Linkage

Interesting ways to spend time:

First off: Let me plug my own kid's music!  He and a friend have formed a duo, The Righteous Cubicles.  I think I would call their style Americana.  Not sure really. They are their own songwriters and play banjo, guitar and ukulele. The friend's little brother also plays accordion on one song. They just recorded a cd with 7 songs. The quality of the recording is low, but their lyrics and music are good, according to this prejudiced mom.  I love listening to their CD, which is now available for the incredibly low price of $5.  It is priced so affordably because they have only performed live once - at the school talent show - and because they are producing it themselves - and, moreover, because I have bankrolled part of the production costs (Color copies!) Get a preview here:  https://soundcloud.com/righteous-cubicles
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I love my teenagers. I can't believe I was so afraid of having them.  Maybe because my brother and I gave our parents a difficult time in high school. And then my sister went through a difficult time in college.  My younger brother, the quintessential phlegmatic, never intentionally gave my parents a really bad time. He did drive their van into a corn field off a gravel road and got his ears pierced. But he let the holes grow in and is an upstanding father today. Hope for all!

My own kids give me the occasional heart stopper, but usually it is accidental. Like a car accident. Or because I am overcome with pride.  Or because, TIME!  I saw a post from an old friend about her son participating in a senior class Mass. Wow, can he be that old!  But hark! My OWN son will have a baccalaureate Mass in just two weeks!  I am not ready.

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Part of my fear of teenagers is rooted in knowing teenagers who acting like the kids in "Greasy Lake" by T. C. Boyle, always a favorite in my lit class. Well, maybe my acquaintances weren't quite that 'bad,' but they had their sins.  One of my students is writing about Boyle for a research project, so I went on a rabbit trail. He was once a Catholic and counts Flannery O'Connor as an influence.  Maybe someday he'll come back.  Somehow, I got linked to reading about a book about Mormons, always fascinating to me: Latimes review of Elders by Ryan McIlvain, which lead to an article about Marilynne Robinson and her book When I was a Child I Read Books and on to a literary magazine called The Believer I never heard of before.  All interesting.

Needless to say, I didn't get to bed early that night.
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My late night computer habits can sometimes cause a strain in our marriage. I try to keep them to Phase 2, when distance is imperative, at least for now. (Some friends and I just read The Sinners Guide to NFP by Simcha Fischer for an informal book club. Really enjoyed it and the conversation. I left it sitting out in the living room, just in case my teenagers happened to get curious. Perhaps the easiest way to talk about these things with teenage boys? "Here. Read this." End conversation.)

I wrote this about marriage meaning to post it sometime, so now: I have said that marriage is a thing. An object unto itself. Not perhaps a material being capable of being touched, but an idea to be contemplated that is made physical. In the meeting of bodies, love is incarnated.  Here in these bodies of children lolling and lagging about me. Clinging and clashing. Pulling and pushing. A roiling mess of humanity under a roof too low to hold all the emotion and energy that pulses sometimes faster, sometimes irregularly, sometimes in even steady syncopated beats all of one accord.  Not me, not you, not even you and me, but us and it and them. Impossible to decline.  This marriage is not just the two of us, but the household, the furnace at its heart.  Where it is weakest is where the selves attempt to move alone or to grasp too hard.  "Most like an arch"  writes John Ciardi so wisely, falling in when not leaning toward. 

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I love poems about marriage. And here is an article about Wendell Berry on poetry and marriage.  I need to read it more closely, but at first glance it was intriguing.

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And I'm running far again. Thought I'd do a half marathon while we lived here, but can't bring myself to drop $100 on a race I can't win.  Nonetheless, I've started running a 10 miler regularly on the weekends.  It is surprising how easy it is to do this when you have a friend to run with.  Really. An hour and a half of running flies by when you are talking.  Blessedly, one of the Navy wives is right where I am with running, and I really like her. There are certain people you meet with whom you know you have a kinship (also the women in the NFP book club). You see them and know they are kindred spirits even without speaking.  What breaks my heart is when you don't really get to start to know them until it is time to move away. Alas, alack.

Like this quote by Earl Nightingale from seemomrunfar:

"We are at our very best, and we are happiest, when we are fully engaged in work we enjoy on the journey toward the goal we've established for ourselves. It gives meaning to our time off and comfort to our sleep. It makes everything else in life so wonderful, so worthwhile.
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Also like this article on surfing and God by Peter Kreeft. So many good things to read out there, so little time.  

In my year of little reading, my latest novel to finish is a YA book called Here's How I See It by Heather Henson about a girl whose dad runs a summer theater. The main character, Junebug, is having a difficult summer because of her parents' troubles and her own foiled hopes. Lots of Shakespeare and Chekhov quotes. I'd put it as a book for the 8-15 yr old crowd. And it ends happily! Hooray!

