"Our Corporate Culture" And More...

Mom and Davy are back. :-)

Intentionally—and spontaneously—wacked out:
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” – Davy, wriggling his eyebrows
“No.” ::pause:: “Because we already tried the whole chimp thing.” – Christy
“Well, I was thinking we could lasso a giraffe…” – Davy

“Was it Mike who used to say things about cheese?” – Mom
“Probably. He had a love affair with cheese.” – Nate

“You know what I should do?” – Davy to Mom, prefacing a design suggestion.
“Work?” – Kelly, from the other room.
::all burst out laughing::
“You’re just jealous!” – Davy
“Of what?” – Kelly, with exquisite sarcasm.
“Of me!” – Davy, cheerful and undaunted.

“I’m also going to get some extraneous vegetables or something. Maybe carrots.” – Christy
“Extraneous vegetables? What constitutes an ‘extraneous vegetable’?” – Davy
“An ‘extraneous vegetable,’ Dave, means ‘something besides lettuce.’” – Christy
“Broccoli! Celery! Gotta be… Veggie Tales!” – Davy bursts into song.
::Nate joins in::
“There are people who actually work in a professional environment, you know.” – Kelly
::Kelly monologues, to the amusement of all::
“Yes! We have achieved corporate culture!” – Nate, in response to Kelly.

“This is why I come to work! Tasks and a massage; what could be better?” – Mom, working on her computer while Nate works on her shoulders.
“Tasks?” – Nate
“You know that I love tasks.” – Mom
“Oh, right.” – Nate

Danya At Play

This really is me, only it was taken at Mt. Vernon. Scary what photo-tweaking technology can do, isn't it? Or rather I should say, scary what photo-tweaking technology can do with Danya at the wheel.

Are You My Mother?

I woke this morning from the first deep sleep I've had in a week, and toddled into my mother's room.

"Are you my mother?" I asked, invoking a child's picture-book that she used to read to us, about a baby bird who had lost its mother and went around asking the same question of every creature it met.
"Yes, I am your mother." Mommy said.

Bliss.

I talked to Mommy while she got ready for the day.

"Want to come help me buy a camera, Tis?"
"Yes please!"

We went to the mall, but they didn't have the camera. So we went to the office and got Mom's laptop, and drove down to Virginia to the other camera store, having a business meeting on the way. It took all afternoon, and we got to talk about all kinds of things once the business stuff had been taken care of.

Bliss.

"Want a Starbucks, Honey?" Mommy asked, on the way back.
"Yes please!"

I spent almost the whole day with my mother.

I really missed her while she was gone. But now she is back.

And I am happy. :-)

Clerestory

Brittainy (friend; future roommate; future RA) and I were kicking around ideas for the wing...

There's a great book called What Jane Austen Ate and Charles Dickens Knew, which tells you just about everything you want to know, in a general way, about England in the Austen and Dickens periods. What makes it even more delightful is the fact that this author takes examples straight from literary works, at a rate of about a quotation per page. He uses Walpole and others besides the Austen/Dickens duo.

In the glossary of this book, I discovered two things. First of all, "clerestory." This is a word for the row of transparent windows high up in a cathedral nave, which shed light from above and illuminate the ulterior spaces. Guess what? Our wing is a second-floor wing. Hence, Clerestory.

The other item of interest is a phenomenon called "The Inns of Court." Apparently there are four Inns grouped near and/or around the English version of the Supreme Court. These Inns--Grey's Inn, Lincoln's Inn, Middle Temple, and Inner Temple--were the "dorms" for medieval law students.

Guess what? There are four dorm rooms in our wing.

Hence I give you, in all it's loveliness (and with much gratitude to Danya for whipping up the graphic)...

And Brittainy likes it, too! Now, if we can just get the rest of the wing to agree... <:0)

It's Too Quiet

I haven't taken down a quote all morning. Nate and I and the minions are here, but the Development--sans moi--is on vacation. Mom is gone. Davy is gone. Laura is gone.

Weird.

Oh, forgot to mention... the Longaevi have decided to play dress-up this week. Ordinarily, no problem--a lot of hats and swords and gloves and fancy dresses; everybody can deal with a pile of clothes. But when Longaevi play dress-up... eh. Ever opened your closet door on a live tiger, or picked up an earring that suddenly giggled, quivered, and changed shape?

Just smile and nod, and wait for their fancy to change.

My Brothers

Above is my Danya: little brother, friend, coworker, kindred spirit, fellow artist, dear one, sharer of long walks in the forest and yearnings for Heaven, hater of sin, adorer of Christ.

Above is Nate the Great, my biggest brother, with his truck and his warehouse in the background. Nate rules our warehouse with a benevolent dictatorship, gives us chocolate and makes us laugh. Yesterday he took Lisa and I to see a fascinating movie: an animated fairy tale inspired by Japanese anime. It was completely non-formulaic, a wonder of storytelling! I love my biggest brother so much; he takes good care of me. :-)

And finally, to your right, my other big brother--just 23-- in front of his townhouse. The Launching Pad, as we call it, is a happening place. Mike owns it and lives there with two or three other guys. This is my business-pro brother, favorite swing-dance partner, giver of sound practical advise and instigator of endless fun activities. Mike, we like to joke, is afraid to go to sleep for fear he'll miss something.

Girls, I'm sorry. Mike is courting. You can't have Danya either, and I need Nate awful bad. I know it's terribly selfish to keep all the coolest guys to myself, but God gave them to me, and until he gives them another girl, I'm sure enjoying my privileged status as pampered and beloved baby/big sister to the best men anywhere... at least, the best unmarried men anywhere. Daddy and my two grandpas are the best married men anywhere. :-)

Reflections

I'm not up to passionate reason or reasonable passion just now, so I guess I'll ramble rather than taking up an issue to examine. It feels like I've been dissecting a lot lately, everything from courtship to M'Adoo to forest noises. I'm fractious...or fractured. I want to just be.

The day has proven itself a mixed bag. I woke several times in the night, once with a very strange head/neck ache, once with the feverish certainty that I had heard fire alarms going off in the house, and once for I-forget-what, but it wasn't pleasant. This sort of troubled sleep isn't unusual when Mom and Dad are out of the house, as is currently the case. They have gone to Montana for a conference, with Davy and Churdee, and are staying to visit Yellowstone until Tuesday. They've been gone since Thursday, and the ache of their missingness is becoming acute.

Hence, blogging. It keeps my mind off of being lonely for them. I never did get over homesickness, you know. It is with me constantly at school, and now, even at home, in their absence. This is the price of being very closely knit to my dear ones. I pay it gladly, trusting God to return them to me again. Only, whenever they are gone, I have nightmares that they have been killed in some sort of accident, and are never coming home. This dark feeling I am usually able to ward off through prayer, but it is still a strain.

Of course, I further compounded the emotion through my own stupidity--I picked this weekend to read a book I've always meant to read and never have. I allude to The Scarlet Letter, that tome of apparently vast American intellectual importance, which is so heavily laced with symbolism that it leaves me seeing bogies in my sleep and ominous portents in the fact that my grandparents just chanced to be watching Return to Me last night.

What utter mental rubbish! Now, having confessed it, I am able to laugh at it. As if God is not sovereign! By the way, that was the best part of my Sabbath: church service this morning. Church is the only thing besides parties and quasi-formal dinners that I bother to dress up for during the summer. All the rest of the time I go about in whatever is clean and matches, but on Sundays I put rosebuds in my hair, or elaborate silvery hair-clips, and earrings and all the rest. There is such a rich delight in dressing up to honor the Lord's Day!

