the situation -- whether it is a lesson learned, a new perspective or a releasing of some of that pressure. 

And still, still, in the midst of all of this, there is still so much to be grateful for. As I sit here at my desk and the sunset is hitting the cornfields and the little stone church across the road, after a day of grey and clouds, the light is already changing. 

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2009 : in photos + words : april

grateful to the last

: 26 april 2009 :

| Grateful To The Last |

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 ....

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 the love received and given, however much. No one who has gratitude is the onliest one. Let us pray to be grateful to the last. 


: 16 april 2009 :

| Black Walnut's Home Birth |


Black Walnut and her kittens


: 12 april 2009 :

| swarm and settle |

evening

....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 whose 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 ....


: 7 april 2009 :

| little mysteries |

little mysteries


: 5 april 2009 :

| living a complex life |

at sunset

baby blueberry

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...

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 the complex life"....


: 20 april 2009 :

| chicken picnic |

chicken picnic
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