I'd read more if I didn't have a smartphone.  In the old days, when I nursed babies, I sat around and read.  Now I read emails and Facebook.  Lots of people who need prayers out there - for comfort and for gratitude.  At least Facebook is good for keeping track of people who need prayers.
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My days of nursing are growing shorter and shorter. Baby can go all day and has gone 1 whole night without it, but she doesn't like milk, and I don't mind using her as an excuse to sit in a quiet room every once in a while. 

All too soon she'll be graduating from high school.

Wisdom at the BBQ

The other night my husband and I went on a mini-date to our parish's men's ministry BBQ supper, which was being headlined by our parish's new pastor who will be coming from a teaching job at the seminary in a month or two. He has never been a pastor, but he has been in charge of human formation for fifteen years, so he has a sense of humor.

Our parish has had an interim pastor for a couple of years, who has had the hard job of bringing the parish accounts back into the black.  He followed in the footsteps of a very charismatic pastor, beloved by all, energetic, a missionary leader.  That priest was called to work in the vocations office at the Archdiocese Headquarters, probably based on his record of recruiting 8 deacons, a great youth minister, a marriage and men's ministry full time employee, and other parish employees. Apparently, he was generous and always said yes if parishioners came to him with a request. His generosity, though, left the church in the position of having to make some cutbacks.  Our current priest was brought in to be the belt tightener. He has not won many friends because he has let people go, he has not expanded ministries, he has eliminated positions at the parish, and he was done away with a perfectly awful Gloria arrangement.  We have liked this priest, but he hasn't made many friends.

So a huge crowd showed up to meet the new guy. He said it was like meeting the parents in an arranged marriage.  Since it was a men's ministry event, it was casual. Everyone was jovial. Beer was served, and lots of meat. 

Before we arrived at the BBQ, my husband and I were talking about some of the challenges of life lately. We have big decisions to make, we have some family issues, we have had some difficult email exchanges with teachers and student employers, we've had to negotiate some other unforeseen business issues, in particular a dispute over a parking lot fender bender in which the other party won't admit mutual fault. In sum, we have had the difficult experience of being let down by inflexibility, carelessness, thoughtlessness, selfishness; all those peccadilloes of human nature that we exhibit regularly ourselves.

Earlier in the day, just when I had been mulling over a wound inflicted by an unkind email, or a thoughtless word, I read a passage from Pope Francis's The Church of Mercy about how people always let us down.   We cannot put our trust in others, even those - or especially those - closest to us, who sometimes fail us in radical ways.  We can only trust God.  If we find our joy in God, we can forgive others more easily. Only if we recognize God's mercy to us, can we in turn have mercy.

The new priest seemed to speak directly to me when he announced he was going to talk about mercy.  In the context of his talk, he read off the corporal and then the spiritual works.  The corporal works of mercy are easy for me, as a mother, to remember - clothing, feeding, sheltering, incarcerating...  oh wait, visiting the incarcerated we don't do so often.  ... But I sometimes forget to think about the spiritual works. Plus they are hard.  Sure, I regularly admonish the sinner and instruct the ignorant in our house.  Not so often outside of the house.  More difficult to do is to bear wrongs patiently and forgive all injuries. 

One of my big weaknesses is a tendency to lick my wounds, to keep them fresh, to make them worse, especially those I think are caused by someone else.  But I only hurt myself when I dwell on my frustrations with others.  My fretting and stewing does nothing to heal the relationship.  Being angry is the opposite of being merciful. Being hurt and bitter is not being merciful.

The new priest mentioned that mercy is a translation of the Greek word "eleos."  He said it can also be translated as "to take delight in."  Now I am not finding this translation online, but the idea that mercy flows from delight is a fruitful one. It is easy to have mercy on our children. They fill us with delight, love, joy.  Poor Baby is likely to be spoiled because her siblings and parents only smile at her stubbornness.  But having mercy on the stranger, on the acquaintance, on the people who let us down, is harder.  How do we take delight in those we barely know?  We have to see the face of Christ in them, like Mother Teresa.

Only by loving God, attaching to Christ, is it possible to detach from the world's opinions, to forgive injuries, to bear wrongs patiently.  We are going to be bruised by the world, but, as Pope Francis writes, it is better to be bruised by going out and trying to love the sinner, than to be ill by staying shut up inside all the time.

One thing our interim pastor has done that the congregation does appreciate is add at the end of the prayers of the faithful "And for those we love and those we have difficulty loving."  Sometimes that person is the person closest to us.  Sometimes it is the person in the parking lot.  Sometimes its ourselves. 

In my English class, we just spent a class talking about good and evil.  I assigned, "Young Goodman Brown,"  "A Goodman is Hard to Find," "Batter My Heart" by John Donne - and then two other sonnets that allude to it, Benjamin Alire Saenz's "To the Desert" and Mark Jarman's "Unholy Sonnet," which goes like this:

Unholy Sonnet
by Mark JarmanAfter the praying, after the hymn-singing,
After the sermon's trenchant commentary
On the world's ills, which make ours secondary,
After communion, after the hand-wringing,
And after peace descends upon us, bringing
Our eyes up to regard the sanctuary
And how the light swords through it, and how, scary
In their sheer numbers, motes of dust ride, clinging—
There is, as doctors say about some pain,
Discomfort knowing that despite your prayers,
Your listening and rejoicing, your small part
In this communal stab at coming clean,
There is one stubborn remnant of your cares
Intact. There is still murder in your heart. 

Murder in the heart. The fruit of free will. But to forgive is another fruit.  To have mercy. To take delight in the land and the people. To love and bear wrongs patiently.  Hypocrisy haunts us. It makes us human. But to forgive, to have mercy, makes us like God. The new priest ended his talk with a reminder that God loves us because He sees Himself in us, just like as parents we see ourselves in our children. If God is in each of us, we all share a likeness.  I need the reminder to see myself, the part of me that is in the image of God, in others, and have and seek mercy. 

Gale force winds

My in-laws in Oklahoma have been reporting from their storm shelter about the tornadoes striking around their home town.  This week has brought them heavy winds and rain. They are getting their money's worth from the storm shelter they had installed in their garage a few years ago.  Blessedly, they have had no damage so far.

Meanwhile, we've had storms of another kinds. I have felt buffeted about by the forces of nature and forces of fate - or whatever you call the vicissitudes of life within a large family preparing to move. In the midst of all the normal responsibilities, there have been school fundraisers, minor car accidents, multiple sporting events, college board testing, drama practice and performances, visitors - and a sacrament of confirmation! These events take place in the midst of the normal upkeep of the house and schoolwork - including my own two classes I'm teaching and a class I'm taking on how to teach online. And kids who get behavior points at school for talking and wrestling and teenagers who want to date and a preteen who wants to hang out with friends and check my social media because I won't let her have her own. And the pleading for playdates and media time and dessert. And Age of Ultron.

And a baby who walks, says "no" (!) (and "please" and makes praying hands...), and plays in the potty water and throws shoes in the trash and sticks fingers in my lipstick.

So lately I have to admit I bristle whenever I hear someone say, "Oh, sorry, I can't do that; I'm just too busy"?  "What!" I think, "I'll show you busy!"  I think I'm jealous when people say that. I want to use that phrase - no, I'm sorry -  too, but I have a problem with the saying no part. And I have vanity about wanting to appear to have everything at least in the semblance of being under control so that I don't give large families a bad name.  (Pride, vanity, ADD?).  So I add to the calendar, and try not to think too far ahead.

My new phrase to say periodically to myself is "Relax the face!" when I'm squinting too much.

Part of the squinting comes from the torment I put upon myself through my own indecisiveness.  I hate to say no to possibility A, B, or C.  How long can I lead on this school or that landlord? And I'm inefficient at researching rental houses, schools, and homework because I keep looking for the best possible thing. It must be out there on the internet somewhere if I just keep looking!

And so my other little prayer is "All will be well, all will be well." One step in front of the other. One day at a time. All things are possible... And the line from that song: "Every knock is a boost, every stumbling block is a stepping stone, if you knock your head, hold it on, just keep holding on" -- All those little aspirations that help me remember that now is only a brief moment and at the end of now is a glorious forever. I know that during this time of emptying, letting go, giving away, detaching, I need to refill occasionally by adding one more thing to the list - go to Mass. Read that gospel reflection. Pray.

Happily, I have begun to make decisions!  or at least to have decisions made for me.  Last week, the landlord announced he is going on vacation when we wanted to move out. This news at first made me want to squinch my face and cry. But it is no crisis, just an inconvenience. So we have decided to move out later than we wanted, after our lease is up,instead of earlier than we wanted.  At one point in life, I would have based this decision on how to save the most money. That's still motivation for me, but I also want to maximize the kids' happiness and my own sanity. So instead of rushing to move out before our summer vacation, we are going to stay put until the end of the summer so the kids can work and play, and we don't have to cram a pack-out in between all the end of the school year festivities. This plan also buys us time to shop for a house. Husband will have to report to work sooner, but he can shop for a house for us so we can do a door to door move and avoid living in a hotel room (and it is cheaper to pay for a whole month of rent, than two weeks of a hotel for us.)

The school decision is still looming - the expensive private school came back with less financial aid than we thought we could afford, so we crossed it off the list. Now we have to decide between the cheaper Catholic school, which is very, very small and very far - an hour commute for my husband (or a split commute for both of us), or public school.  Next week we are going to do another visit with the kids to try to discern what to do. The small Catholic school is very traditional and probably would be an easy transition, but it only has about 20 kids in each high school class. No music, few sports, few arts opportunities. Advanced classes offered online.  So I'm not sure it is worth the money and the stress of driving.  But the public school option makes me sad.  I love having the kids someplace where they go to Mass once a week and celebrate feast days. We may split the difference and send the younger kids to parochial school (of which there are many choices) and send the olders to public high school (also many "fine" choices).

Still holding on to a thread of hope that a house within our budget on Coronado will materialize.  That would make our decision so much easier.  Husband could bike to work. Little kids could go to parochial school which offers half tuition for military. And older kids could go to the smaller public high school. Of course, that high school is not without its issues either. Kids with money, kids without money, kids with some money. They all seem to get into the same amounts of trouble. And to find the same amounts of success.

Having a glut of choices is more difficult to me than having only a few. San Diego is so big. And everyone we've talked to seems to love where they are, whether they are on the island, in the southwest area, in North County or near the ocean.  Apparently we can't go wrong.  I'm trying to trust that there is no perfect place, and that the good enough place will show up.  I'm trying not to get upset with Southern California for being so darn expensive.

All will be well, all will be well, all manner of things shall be well -- Julian of Norwich?

Just keep going on - Eric Bibb

A very fine Mother's Day and more

The past couple of weeks have been pretty full with activities and decision making and socializing, among the normal busyness of quotidian life.  We've caught a few moments on camera to memorialize the time.

Yesterday began with the traditional child-made breakfast.  Then we spent the afternoon at the beach with some friends from the husband's work.

The feast and flowers

Opening the cards - always love chore coupons!

Injured seabird - I think a juvenile grebe

Paddling after a whale - me in the orca suit + tail of a grey or humpback whale

Paddling with a sea lion

What's this?

A sea lion pup in need of rest. Part of a massive die off of sea lion pups?

Worn out!

The previous weekend we celebrated the sacrament of Confirmation. 

My dad came out to be Son #3's confirmation sponsor

He chose David of Wales, patron of poets.

Oldest son read at the liturgy. Youngest son served.

With the bishop.

The windblown family

Treated grandpa to a "That Seraph Show" contest - air guitar and...

skits and ... 

fashion show

Swim season ended on a gray day in Socal.

Baby learns to say no.

Sometimes things like this show up to haunt your dreams. Elizabethan hairdo model.

Baby in red with her new doll I bought for myself.

Discovering ice cream.

Baby in mud.

Baby in white for confirmation.

First trip to the swimming pool

Glad to have this guy on staff.

I need this book:

http://tidyingup.com/excerpt

Poetry month winds down

One of my favorite parts of teaching the second semester of the writing class sequence is teaching poetry to students who don't have positive experiences with it. It is a joy to awaken just a bit of appreciation for or connection with a poem whose meaning the students may previously have found elusive.  A student just turned in a great reader-response paper on Shirley Geok-lin Lim's "Riding into California."  Lim teaches at UC Santa Barbara, just a short trip up the 101 from us. Would love to have her come talk to class, but that will be pocketed for "someday."

"Riding into California"

If you come to a land with no ancestors
to bless you, you have to be your own 
ancestor. The veterans in the mobile home
park don't want to be there. It isn't easy.
Oil rigs litter the land like giant frozen birds.
Ghosts welcome us to a new life, and
an immigrant without home ghosts 
cannot believe the land is real. So you're
grateful for familiarity, and Bruce Lee
becomes your hero. Coming into Fullerton,
everyone waiting at the station is white. 
The good thing about being Chinese on Amtrak
is no one sits next to you. The bad thing is
you sit alone all the way to Irvine.

http://www.pbs.org/wnet/foolingwithwords/main_lim.html

And here is a little sentimental poem I connected with as I was reading it the other day to my wee one. I read it from a Tasha Tudor book, First Poems of Childhood, that I received, according to the inscription, from my grandparents for my first birthday.

Baby

George Macdonald (1824–1905)

WHERE did you come from, baby dear? Out of the everywhere into the here. Where did you get those eyes so blue? Out of the sky as I came through. What makes the light in them sparkle and spin?         5 Some of the starry spikes left in. Where did you get that little tear? I found it waiting when I got here. What makes your forehead so smooth and high? A soft hand strok’d it as I went by.         10 What makes your cheek like a warm white rose? I saw something better than any one knows. Whence that three-corner’d smile of bliss? Three angels gave me at once a kiss. Where did you get this pearly ear?         15 God spoke, and it came out to hear. Where did you get those arms and hands? Love made itself into bonds and bands. Feet, whence did you come, you darling things? From the same box as the cherubs’ wings.         20 How did they all just come to be you? God thought about me, and so I grew. But how did you come to us, you dear? God thought about you, and so I am here. http://www.bartleby.com/246/315.html

If a tree falls in the forest . . .

or if bougainvillea blooms in the side yard where no one goes to spy it ...