I have little general acquaintance at CLC now; after three years away, I am greeted only by parents and family friends who remember me, fellow caregroup-members, and a few girlfriends with whom I have been able to maintain relationships over the distance of space and time. It is enough for me; I only feel a little stab of sadness when people visit our home and do not know that I am a daughter of the house, because I have been away. That makes me feel as though I don't belong in my home, and, you see, not belonging at home is a horror second only to not belonging to Christ.

So I do not like that, but I do not mind being a sort of ghost at church. I pass through all the hallways of my childhood, and sometimes pause to smile in front of a mirror that saw me when I was ten or eleven, and still reflects my image at twenty-one. Because I am so generally unknown, I feel a certain freedom. I need not speak to anybody. This is a dangerous freedom, for it feeds a certain element of my nature that would prefer absolute solitude--saving only my dear ones--to every other mode of existence. My summers are lonely, in a social sense. Yet, you know, I always have a place. In the family row, between my brothers and parents and grandparents and sisters, with my cousins seated a little way down the center section, I am absolutely secure and free to worship my God.

Oh, there is such joy in worshipping God! I have often thought that nowhere, in any human relationship or interaction, in any delight of nature or stimulation of the senses, have I ever known the heady sweetness, the intensity and rightness, which I experience while praising the Lord. And this is man's chief end? I can well believe it! If I was made for anything--and I was--than it is to glorify God. My whole being proclaims it. Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God almighty! The earth is full of his glory! This adoration of his perfection, this need to speak it aloud, echoes from wall to wall, piercingly beautiful, as though radiance in corporeal form had settled substantively, but fluid and sparkling, in the chambers of my soul.

Therefore banish all evil dreams as mere shadows of the cave, and be in sunlight, O my soul. Oh, my little soul, the wonder of it...

He loves thee.

Burgee

My baby sister Marjorie (aka Burgee), who is currently in Mexico for a Missions Trip. Thank you Lisa for teaching me to upload photos!

M'Adoo and Marriage Proposals

That's the way we pronounce it here at home: familiarity has worn Much Ado About Nothing down to a Velveteen Rabbit M'Adoo. Tonight, my caregroup is going to see a free performance of this delightful Shakespearian comedy in Old Town Gaithersburg, where they have a wonderful wooden stage and seating on the lawn. This means that we get to loll about in reclining Roman splendor, eat our picnic dinners, and enjoy a (hopefully) excellent performance. I enjoyed their Taming of the Shrew a few years ago, and have no reason to expect less of this production.

Of course, Courtney and I are trying not to get our hopes up. I'm a M'Adoo snob because I had it memorized before I got to college, and then wound up on crew for the play last fall, not to mention coaching and bench readings, so I think I can say that I'm done about all the amateur analysis that I can on this particular play.

Now it's time to get appropriate texts and practice academic vivesection. :)

But not tonight. Courtney and I promised each other that we would "be good" and enjoy ourselves. I love Courtney--she's one of the people here at home who would be completely comfortable in the PHC intellectual atmosphere, though she's far from being your average homeschooler. Courtney is a classic tomboy, only grown up, sophisticated, and in nursing school. She and Jessica have been friends forever, since diapers, so I'm enjoying the opportunity to develop a relationship with her as well.

Speaking of Jessica, Mike's party was an enjoyable--if slightly bizarre--affair. Enjoyable because it was me and my three brothers and Jessica and Sarah (Jessica's sister, a fun person), bizarre because Davy had to tell Sean that he--Sean--wasn't allowed to marry me, before we'd been in the car for ten minutes. Also, Brandon suggested that he and I and Davy and Sarah form pseudo-courtships for the sake of seeing if we could weird out the entire Singles Ministry of CLC. Sean and Brandon then spent the rest of the evening on more or less this theme, inquiring of me every so often which of them I would prefer to marry.

Now, caveats: I've been in school with Sean since I was 13 and he was 11. He's been Davy's roommate at college for two years. I've been in school with Brandon since I was 14, and our families have been friends since I was 10. So, you must understand, they both feel perfectly comfortable teasing me like this. I'm their adopted big sister. And I feel comfortable with their teasing, because A) I know they don't mean it, and B) I know that it isn't my fault (as in, I've done nothing to provoke such behavior), and C) it's nice to know that they feel comfortable with me.

But still, it's a long, long way from PHC. I don't mind the teasing; but I'm surprised by it, and surprised to realize: "Wow, the kids are growing up!"

I've gotten soft at PHC, where the vast majority of guys are scared of one, and will either oppose one vigorously on the most ridiculous subjects--ready to die on every hill--or else give one the bone china treatment. There are exceptions, and to them I say, "Bless you!" Nor do I mean to be unkind, nor am I asking for random marriage proposals, because that is immature behavior also and should be gently squashed. Marriage isn't a joke.

Nevertheless, I found the "culture shock" made me think. What do the attitudes of Sean and Brandon reflect? Well, frankly, they reflect a church culture that is actively preparing its young men for marriage. Mike has been a mentor to both of these guys; I'm sure his courtship has caused them to examine their own "5-year plans," as my brothers call them. Now, my brothers are exceptional in that Dad has been preparing them for marriage since their early teens in every respect: financial, physical, emotional, spiritual, mental, you name it. But CLC teaching definitely has something to do with the mindset of "preparing for marriage," and I find it interesting to be an observer.

"I'm pleased with it, overall." Mike said, commenting on the guys' attitude.
"Yes," I responded, thinking of Davy. "It seems to have a galvanizing effect on their motivation to be financially, spiritually stable and ready for marriage."
"Yup."

I thought of PHC, of course, since PHC has become my primary sphere of living over the past three years. Would I want the guys at school to be this focused on prepping for marriage?

No, not necessarily. They tend to be more focused on their education, and since they've got to get that first, it's good to be so.

But I can't get away from this corellary fact...

The guys here at home are awfully mature, and they sure do know how to treat girls. I don't refer to last night's antics; they were just being silly, and, as I have said, I think it was a little immature. But if you put Sean or Brandon into a situation that involved leading by serving, or talking about God, or witnessing, or drawing others out, or giving good Biblical advice...

Well, stand back. They would wow you. They've impressed me all their lives, especially these last few years.

And you know I don't impress easy.

Bottom line? I dunno. I'm still cogitating. But I see something here at home that I like very much, and if I write about it for no other reason, let me just say I'm grateful to God for it.

And no, this isn't meant to cast PHC guys in a bad light. :-P

I Love My Job

I don't have time this evening to post long or thoughtfully because I'm going out with a bunch of singles (read: Mike, Jessica, Sarah, Davy, Nate, Drew, Sean, and Brandon) for Mike's birthday dinner. Macaroni Grill... ah. Bliss.

Ergo, I leave a list of quotes for your amusement.

“Everybody cheer!” – Davy
“Cheer.” – Christy and Laura, without enthusiasm.
“Thanks. You guys are pals.” – Davy, with sarcasm.

“Well, hi! This is what I was missing in life.” – Davy, hugging Christy

“Mother, we have come back from our afternoon constitutional. I impersonated a Dufflepud, and Laura did a little Scottish Highland dancing, and Davy stood by looking amused.” – Christy reporting to Mom on the progress of the new company policy: mandatory ten-minute afternoon break.

“Okay, here’s the email address of the day. ‘Full van.’” – Kelly
“I still like ‘Full quiver.’” – Davy

“Oh, nice!” – Laura, admiring the “Wash me, please” legend written in dust on the back of the UPS truck.

“Who made you snipper over the rest of us?” – Davy to Nate
“I am ‘He Who Snips Your Earlobes.’” – Nate
“That’s not nice.” – Davy

I don’t really understand guyspeak… and yet, scarily, I do.
“It’s for harsh! For certain! Weekie-weekie-uhn!” – Davy

“My life is a Star Trek analogy!” – Nate, after working through with Davy the generations of copiers in the warehouse. They concluded that we are now all the way up to Enterprise, since Geordie—may he rest in peace—is dead under a sheet and we are reduced to naming the new one “Tripp.”

“Gentlemen, please. Have pity.” – Christy to Nate and Davy, who are singing John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt.

“Christy…” – Davy
“Hmmm?” – Christy
“When I write my great fantasy novel, remind me to include a character named Rosemary, Sage of Thyme.” - Davy
::Christy processes this for a second::
“You’re a lunatic.” ::pause:: “But a lovable lunatic.” – Christy

“Make ‘someday’ today.” – Chocolate Wrapper to Christy
::thoughtful pause::
“Or, in a zippy and unexpected philosophical twist, I could make ‘today’ a someday.” – Christy to Chocolate Wrapper

Somervilles engaging in their favorite pastime: the Quote Game. For extra points, which movie is this from?
“Hey, quadruped! Sprechen zie English?” – Christy, without introduction or looking up from her computer.
“I sprechen.” – Davy, skipping not a single beat.
“What continent is this?” – Christy
“Manhatten.” – Davy
::pause::
“Really? Looks like Maryland to me.” – Christy

Siblings Havin’ Fun
“Christy, Christy, Christy… where did I fail you?” – Davy
“You don’t want to hear the list.” – Christy

“Lovely InDesign! So bright! So beautiful!” – Davy, imitating Gollum. And when I say “imitating,” I mean “perfectly impersonating.”

“Gently fisting me in the head will not help me to understand.” – Christy
“Lightly knocking on the top of your head isn’t ‘fisting.’” – Laura
“I want to fist you in the head! I volunteer! Me, me, pick me!” - Davy

“It was much more a leisurely and poetic flight of ponderment than an actual structured essay answer.” – Laura, on bit of her own work.

“This is what I’ve come to in my own personal life: among other things, people are silly.” – Davy

Greenglow

Greenglow is an actual phenomenon. It's a state of light that comes after sunset and before dusk, near the afterglow. I wouldn't know it if I saw it, but I like the word, and what I want to talk about is a sort of afternoon greenglow, which I experienced yesterday.

It had been a terrible day. A classic "bad day," largely on account of the most persistent low-grade-misery headache I've ever had. I got into an argument with Mom (have you recently sinned against somebody you love dearly? It's awful!) and literally couldn't string two coherent thoughts together. At last Mother, who deserves full honors for being sweet to me when I was so very clearly displaying my sinful nature, sent me home. This was midafternoon, after I admitted that I could barely read the screen.

"Go sleep, Honey."

I got home, raging at myself, in tears, driving carefully only because my little sister was in the car with me--and thank goodness; I was in such a mood that I might have gotten myself into an accident through sheer carelessness. It was like being stung by a gadfly, this headache. It was like Alzheimer's too; I felt that I was losing all grasp of reality. For those few hours, I didn't much care whether I lived or died.

Everybody expected me to go to bed, but I believed that I would go insane in bed. So, I got my Bible and a notebook and a sweatshirt, and my phone in case anybody began to worry about me, and left the house. This was perhaps stupid; I could still barely comprehend the ground in front of me. But I went, and I didn't stop until I had gained the forest downstreet from our house.

From the moment I stepped down into the wood, my feeling of barely-controlled hysteria vanished. It was so cool and green there, so silent and yet so full of sound. Forests hum, if you've ever noticed. I found this out later.

I walked fast, because I knew roughly where I was going. Off the path, up the little knoll covered with trees, around to the place where you have a whole snarl of gorse bushes behind, there is a sort of alcove with a spreading branch overhead and safety from all human contact. A deer is about the most you can expect to find up on that hill. I waded to this spot through feathery eight-inch ferns and curled up on the ground. I don't think I moved again for two hours, but I didn't sleep either. I lay still and used my five senses.

Touch: the feather-grass, the hard earth, a stalk between my fingers, a translucent green leaf, sun-warmth against skin, insects brushing me in their dizzy flight, an ant crawling up my thumb...

Taste: in my seventeenth year I decided that a summer day tastes green, and I hold to that. The taste is a peculiarly heavy, rich, slightly damp and overpoweringly green mixture of summer air, summer earth, summer sweat, summer sun, all compounded and seasoned with attention paid to it.

Smell: again, it smells golden amd moist, pungent and warm, sweet-on-sweeter-on-sweetest, but never too sweet. Who can describe this properly?--not I.

Sound: the hum was astonishing. When I first lay down, it seemed blessedly silent, though I knew quite well that I would soon perceive otherwise. I did; a summer day in the forest incorporates every sound, from the mosquitoes whining above me to the chickadee in the bush behind, to the cars on a far-off highway, to the soughing branches and the footstep of a tiny white spider on his blade of feather-grass, not two inches in front of me. It sounded so alive! And it was a singing aliveness.

Sight: here the greenglow, here the glory. Green-gold always causes something inside me to melt, and it was everywhere. The leaves were green but golden, as though their whole thin selves had been transformed to sheets of translucent flame. Those branches had such hair, and tossed it about so carelessly! I saw a blackbeetle alight on a sunstruck leaf, glittering, and my heart constricted. I saw a dragonfly with tail of cobalt, jet-winged, hung suspenseful in clear sunlight over my head. My soul gave tongue to a joyous murmur, a babble of incoherent worship, which sprang bubbling up and soon overran its walls, soon knew no boundaries at all.

It was then that I was able to pray. Lying in the greenglow, I could repent and seek a renewed understanding of the gospel of Christ... and receive grace, and grow humble under it, wondering, grateful, glad, awestruck. It was as though I too turned to a sheet of green thinness inflamed with sunlight.

Then I closed my eyes and, without sleeping, lay unmoving an hour. I was safe; and it was so sweet to be still. Later, I slept, and awakened to a clear head.

When I climbed into bed last night, it was with a glance askance at the sheets and pillows. Who that has slept on God's grass in God's greenglowing afternoon is satisfied with a mortal bower? And, you know, that's the whole point. But in the soul, my dear... in the soul, one must be always outdoors.

Courting and College

Points to Jonathan for proving to me once again that I am not insane. His comments on the student forum concerning courtship & college were almost word-for-word what I expressed to my mother in a miniature treatise on the subject about a month ago.

I began with this interesting insight: "Mom, I just realized something. Josh Harris never went to college!" This is true. Josh came to Gaithersburg MD instead, to train under C.J. Mahaney. Now, this doesn't mean that the relationship principles in I Kissed Dating Goodbye and Boy Meets Girl aren't spang-on. They are. But, as Jonathan rightly observed, courtship is meant to be lived out in a community of which the two families and especially the four parents are primary members and integral to the process.

Trying to do courtship right at college is just plain frustrating, from everything I've seen. Especially when I compare it to the courtship that my brother is walking out with one of my best friends here at home: night and day difference. Of course, there are problems on this end too. Mike recently quipped, "Our problem is that we have two functional (as opposed to dysfunctional) families, and they both want to spend time with us, and we don't have enough time!"

Mike is fully launched in his career, and Jessica is in nursing school even over the summer. They're kinda booked, especially since he leads a caregroup. Taking time with both of our busy families (whose schedules are almost impossible to mesh) is hard. To their credit, Mike and Jessica make the effort. The results are lovely in every way--it is such a delight! Mike is able to meet regularly with his courtee's father, and regularly talks with Dad about the courtship. Jessica lives at home, where she can receive the benefit of her wonderful mother's wisdom. It's just neat to see them walking through this season with so much humility and so much maturity. I attribute the former to the grace in their lives, and a large part of the latter to their parents' involvement.

Now, college. Most of my friends have courted somebody at some point, and there are times, watching them, when I thank God that he hasn't seen fit to put me in a similar position. It's tough. One always says that one won't lose focus on friends and become lost in just the other half of the couple. But one usually does, to some extent at least. The rare occasions when one or the other family (almost never both) is able to visit can be fraught with nerves and that nasty "what if they don't like me/my courtive?" feeling. Parents are never on the scene to offer their valuable (by "valuable" I mean priceless) wisdom.

It's just really hard to find perspective in an on-campus relationship. There's no one (except the engaged couples) who has gone before and can give you helpful observations. Your closest advisors are likely to be your single friends, who are well-meaning but frankly clueless. You spend every day all day with... guess who? There's never a break, never a chance to switch points of view (except summer, which is usually painful because you're used to being together all the time), and seldom anybody who knows how or when to challenge your behavior because, as I said before, they are your single friends and they're clueless. I know this because I've been one often enough. Or, if they are your friends who are in a relationship, they are clueless and emotional!

At this point I have moved well away from what Jonathan said, so don't blame him for any of it. My temporary conclusion--and if anybody cares to try and change my position, feel free. I seek to be highly persuadable, at least to good arguments--is that courtship at college is a higher degree of difficulty than courtship at home, requiring exceptionally close ties with one's parents, exceptional wisdom and perhaps even intuition on the parents' part, huge amounts of effort for everybody, and some unusual benefits. For example, you can't say you don't know the other person after you've been living on the same campus and spending most every day with them for one to two years (time given being the typical courtship longevity).

Yes, I think that's fair. There are distinct benefits to on-campus courtship, and I've been consistently blown away by the maturity of my friends who have courted on campus. The only claim I wish to make here is that it's harder (and should maybe be called something different) than the at-home version, and that I wouldn't care to try it without some pretty specific leading from God.

To conclude with a related but different concept, my mother made an observation the other day which fascinated me. We were talking with Mike and Jessica about this whole issue and about PHC, and she said something to this effect:

"It seems to me that there isn't necessarily all that much eros running around at PHC, but there is an awful lot of phileo. People are making really deep friendships. Maybe they are mistaking those friendships for exclusive romantic relationships."

Could it be that we think it somehow required of us to be in a committed, romantic, parent-approved relationship before we can have a close friend of the opposite gender?

Do Not Freak Out

I almost never do this. In fact, I don't think I ever have done it, except once last summer I did the inverse--I criticized a love song.

Today, I'm gonna praise one. It's called Kiss Me. Don't freak out; I have a good reason for doing this.

First, a little background. I came into work one morning and was waiting around to pray before the corporate day began, which is company policy (the prayer, I mean, not the waiting around beforehand). Davy asked me which of his playlist songs he should put in his ipod, or some such, so I wandered over.

I should make it clear that Davy has excellent and clean taste in music, which is why I was so surprised to see...

"Davy! Are you crazy? 'Kiss Me'? You have a song on your playlist called 'Kiss Me'?!"
"Christy, it's a great song! Seriously! I want to play this song at my wedding!"
"Uh-huh." I said, skeptical. Davy likes a lot, a whole lot, of different kinds of music. I knew that he has good taste, but his capacity for enjoyment of forms that don't appeal to me does not impune the purity of his discerning wisdom with regard to content.
"Here, I'll play it for you."
"Oh, Davy!"
"No, really! Trust me!"

He has very seldom steered me wrong, and I owe him for numerous introductions to excellent stuff, so I sat down to listen through another of Davy's songs.

Enter a sweet bluegrass guitar with light syncopated beat in the background...

Cue Lyrics:

Kiss me out of the bearded barley
Nightly, beside the green, green grass
Swing, swing, swing the spinning step
You wear those shoes and I will wear that dress.

[Chorus:]
Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight
Lead me out on the moonlit floor
Lift your open hand
Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance
Silver moon's sparkling
So kiss me

Kiss me down by the broken tree house
Swing me upon its hanging tire
Bring, bring, bring your flowered hat
We'll take the trail marked on your father's map

This song has everything: a story, poetry, parts, unity, everything. Let's begin with its excellence of form. Notice the alliteration, assonance, and consonance throughout. There is almost no sound in this song that is not repeated, elaborated, recollected, and resolved. There are parts for the guy to sing "bring your flowered hat," and parts for the girls to sing, "you wear those shoes and I will wear that dress."

Of course, much is lost without the actual music, but consider the chorus. It evokes the public and the private, the band and, in a surprising twist, the fact that all observers are nonhuman--fireflies, mere tiny lamps for the scene which is more widely lit by milky twilight. Also the open hand, symbol of generous love. And as we began with the milky twilight and plea for a kiss, so we end with a silver moon and request for... a kiss.

Now notice something else. The first verse sets everything up for the chorus, which is excellent, but the second verse actually fills out the story, which is even better. We now have a broken treehouse (belonging to the male half of the sketch, no doubt) symbolic of boyhood frolics, but broken and deserted now for the more interesting adventure of adulthood (that's one in the eye for Peter Pans). Nevertheless, childhood is evoked again, in all its sweetest aspects, by the mental image of the boy swinging his girl on the old tire. Finally, a romantic walk... but not just any walk; it is a walk down an old familiar trail, the one marked on "your" (probably the girl) father's map.

The eagerness for a kiss, then, is not mere sensuality. It is the fitting conclusion to a long story of childhood playmates who are now beginning a much more serious sort of thing, no longer pretend, but still joyous. One can easily envision the "kiss me" of today growing out of the "catch me!" of yesterday's tag game.

That's what I love about this song. It hasn't rushed anything, but when it gets there, it's delighted with this part of life too.

Mom and Dave

I've said it before and I'll say it again: the most entertaining part of my summer is watching Mom and Dave work together.

“Sometimes one smile means more than a dozen roses.” – Davy, reading his chocolate wrapper aloud.
“Yeah, but in general I’ll take the roses.” – Mom

“I like tidiness. I like order. I like conclusion. I like resolution!” – Christy, explaining why she wants to finish Year 2 before the end of the day.
“I like peanut butter.” – Davy

“What is this, a double injunction to evil?!?!” – Christy. Both of her chocolate ration wrappers say: “Be mischievous. It feels good.”

“I want to be a pepper.” – Davy

“I’m looking for my family…” – Davy, quoting American Tale
“Are you my mother?” – Mom to Davy, quoting a children’s book
“You’ve got that backwards; do you want to take it from the top?” – Davy

“Mommy?” – Davy
“Yes?” – Mom
“We have here what strongly resembles a weekplan.” – Davy

“So you’re walking around with a wicker footstool on your head…” – Christy
“I am thinking. This is my thinking cap at the moment.” – Davy

“It looks like a square planet…” – Davy, discussing who-knows-what with Mom during a design session.

“I hate to break it to you Davy, but I like this yellow. It’s warm. It’s bright. It’s sunny. It hugs me.” – Mommy
::much laughter::

“It’s not you! It’s not even close to ‘at you’! It’s this thing! It’s despicable!” – Davy, expostulating to Mommy

“I don’t like this.” – Mommy
“What! I—! Okay, we need to talk about this.” – Davy

“There is a time for compromise. It’s called ‘later.’” – Davy

“I don’t know what got put in you people’s water today, but…” – Courtney
“Are you okay over there, Courtney dear? Would you like earplugs?” – Mom

“Listen to your heart beat, and dance.” – Mom, reading her chocolate wrapper aloud
::Davy rises, takes his pulse, and begins to dance::

“But it’s… it’s… it’s asymmetrical!” – Christy, her opinion being solicited on the subject of the new chart layout.
“She’s a classicist. Ignore her.” – Davy to Mom

Nigri Libri

You all get lots of quotes from work, which gives you a good idea of my daytime life. You get random bits from books on Victorian etiquette, Longaevi descriptions, etc., which don't even remotely reflect what I'm actually thinking about in any deep sense. I don't think I've written a really thoughtful post in weeks.

This won't be one either. I was just noticing the fact.

I'm reading weird books. They are the sort of thing that a Lit. major should probably read at some point, but that I don't expect myself to enjoy. The list is as follows:

Madame Bovary: sad book, but interesting with respect to form. It reminds me of the Sistine Chapel or a Dutch painting, in that each fold of cloth, each ripple of hair or turn of hand is illuminated with dazzling simplicity and precision. Well-worth studying, though it falls into my general category of "poison which must be read," and consequently I prescribe for myself large antidote doses, currently in the form of The Discipline of Grace, and the Gospel according to John.

Doctor Zhivago: I didn't actually read it. I skimmed it and determined that I wasn't interested enough to read it. That's sort of where I wound up when I tried The Plague a few years ago. There's too much really superb stuff out there to waste time with the less-than-superlative, unless for reasons of form innovations that ought to be studied, which is why I actually read Madame Bovary.

The Age of Innocence: Interesting. Painful, but interesting. I read something by Toni Morrison (forgot the title) about ex-slaves which was also interesting, though even more painful, and somewhat darker. Why, oh why, oh why, do modern authors feel that they have to wallow in interior wretchedness? All they ever write about is hurting and searching for salvation. Forgiveness. More often restitution for wrongs suffered. Oh my, this old world... if it stabs at me this much, who walks in sunlight, what must the cavedwellers feel? A terrifying thought--a thought that makes me long to touch them by whatever means are available. I keep thinking that I could wake them up somehow, cauterize their gangrenous souls with a brand of fire... but no, it is not thus. I am not the fire; I am the lamp.

Oh, consuming Fire, hurtle down thy splendor into that cavern, dear Comet, lovely Daystar, and devour Death that reigns down the doomstruck ones--doom, awful word!--and teach the Norns and Fates and Furies to homage thy sovereignty!

Guys, Take Note

Do not ever employ the following techniques, which I quote from a book that my mother thoughtfully brought me back from her trip to the Newport Mansions (whence she has just returned, and there is much rejoicing). The book is called The Essential Handbook of Victorian Etiquette, which is the sort of thing that she knows and I know that I like. The following is an excerpt which I have so far read aloud to four family members today, and all were much amused. It is entitled...

A Gentleman Makes a Frank Acknowledgment, Gushing with Sentiment, and Running Over with Poetry:

My Dear Mary:

One by one the brown leaves are falling, reminding us that thegolden summer that we have so delightfully loitered through approaches its close. How thickly our pathway has been strewn with roses; how fragrant have been the million blossoms; how sweetly the birds have sung; how beautiful have been the sunny days; how joyous have been the starry nights!

Dear Mary, I do not need to tell you that this delightful summer has been to me one grand Elysian scene. I have gazed on and dreamed of thy beauty. I have been fed by thy sparkling repartee and merriment; I have drunk at the fountain of thy intellect, but the feast is ended, and gradually the curtain is falling.

Dear, beautiful summer; so beautiful to me because of thy loved presence. And standing, now on the threshold of a scene all changed, I take a last, fond look on the beautiful picture that will return to me no more; and yet, who knows, but on in that great eternity we may live again these Eden hours.

Dearest, you must forgive my ardent expressions in this letter. With a temperament gushing to the brim and overflowing with sentiment and rhapsody, I have passed the fleeting summer in thy charming presence in one continual dream of poetry.

I cannot now turn back to the solemn duties before me without telling you what trembled on my tongue a thousand times, as we gathered flowers together and wove our chaplets in the sunny days gone by.

Dear, darling Mary, I love you, I adore you. How often in the beautiful moonlit nights, as we strolled among the lilacs and the primroses, have I been on the verge of clasping your jeweled hand and telling you all my heart. But, oh! I did not quite dare; the hours were so delightful, even as they were.

Fearing that I might be repulsed, I chose to accept the joy even that therer was, rather than run the risk of losing it all.

How many a morning have I arisen and firmly resolved that, ere another day, I would know my fate. But, ah! the twilight would fall, and the evening hour would pass by, and I never completely dared to risk the result of a declaration. The morror I knew would be joyous if I bridled my impulse. It might not be if I made a mistake. But the dream has passed by.

Tomorrow, I bid adieu to these sylvan groves, the quiet meadows, and the gurgling brooks, to go back to the prose duties of business. And now, at the close of this festal season, as I am upon the verge of going, having nothing to lose and everything to gain, I have told you my heart. I have not the slightest idea what your reply will be. You have been to me one continual puzzle. If your answer is adverse, I can only entertain the highest respect for you ever in the future, and memory shall keep alive the recollection of the most blissful summer I have ever known.

If your reply is favorable--dearest, maI fondly hope that it will be?--then opens before me a great volume of happiness, of which this joyous summer has been but the opening chapter.

Dear Mary, may I come again and see you, and address you henceforth as a lover? The messenger who brings you this will return again in an hour for your answer. I need not tell you what an hour of suspense this will be to me. Upon your reply hangs my future.

If your reply is favorable, I shall tarry not another day; and will you grant me a long interview, as I have much to talk over with you? If unfavorable, please return this letter with your note. Accept my warmest thanks for the entertainment which I, in common with others, have received at your hand in the past; and, if I may not sign myself your devoted lover, I shall at least, I trust, have ever the pleasure of subscribing myself,

Your Sincere Friend,
Clarence Harrington

And what there could be to say after that, I cannot imagine!

Longaevi, Physically Speaking

In order to satisfy your curiosity, Lisa...

There are many different species of Longaevi, which fall into three racial categories. Mine are of the rhetoricus species, and of the particular family of Orator. Thus, if you asked Paradoxus what his name is--and if he feels sufficiently pompous at that moment--he will tell you, "Nomen mei Paradoxus Maximus de Oratore est."

The rhetoricus species has a long history. They first appeared on earth in the bibliotheca (library) of Augustine of Hippo, though I am sure that they existed somewhere before that. With Augustine, however, their recorded history begins. Now, to all Longaevi Latin is the language, the only language.

Not all Longaevi are concerned with the contemplative or linguistic life. There are, for example, Longaevi species which belong to gardens. My sister has a flock of them, though in that species a "flock" means three, just as among the more artistic species flocks are numbered in groups of nine, because there are nine muses. But there are seven in a rhetoricus flock, numbered with the seven liberal arts.

Therefore you must understand that my Longaevi follow the Roman culture in dress and behavior. They recline at table rather than sitting down to it, as we moderns will. They are very suspicious of water, even after all these centuries, because water in the Roman world was scarcely ever pure enough to drink safely. Therefore my flock insist upon having wine or beer, or unfermented grape juice. It is one of their peculiarities. At PHC they confine themselves to various juices.

The males of this flock are patrician in features, having high, broad foreheads, wide-set eyes of unusual depth and brightness, Roman noses, firm chins, and nicely turned ears. Paradoxus, as I have elsewhere explained, is the handsomest of them.

The females tend, again, towards Mediterranean beauty. They all wear their hair very long, past their waists, and braid or curl or bind it with curious ornaments of silver wire and colored stones. In full ceremonial dress, they resemble nothing so much as some statues I have seen depicting Greek maidens, for their robes are after the type of the Greek chiton. Their eyes are large, soft, and well-disposed above delicate features. Posy is perhaps a trifle rounder in face than the others, and Simile has the most pronounced cheekbones, but they are all exceedingly beautiful.

As to the particular coloring of each, crossbreeding over the years has made variation possible, and so they are not all dark-featured. Even if they were, the colors of their wings would vary. However, I will state them simply.

Paradoxus has green-gold eyes and green wings gorgeously flecked with a rich brown. He resembles Peter Pan in that he is the most vivid of them, the most immediate.

Litotes is the true Mediterranean type; his black curls and velvet-black eyes would be striking if they were not so utterly contrasted by pale skin and a languid manner. His wings are black, flecked all over with white designs which remind me of a Baroque excess.

Posy, my darling, is another of the true Romans: brown-eyed, brown-haired, but possessed of pink wings flecked with black spots.

Chiasmus, now, is an oddity. For all his dandification, he has a crop of unruly red-gold curls and sea-green eyes that make me wonder if his mother wasn't at least a gallic, if not a downright celtic. His wings are green, but far more delicate and far less glowing a color than those of Paradoxus; they are an April green, not a Junebug green.

The Twins, Deton and Polly, are alike as two peas, and blondly blue-eyed in a rosy, fresh, singularly uninteresting way. They look like country people, and act like them too. I am sometimes astonished to realize that they belong to the same family as Paradoxus and Simile. Their wings are gold-on-golden.

Simile is the most ethereal of them. Her wings are green-blue-gray, with designs in silver. I cannot tell what color her eyes are--they are the sea, and that's all--sometimes stormy blue, sometimes gray and calm, sometimes shining greeny blue, sometimes cerulean. She has a lot of hair that is even blacker than Litotes', but usually coils it all up.

They usually wear loose clothing in the Greek and Roman fashion, but for ceremonial occasions the males will put on gorgeous togas trimmed with tiny precious stones and embroidery. The girls wear colors appropriate to their eyes and wings, but for group ceremonies they put on white only, with fantastic headdresses in every imaginable color, and belts and armbands to match.

Chocolate Wrappers

Nate got a new supply of chocolate in for office chocolate rations, and these have individual wrappers…

“My chocolate wrappers are advising me to sin.” – Christy, reading her ration wrappers.

“Is there a reason that the Usborne duck is perched there on foam above the shelves?” – Laura, staring meditatively at the office shelving.
“Um… it’s the patron saint of the warehouse?” – Christy

On homeschooling as a career…
“It actually makes good economic sense. You sacrifice your life for the education of four persons. Or six, or eleven, or however many.” – Christy
“However many it takes to make a full quiver.” – Laura, wickedly
“Let’s just leave the full quiver out of this, okay?” – Christy

“Here, Christy, this is a less sinful wrapper.” – Laura, showing Christy a chocolate wrapper, which says, “Get your feet massaged.”

“’When two hearts race, both win.’” – Charity, reading a chocolate ration wrapper aloud.
“Who writes these things?!?!” – Christy

The wrapper reads: “Do what feels right.”
“Nate, dare I inquire what your chocolate wrapper says?” – Christy
“It’s your typical goofy… it’s trash.” – Nate, handing Christy his wrapper to read.
“I’d agree with that assessment, both literally and symbolically.” – Christy to Nate, after reading

Fonts again…
“Arial Narrow! Forsooth! What have I done to deserve this?” – Christy
“It’s a common failing of Tapestry.” – Laura
“What is?” – Christy
“Arial Narrow.” – Laura
“Oh.” – Christy

“Do you know who Peter the Great reminds me most of? Toad. Of Toad Hall.” – Christy
“Yes!” – Laura

Living With Longaevi

I have not really taken the time on this blog to put forward a full and complete report on the Longaevi in terms of their personal disposals. I don't know why I should feel compelled to do so, except that such descriptions form a part of every well-told narrative, especially those of the Robinson Crusoe sort, and I have been reading a lot of 19th-century writing lately. This accounts, no doubt, for the variance in style which I find it my duty to lay before you on this occasion.

With respect to this particular flock, then, I will give some indications of their arrangements. I begin with their chief, of course.

It pleases Paradoxus to inhabit the small cupboard in my desk, which is placed exactly in the center, being below the bookshelves and above the drawers, in the middle of my writing space. He is very proud of the carved door with its small knob, and has fitted up the interior according to his own fancy, appropriating for the purpose wisps of soft grass, fragrant herbs from the garden, a mounted butterfly--this he denominates his "hunting trophy"--and a bit of candle for his late-night ponderings. When Paradoxus wants to read, he requires me to take down a book for him and lay it flat on the desk surface below his cupboard door, which measures perhaps six inches square, so that he may lie on his stomach and read. Sometimes he is interested enough to walk about on the page and make comments to me or to one of his siblings, but I do not permit him to mark the pages. If I let him, he would underline (by means of his feet, ink-coated for the purpose) every other word of some volumes.

Posy, I have told you, lives in the jewelry box. She prefers it because of its pink velvet lining, and because the bright little ornaments themselves please her. This is true to such an extent that I have betimes been forced to warn her sternly against wearing a ring as a crown, for they are of silver and heavy, and would hurt her dear silly head.

Litotes, my marshwiggle, lives in the side table shaped like a stack of books, for it has a lid that opens on a hinge, and there is a cave-like dark space inside, rather, I imagine, like the interior of the Trojan Horse. He has transported thither a quantity of paper and a pen which I shortened for his convenience. In order to force a little light and air upon him, and also for his safety, I have forbidden the use of candles in that nest. He is thus reduced to propping the lid open, which circulates the stifling air a little, at least, and gives him all the light he could require.

There is a glass-and-carved-wood cabinet on my dresser, containing two shelves, perfume, and the four colored goblets. This is Simile's place. She sleeps in one goblet--the blue, of course--and keeps her things in the others, making curious boxes of their cup-hollows by covering them with decorated paper lids. Her "garden" on the second "floor" is laid out around the alabaster-and-silver perfume bottle, with its stopper depicting a fairy plunged in thought. Simile keeps tiny plants alive in a sort of garden bed around this, and has even contrived a miniature fountain.

The Twins live, unimaginatively but well, in an unused desk drawer lined with warm, bright cotton scraps. They are seldom in it, preferring the back-yard to everything else. I let them out by the window every morning, and if they come back before I am in bed, I do not know it. Indeed, in this weather, they are frequently out all night. I allow this because I cannot really prevent it, because Paradoxus seems to feel no anxiety for them, and because they are conscientious about showing themselves to me at least once a day, so that I know they are well.

Chiasmus' disposals are more complicated, of course, but I am not permitted to see them for fear of disturbing their orderly splendor. He requested, and was given, the upper closet shelf. What he does there I do not know, and am half afraid to ask, though I sometimes hear him murmuring to himself about composition and pigments. This leads me to suspect that he spends his time in the painting of elaborate murals, probably geometric, from his comments. They are no doubt supreme examples of symmetry and balance.

I hope that I have given my readers some further satisfaction by these particulars.

Numa Numa

“What would the world be like if men planned the weddings?” – Nate, tossing a wedding invitation to Christy.
“Shorter.” – Christy and Davy, in unison.

“No, no, you’ve got to learn to serenade before you get the girl.” – Davy

In The Emperor’s New Groove (better known to us as “that llama movie”), the emperor’s name is…
“Wow. Hey guys, guess what the Peruvian capital of the Incas was?” – Christy
“Cusco. We knew that.” – Nate
“I am ever so slightly amused by this.” – Christy

“Christy, apparently there is a fourth requirement for a civilization. It should be: food, safety, strong central government, and Starbucks.” – Laura to Christy, after listening to David
“It’s true! Someone should tell Mom. She needs to rewrite the curriculum.” – Davy
“Oookay.” – Christy, thinking that it is very obviously 4:30 pm on a work day.

“Therefore play music!” – Nate, quoting Much Ado
“I love you.” – Christy, delighting in the quoteliness of Nate.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” – Laura to Davy
“You’re approaching forgiveness.” – Davy

So, today the office got hold of the Numa Numa Dance….you know, that Romanian song.
Need I say more?

“Wow! It really is true! Romanian is the living language closest to Latin! This is so cool!” – Christy, reading Numa Numa lyrics.
“Is it? That’s unfortunate.” – Garret
“Hey now, don’t say that to her. She’s in love with it.” – Davy
“In love with a dead language?” – Garret
“Yeah. Christy isn’t in love with a guy; she’s in love with a language.” – Davy
“A dead language?” – Garret

It’s 2 PM. Do you know where your Tarzan soundtrack is?

“Ack! ‘Put your faith in what you most believe in’ MIGHT be theologically tenable, but the song just goes down from there!” – Christy, on a Tarzan song.

“Hey Nate, somebody said you were saving all these empty toner tubes to build a raft?” – Productions Worker
“Yeah, a Juggamarand.” – Nate
“Nate, you rule!” – Christy and Davy, who are familiar with juggamarands… and the ongoing love that Somervilles have for them.
“Where are you gonna launch it?” – Productions Worker, still puzzled
“Oh, I dunno. Madagascar? Just call me Noah, okay?” – Nate
“Hi Noah!” – Davy

“Even I, your unmarried big sister, have never tried to set you up with any girls. You’re too cuddly; they’d fall for you in a second.” – Christy
“I never thought that being too cuddly would be my issue.” – Davy
“You see, Davy, I want to keep you.” – Christy
“Ohhhh. You may have to let that one go.” – Davy

“Oh, Garret, this song could so be worse! Just add a driving 80’s synth beat behind it!” – Davy on a Tarzan song.

“Did you just compare the curriculum to Episode III?” – Davy to Laura
“Sacrilege!” – Christy

When they start to talk about fonts…
“Casey, I have one word for you! Papyrus!” – Davy
“Ewwww! That is so overused! But I have something for you. ‘Comic Sans’!” – Casey
“Oh, yikes, yeah!” – Davy
“When you two geeks get done gerbilling at each other…” – Nate

“Let’s admit it, Casey. Guys can be awfully cute.” – Christy to Casey, about the guys in Casey’s caregroup taking all the girls in the caregroup out for ice cream, etc.
“Yeah…” – Casey
“Hey, there are preschool toys in here!” – Nate, admonishing Christy and Casey for saying nice things about guys in public (that is, in the presence of guys).

“Where’s the phone?” – Productions Worker
“I killed it and ate its liver.” – Davy

“We all prisoners, chickie-baby. We all locked in.” – Casey, quoting Herbie, the Love Bug
“Casey, you rock! That’s one of our favorite quotes, and nobody else ever knows it!” – Christy
“Aw, I feel so Somervilleish!” – Casey

“I don’t know the Broadway show. Let that be a comfort to you.” – Casey, offering Davy a consolation for the fact that she knows the Beauty and the Beast soundtrack backwards.
“Oh, phew.” – Davy, with gentle sarcasm

“No, this is how I’m going to propose. I’m listening; don’t bother me.” – Davy, paying close attention to Gaston’s song in Beauty and the Beast.

“Don’t die. If you die, I’ll be bored.” – Davy to Christy

“I know that this is going to shock you, but we singles at CLC are a Starbucks culture.” – Christy
“No! For real?” – Davy, sarcastically

Hallelujah, I'm a Hampster!

I did the unthinkable. I had the elliptical trainer hauled up to my room, where it takes up far too much space and looks ugly.

It's worth it. My "suite" now contains a bathroom (which I share with the girls, but I'm the only one who has a door to it that leads to my bedroom), a bedroom full of bookshelves and dark wood and sealing wax and paper--also a bed, incidentally--and my very own exercise machine. After all, I'm the only one who likes to use it.

I used to scorn the idea of getting one's exercise from spinning like a hampster on a wheel, but that was before I got a look at my options. I'm a girl in Maryland suburbia; I can't exactly (safely) go for a run whenever I want, especially at the times that I have available, which are early morning and early evening. Nope. A cell phone just isn't enough protection, and I've never been good at archery while in motion, and I'd probably get in trouble for carrying a dagger.

Oh, for the idyllic days of my youth, when I would go out and ride a horse for an hour every day, or muck stalls for five hours at a stretch. Now that was exercise! This hampster stuff is deplorable. I want to go back to the Middle Ages.

Still, it does the job, and the purpose of this post is to thank God for it. Hallelujah, I can feel my blood again! For those of you who don't know, I go crazy without exercise. Up the wall and down the other side. It gets to the point where I have to take it out on the nearest air hockey table. Mom has mandated that I play Ultimate Frisbee next semester. "You've got to have exercise, Honey."

"Brittainy," I said, pleadingly, "will you play pick-up soccer with me in the fall?"

Ultimate Frisbee and pick-up soccer were things that I played frequently in high school and in my Freshman/Sophie years, but they fell somewhere by the way during Junior year. Hopefully, I will take them up again this autumn.

So, yes, I'm a Hampster. But I think I'm the happy kind. Check this out if you want to see what "the happy kind" looks like. And this fall, I hope, I will cease to be a Hampster--which always seems somehow like being a cavedweller--and romp once more in the sunlight, from the face of which I am currently hid by office walls and officium.

And in the meantime, boy, am I grateful for my wheel!

It's June 13th

I knew that time would pass. In the beginning, it crawled. The first weeks back at home are always, somehow, both blissful and wretched. And I haven't done a lick of writing. I don't mind that part; I've been writing plenty on my blog, and thinking plenty, and chasing God increasingly, so that's-all-right-best-beloved-don't-you-see? Be unscandalized; it's a quote from Rudyard Kipling.

But now time is passing faster. I spent the weekend with Brittainy, Lisa, the caregroup girls, the Grace Community folks... it was wonderful. Brittainy, I think we must have spent most of that 24 hours either talking about God or going to caregroup/church. Thank you for a wonderful time of fellowship! Lisa, I loved riding in Florence. She's a cutie, and your family is adorable! Thy parents, especially, art worthy to be Narnian monarchs. Homeschool moms are our heroes, right? :-)

I turned off all music in the car on the way to and from VA. It was wonderful to have time to pray for people, to think, to talk to God.... in silence. Blessed, blessed silence! Maybe that's why I love the gazebo.

And then, of course, the PHC Personalities thread is taking off. Jonathan, old bean (or should I say "aged legume"?), your comments are ever priceless. I was chuckling all the way. Thank you!

And now it's June 13th. Charity and Jessica both had birthdays yesterday; Charity is 18 and Jessica is 21. Big doings. Mike will be 23 on the 20th, which is also Father's Day, if I mistake not. We got Dad an ubercool--oops! I'll have to save that information for after the 20th. ;-)

I'm going home to an increasingly organized room. I have seashells, sea pebbles, and bits of seaglass strewn across my windowsills. I have colored crystal goblets: ruby and sapphire, topaz and emerald. They are beautiful, and satisfy the part of me that demands a polychromatic existence. I have books, books, books! I have sisters and parents coming home from Connecticut tomorrow--I'm going to make pizza for them.

To the people who made my week and weekend a joy, thank you. Thank you especially to the High Queen, Kirsten E., Brittainy, Lisa, and Clarice, whose conversation and friendship were all the more precious because less often experienced over the summer months.

Brittainy is coming to visit me this weekend! I really think that "Nausikaa" would be an appropriate nickname for you, dear. :-)

Oh yes...

I've come back to the heart of worship.

I'll bet you can tell.

0:-)

Well Davy, I followed in your footsteps. PHC Personalities is on the forum.

An Awfully Big Adventure

I love Peter Pan, Sarah, and your quote was marvelously appropriate. Living is an awfully big adventure.

For example, this weekend: I've got the Singles Meeting tonight at CLC (always a highlight of the month), followed by a drive through the beautiful VA countryside to (guess where?) PHC tomorrow. I'll be staying on campus with Brittainy. We're going to try to catch an afternoon matinee of Cinderella Man (dumb title, promising movie), and then go to caregroup (Huzzah!) in the evening. Sunday morning is Grace Community, and Sunday afternoon is either hanging out with Brittainy while she settles her new batch of campers in--I love messing with teenage minds--or perhaps Beans in the Belfry with Lisa, or maybe just (what a thought) an hour or two to sit quietly in the gazebo and remenisce.

The High Queen says that she wants to come when we reinstate our Evening Strolls in the fall. We'll have to adopt and invite a new gang of freshmen, plus the sophomore folks (can't wait, Kirsten!), and the original group, who are now seniors. We skipped over the juniors somehow. Wow, us, seniors. Guys, I'm so glad that we never became a clique. We so easily could have. Serious brownie points to Jonathan and Nathan for setting the standard of friendliness and keeping that from happening.

Speaking of which, Nathan and Jomoe are coming back this fall. Sweetness and light! All hail the return of the Fencing Master and the Frisbee Man. We've missed you guys and your British accents.

Yessir, it's an awfully big aventure. I'll let you know how it goes.

Ad Futuram

My parents taught me to be forward-thinking, but I think I've abused that tendency way too much over the last few years. Sometimes it gets to the point where I can't even get to sleep because of all the possibilities whirling around in my head.

"It's an unsettled time, Honey. It's supposed to feel weird. Constant change is here to stay. Get comfy with dependence on God." That's the nutshell of what my parents and close counsel have been telling me for the last... what is it... three years?

Wow, three years.

Deciding to come to PHC was huge, of course. Deciding to stay at PHC after my first semester was a biggie. Deciding to join Grace after my eighteen-year-old certainty that I would never be part of any church except CLC--that was the most impactful decision I've made in these last years.

And now, having as I do an itchy trigger-finger when it comes to making decisions that won't come due for another year....

What am I gonna do after I get my Lit degree?

Answer: dunno, and I'm getting increasingly comfortable with not knowing.

Oh, I have ideas. Doesn't everybody? I'm pretty dead sure that I need to come home for a year. It's counter-intuitive to the world's mentality of life after college, but it's what I have peace about, and what my parents have peace about. Seems to be God's leading.

I would very much like to return to PHC in two years for my History degree (that would be your Senior year, Stars). I don't know if it will happen. I might--shoot, why not?--try an English grad school instead. There's a Sovereign Grace church in Wales. I could also go to Japan and teach English to small dark-eyed children (not kidding; there are missionaries over there who run these wonderful elementary schools), and I'd love an opportunity to do missions work.

During my year at home, I'll be teaching Literature. That's pretty much a given. Either I'll teach at the private school attached to CLC (CLS), or I'll assemble a couple of co-ops. Wow, that's scary. Can I teach?

Lord, what are you getting me into?

This morning Davy and I were riding over to the office. The damp smeltering summer heat has struck MD. "I want to go North." I said. "I love Virginia for its mountains, but I want to live someplace cool and mountainous."

"Know what you mean," he replied. Davy doesn't like the wet heat either. We're both "Narnian" in that sense--no Calormen oil and desert for us, thanks just the same.

Wouldn't it be fun to live in a cottage by the sea? Of course, I can't justify it, but it would be fun. This morning I was reading along in The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment, and Burroughs said something that rearranged my perspective (I love Puritan books!). Basically, he said that if one has a humble work-with-your-hands-and-mind-your-own-business calling, as opposed to a save-the-world calling, then that's good, because it actually takes more obedience to do that than the other, because the other is almost certainly tainted by ambition and self-worship, or at least will be severely tempted in that way.

Burroughs says that our work is not measured in quantity so much as quality. The Lord will judge us according to our faithfulness ("Well done, good and faithful servant"), not according to the magnitude of what we've done. Growing up with parents like mine, and then coming to PHC, it's easy to assume that God has "great things in store" for me.

What if "great things" means tending a garden and raising kids? What if "great things" is writing stories for my children, to encourage them in their walk with God, instead of writing epic novels for the world and all its generations? What if "great things" is serving in my local church, maybe as a Sunday School teacher? What if "great things" means just being a wife who loves her husband like nobody's business?

I dunno about you, but that actually sounds like big doings to me. What greater joy is there, anyway, than to see your kids walking in the truth? What more do I want, on this earth, than a family just like mine? We work hard and celebrate God's grace much. We love deeply and laugh, and cry, and live well. Our family motto since the 1400's has been "Fear God in life." It works, you know? Loving God and loving people--it's just a splendid way to be.

So hello, Futura. I'm Christy. I know where I'm going, and I know who I am. I'm Heavenbound and my identity is Christ. That's all I need to know.

Bring it on. :)

Jist Wallowin'

I would now like to revel in my status as a sibling.

Being at home has it all over being at college in this very important respect: siblinghood. A sibling isn't just a person who has to love you no matter what. He/she is a sounding board, sometimes a punching bag, always a companion, and usually--in my family, at least--a sort of intimate hilarity. I can say more to Nate, Mike, Davy, Chare, or Burgee in one twist of an eyebrow than I could to my best friend at school in three minutes of verbal communication. Who doesn't admire that kind of depth and efficiency? Siblinghood, I tell you, is a wonderful thing.

And then there's the touchy-feely aspect. We are a cuddly family, which may surprise those of you who only know me at school. Danya and Churdee (Charity) give the most scrumptious hugs available, and at no charge. Burgee is a cuddlebug from the word "go," and Nate seldom fails to pat me on the head in passing. