Finton came into our lives one hot, muggy late 70's summer.  My grandparents had few neighbors and we knew them by name.  Just down the road was a retired university professor.  He wore a starched white button down shirt and suspenders while driving his tractor.  His adult daughter had seen much more of the world than most of us in that isolated pocket of Wisconsin farmland.  On her travels to Ireland she had befriended a family with a son not much older than I, whom she brought to the farm for the summer.

Since the neighbors had no children, Finton found his way over to our place quite regularly where he quite regularly drove.me.crazy.  He had a round freckled face, a head full of black curls, and bright blue eyes that danced with mischief.  All summer I was hyper alert, never knowing what lay around the next corner.  He might well be poised with one of the horses' water buckets ready to douse me.  He was always asking about 'the wee lass' a nickname my family adopted with glee.  That drove me nuts too.  They teased that he was sweet on me.  I was sure he had dedicated his life to tormenting me.

Finton loved British comedy and his family would send him little cassette tapes of his favorite comedians. I didn't really get it.  He said it was a British thing and urged me to just listen one more time.  I still didn't get it.  Some 30 yrs later I wish I could tell him my guilty pleasure is Mrs. Brown's Boys ; )) 

Finton was a Catholic and our neighbors were Protestant. I didn't realize at the time what an incredible cross-cultural connection was happening there, nor how incredible the whole exchange was, given 'the troubles' back home for him.  What I knew was that Gram and I took Finton to mass with us that summer.  On the drive back home one day the sky turned dark and Finton went quiet.  

The neighbor shared with us later that he was dreadfully afraid of our wild summer storms, the tornado sirens, how the sky could go from blue to yellow and sickly still, then erupt.  I didn't realize then how mild Irish weather is by comparison.  I guess I thought it thundered fiercely all over the globe.  But, it doesn't. That big boy-man trembled which softened my heart some.  

I don't know what happened to Finton, but I thought about him fondly when we had our first thunder here the other day, so much closer to where he came from than from where I did.  We pulled out Patricia Polacco's Thundercake and realized we had just enough of all the ingredients on hand.  So we baked. And we talked about scary things and being little and getting braver and growing up and going to Ireland. 

And then, the sun peeked out in time for cake. (recipe here)

Read with us?  Who better to tell the story than the author herself.

Close to the top of classic simple summer pleasures is making s'mores. This night was made even better by a friendly little wager. Their Dad off-handedly said he'd offer a reward for whomever could light the fire pit without use of fuel, match, etc.  Here's a helpful tip for you, dear readers.  Do not make wagers like this with homeschooled kids. You may discover that your teen daughter got a flint set from her big brother as part of her birthday package one year (along with other resourceful items like pink hair dye and a small video camera for her dog to wear around his neck.) Girlfriend sure enough DID find her flint and in short order had a nice little campfire going.  

Oh yes she did. 

Bam.

"…you can come too, too, too," – Peter, Paul, and Mommy

I hum the verses every time I open these pictures.  Can't tell you how many times my older boys and I sang this LOUDLY in the minivan.  I grew up with Peter, Paul, and Mary.  It was fitting they did too. They also grew up with zoo trips and their little brothers and sisters have not visited nearly as many times.  We determined to fix that. 

(Someone was not a fan of large swimming creatures on the other side of the glass. ; ))

"Now close by the church, past which Piccola often romped in her play, there stood a mass of old gray stone, carved with quaint figures that told of the life of Jesus. Stiff and queerly fashioned were the figures, but they had been carved by those who loved the story, and Piccola loved it too.  As she carefully traced out all the tale, she said to herself with a heart full of reverence:

'It was Jesus who taught men to know the good God as their Father, to let His Goodness shine in their hearts, and to love one another.'"

So…Piccola had no thought but that all the earth must rejoice." 

 -American Cardinal Readers book 3

A houseful of teenaged girls, around here at least, means there is going to be a day of dressing up and indulging in old fashioned elegance.  I had been thinking we would do a Les Mis project while our lovely guests were here. In the end it became more of a Downton Abbey theme, probably because the props were pulled from the corners of our house which is definitely all about that. 

These dear friends are back in Germany now and by fall they will be an ocean away. I am so glad we got to capture these moments before that happens. 

"Incline Thine ear, O Lord, and make bright the darkness…."

– prayer for Gaudete Sunday

Because isn't this what we really need?  Like everyone else I have been deeply saddened by the innocents lost last week, as well as by the darkness which envelopes a heart and allows such a thing to come to pass. But in the end, great positive change doesn't come through policies, but through people.  It does not come in big sweeping blasts of condemnation and commotion, but in tiny lights which come together to illuminate a dark world. 

Some things will never be heard through bull horns.  Messages of love and peace, like prayers, can only be heard through whispers.  They are spread through clasped hands and never raised fists or pointed fingers. They spill forth, a heart overflow.  Gentleness and awe cannot be coerced, but are often inspired.

So this is what we do.  We slow down.  We whisper joy.  We share beauty. We find peace and take great care in a restless and reckless time.  We try to forgive immense pains, extend grace, and to step back from heated arguments.  Instead of shouting into the darkness, or fixing our gaze there, we stop and make light, right where we are. 

And yes, there are those who are waiting, ready to extinguish our fragile flames.

Indeed they are there.  

We must be as unceasing as they, quietly lighting vigil candles of charity in every corner of the world we find ourselves.  There is no other way.

Be a light in your corner of the world today – a light-seeker, a light-bearer.  Make a heart bright. 

Moira's tree twinkles from the upstairs window tonight. It is so pretty and she is so pleased, which makes me delighted too.  That happily went on the done list.  

Though I then remembered that I hadn't ordered the pictures that were to go in the cards.  And the boxes the movers marked as Christmas, seem to hold many things.  Like a tent.  And a dryer vent. Lesson plans.  And the beautiful hand me down wool coats I had hoped to find before winter's end.  That last part was another score.  But no wreaths, which like many things more important in one place than another, can be difficult to find in a new country.  So it was a mixed bag – or box as the case may be. Life tends to be.  

Things rarely go as quickly or easily as we expect. 

When I snapped this picture over Moira's dresser I thought of all those things and a number of phrases came to mind standing there…

Christmastime

There is not enough time.

Find time.

Me time. 

Overtime.

Down time.

Don't waste time. 

Another time. 

The best of times. 

All the time.

We have to pick from that sort of stream of conscience every moment. I hope we are choosing well.  I pray we are.  And I pray that when we don't, we are granted the grace to redirect. 

Out my window: wind. It is sunny with high cottony clouds wafting across the sky. The crab apples are all blushed and swinging wildly from the tree in the orchard.

Listening to: “Blue 42 – hike! Floor to table. Hustle hustle hustle!” Kieran is leading schoolroom pickup. Chores are just more fun during football season. ; )

Musically- am loving BBC radio. Loving it. I am picking up a radio for the kitchen so I can bring all that fun out of the car where I linger in the driveway when we get home. New fave – Jerry Douglas.

Reading: finally finished Jane Austen’s Emma since I have been reading other things with it. It really picked up after page 300 fwiw. It was a fantastic read considering nothing actually happened in all 400 pages. Not an action title to be sure, but spot on characterization. You will see people you know in those pages.

Afterwards I began “Horses Don’t Lie About love”. Sorry no links. Story about a woman who moved out west and began a horse farm with some nearly feral stock. Totally different tone from Ree Drummond but I love a good memoir.

From the learning rooms: making new file games. Journaling. Lots of art. Tess’ reading is taking off.

Creating: embroidery. Tess has been working on a back stitched pear for a tea towel. I had Moira sit with her supervising when I had to leave the room. Moments later Moira announced she wanted to sew. And she did. A butterfly, a shamrock and finally a large DANCE on her dance shorts.

Around the house: been here long enough to have to clean the cabinets out in the kitchen. Feeling much tidier now.

Plans: football practice – the new normal. A date which will likely net a new computer set up this weekend. Which means all kinds of fun for my camera with the over flowing memory card. ; )

It always seems to come in unexpected ways and at just the right time. Life expands and contracts and our circles do the same in this ever changing landscape of our mobile life. Giving birth to a life is like that. Labor and rest. Confidence and doubt. Peaks and valleys. Very often it is those dips into the valley that spark the most progress.

This week was frustrating without my camera or software. My card is full and the computer must go to the shop. I don’t dare clear my card til I can back up the images. But I don’t sit on my hands well making nothing. I ended up trying two things. Instagram and film.

I pulled out my old film camera which I only used in automatic mode all those years ago. It was a good camera, however, with a couple nice lenses which I knew nothing about when I won that auction on eBay 8 years ago. My phone yielded a PDF manual to bring me up to speed and locate all the functions. I very happily dropped off a roll of film with a very nice British gentleman the other night.

When I told my husband I had nearly convinced myself to switch back he listened quietly. Then said he still wanted also push forward with the new computer and software and equipment we have been planning for. A both/and solution to the either/or scenario in my head. : ) You can do this and more he said. And more. And we are going to make it happen.

Then came a long overdue phone call on a slightly crackly line to an old friend who can be counted on to always say oh yes you can! You can can apples. You can read more Jane Austen. You can tend a cutting garden. You CAN.

This morning I listened to that yes you can and pushed myself out into chilly morning air to jog (jog-walk-jog-walk) with Toby Mac. I came back thinking how beautiful the clouds were over my chimney and how much I love the kitchen door. And geraniums. And being brave. And saying yes.

I checked mail and found a sweet comment from the wildly creative Jennifer and clicked back to catch up with her doings. Turns out it was the National Day of encouragement this week. I missed it. Officially anyway. But certainly enjoyed all the perks in practice. I paid it forward by taking a couple extra minutes to tell her what I often think when I read her notes – thank you.

She got me thinking about how the Internet rather encourages a bit of consumerism. We click in and out. We glean. We use ideas and off we go. Those people don’t often know how much they have blessed us or just how amazing they really are. I am trying not to forget that as I visit and learn.

If you haven’t visited here before you are in for a treat:

http://studiojru.com/2012/09/12/national-day-of-encouragement/#comment-15591

"The true picture of the effective home teacher is more often a secure and happy mom. She and the children do straightening up chores the first thing each day so that the home with provide an organized, clean environment for learning.  She selects learning tasks for which each child is ready. She requires only enough daily practice or drill to allow her children to progress appropriately to mastery of basic skills. Fun projects are used to integrate and reinforce basic skills. And much of the day is framed around the children's interests with work and service that build genuine golden rule citizens,"

– The Successful Homeschool Family Handbook, Dr. Raymond and Dorothy Moore

Golden rule citizens.  Leave to dear Dr. Moore to help us articulate the highest and best vision and to lay out practical ways to get there.   It occurred to me that my homeschool library probably seems highly contradictory. (as well as outdated – intentionally) Still, I find these older books have common messages at their heart which still inspire me to begin again each year just as enthusiastically as I did with those little boys long ago.  

(We have begun again, a little bitty bit, with a brand new bookcases in a very old house.  The school room is coming together and I am so enjoying this new old space.)