Some days I can’t think of anything nice to say. But here’s a cactus for you to look at until I am in a more agreeable mood.
Listing all the good things that actually happened today will just make me feel worse for allowing myself to be in a funk. However, I would like to thank Masterpiece Theater for the excellent cry it helped facilitate and I’m grateful for the leftovers in the refrigerator which meant I didn’t have to cook dinner.
Thank you.
There are 13 pairs of shoes in our entry hall. Just imagine what the rest of the house looks like after just 2 days of baseball season. I don’t know if we are going to make it. Not because it messes up the hallway, but because baseball murders our family dinners and evening routines for 3 1/2 months of the year.
I’m a vigorous supporter of the family meal, eaten together with all the benefits it delivers:
My ideal evening is to have everyone home, reading or working on projects, playing piano or listening to music. It’s basically a Little House on the Prairie evening.
What’s a girl like me to do?
I’ll start by getting the kids to clean up their shoes.
Preparing to teach a lesson for Sunday, the whirr of over-focused thinking distanced me from the life of the house.
In contrast, more mechanical thinking took over during the many car trips transporting kids from event to event. Driving and the occluded thought that accompanies it is a very big part of my life.
I come away from this weekend a little off-centered for all of the thinking and non-thinking that my tasks have required. I know this makes little sense.
How can a weekend of over-thinking and non-thinking be so exhausting?
I look forward to the regular routines of Monday for the balance and rest they provide.
Earlier this month, I set up my visiting teaching appointments but forgot to prepare the message. I did a quick skim of the magazine article I was to share and ran to the first appointment and taught a lovely lesson about women being guardians of the health of our families. We discussed ways we could help our families improve their emotional and physical health. I walked away feeling pretty good about the appointment.
But when I got home and set down the magazine on the counter, I finally noticed that the message was entitled, “Guardians of the HEARTH” (not health)! I was embarrassed and had a healthy laugh at myself. Apparently I need to be more involved in the details. Skimming isn’t adequate when it comes to important things. Some activities require deep, concerted, and detailed effort. And good job to those of you who saw my mistake before you read the second paragraph. Way to go, visiting teacher supreme!
I decided to read a book by Charles Dickins last week because he is a master of details. Each description is so rich and essential. I can’t skim through Dickins. It was a good exercise in focus. I also enjoy how he can moralize about the shady characters with sarcasm and characterize the good with idealism.
So hooray for effort in visiting teaching, flawed as it may be. And hooray for my first watercolor in years. And hooray for people such as Charles Dickins whose detailed efforts show me that I can navigate through experiences with humor and idealism.
In what areas of your life do you choose to be gentle in your self evaluations, while still maintaining an ideal for yourself? Tell me, dear reader. I am curious to hear your thoughts.
I’ve heard it said that true love is when you care for a person for who he is and not for what he does for you. However, when I take the time to look at all the good things that Richard does for our family and for me, his actions and his identity are inseparable. I appreciate him because he does so much, but I love him because of the person he has become through these acts of sacrifice.
Here are a few of the good things that I have observed Richard do over the past 8 days:
He was a merit badge counselor at a Scout event on Saturday and prepared an awesome activity with lasers.
He drove Daniel and another boy to piano rehearsals during his lunch break at the Scout event.
He prepared a talk and was a Stake high council speaker for another congregation on Sunday.
He made dinner for us on Sunday because I was busy feeling devastated about something.
He babysat while I attended a new member fireside.
He went to work each day and one night he stayed up to midnight working from home.
He drove Paige to seminary at 6:40 a.m. each school day.
He conducted Family Home Evening and gathered us for family prayers.
He attended a district Scout meeting before picking up Paige from ballet.
He attended a baseball parent meeting with Daniel.
He ate my brownies and remembered to compliment them.
He babysat while I went to youth activities on Wednesday night.
He washed the windows of the house and enlisted the help of his sons so they could learn to work.
He mowed the lawn.
He organized the garage.
He sprayed the weeds and sprayed for bugs.
He cleaned the back patio.
He chopped up branches from our thorny trees for disposal, also enlisting the sons for help.
He made a movie to show at the youth fundraiser on Friday night.
He helped set up for the youth fundraiser and donated generously.
He helped clean up the fundraiser and mopped the church cultural hall.
He tutored Paige in math for four hours on his day off and smiled about it.
He watched a romantic comedy with me for our date night.
On another night, he took me out to dinner.
He was the first to get up when he heard one of our kids vomiting in the middle of the night.
He went to church meetings which began at 6 a.m. even though he’d been up in the middle of the night with sick children.
He drove a new member to church.
He’s on his way home to take care of the sick kids so I can attend Young Women meeting.
Dear Birthday boy, I know it's not an ideal day, but I'm sure glad you are here to share it with me. Happy birthday, Rich. I love you. -A
The writer must be in it; he can't be to one side of it, ever.
He has to be endangered by it. His own attitudes have to be tested
in it. The best work that anybody ever writes is the work that is
on the verge of embarrassing him, always.--Arthur MillerIt’s my 600th post. Richard says that I have essentially written a book. I married him because he says such things.
It was Richard who encouraged me to write a blog. He knows that I have things to say, but I don’t often share. I wanted this blog to be a place where people didn’t obligated to make a comment. I also wanted to remain free from dependence on the comments of others.
For a change today, though, I have decided to allow comments on this post.
Thank you for choosing to read despite my flaws as a person and as a writer. And thank you to those of you who have written me an email when I’ve needed some comments.
Which posts have brought the most feedback and had the most views? They are my Paige posts and the curriculum posts. My hats and sunglasses have also drawn comments, as well as my aversion to everyone’s propensity to call me “Sister Ross.”
When I read old posts, I am usually very gentle with myself and try to remember the circumstances which prompted the writing.Some posts are efforts to feel validation. Some posts still make me cry just as I did when I wrote them.
Each post is in some way a celebration… of an accomplishment, an idea, a child, or my husband. I’ve tried not to show anger or negativity, not because I don’t feel these things, but because I believe that positive thinking is healthier. Writing in celebration has enhanced my enjoyment of life and my awareness of all that I have been given.
I hope you feel my gratitude for reading. Thank you.
Some of my favorite posts:
I cried the most while writing this one
When I’m thinking hard about something, I’ll set out to do menial tasks. I’ll clean out a drawer or fold laundry, organize a closet or throw things away. Really big problems are best sorted with a paint roller in my hand. After some challenges this week (certainly nothing horrific!), I spent two evenings creating temples from the chaos of my thoughts and little bags of chipped tile.
I can’t say that it helped. My problems are still here, but I have two cute little temples to grout and frame so it’s not all bad.
Do you have an unlikely treasure hidden in plain sight at your house?
Here’s mine:
My house is full of binders just like this, but this is one of my favorites.
Last year I decided to collect the notes I have taken from literature since moving to Arizona and compile them in a book for easy reference.
It’s an odd assortment of stuff; some of it is personal religious study; some of it is evidence of curiosity; many books I have studied so I can teach them. I don’t take notes on everything that I read. More often you will find my notes scribbled in the margins of my books. But there are some books which require a little more effort. This is where I keep the evidence of those efforts.
I read The Republic twice last year to make any sense of it. I made notes in columns to show the dialogue.
After reading The Aeneid and making careful summaries, I decided not to use much of the work in Paige’s study plan.
This book is evidence of many elements of my life which coincide with my studies. I was a mother of a toddler at the time I was studying a text on the American Revolution.
My notes from Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations by Adam Smith were left on a chair at Spring Lake and received a good soaking from the sprinklers.
After I read a book, I decide whether I want my children to study it. If so, I will often make a study plan, research commentaries, and write essay questions and sometimes worksheets. It’s not very often that I read something and discover that I can’t use it in some way in our classes.
I gave up personal reading during high school and college. It took me years to revive the hunger for ideas which was stamped out during those busy years. I didn’t like much of what was assigned to read during those years. I became weary from ideas of authors I didn’t admire and books I had not chosen. Of course these reading experiences had value, but I am grateful to be in a new phase of study.
This time of my life is a little bit like being back in school, but I love the freedom to read what I want and study as little or much as I please.
It seems self-portraiture is a little addictive. I love the messy, romantic look of this quick hairstyle which gains more character with the day. Twist and pin, twist and pin. That’s all there is to it. Non-perfection is the rule. I can do that!
There is more than romance and fashion going on in my head today, but it doesn’t seem worth mentioning. Some days are like that. Is that a gray hair?
Don’t answer that.
Reading Shakespeare in my spare minutes all day long= A day well spent.
I’ve been wearing this hat this week. It makes me feel better. It has a quality similar to blinders which allows me to focus on my immediate tasks and creates a private space for my thoughts to swirl. I love hats.
Someday I’ll gain the courage to wear a grand old Eliza Doolittle hat to church for Easter. That will be a good day.
I felt very silly taking this photo of myself this morning. In the 60 seconds it took to pose, someone discovered my absence and came knocking on my door. “Silly girl,” I thought to myself, “locking the door and taking photos of half your face in a hat.”
“On the other hand,” my inward voice continued, “it’s only a minute and being silly sometimes means being authentic.” It’s not that authenticity is my top priority, but it’s a corollary to my vision of happy living.
I have my own world in the midst of it all, but it’s often abbreviated.
For instance, I dream of someday finishing my shopping list before I have to be somewhere else. I don’t remember the last time I finished a complete shopping list. I always omit something for the sake of time.
For this reason, I post this photo of myself that took 60 seconds to prepare and declare that my identity involves more than what I am able to accomplish and involves an inner life which few really know. Plus, I like hats.
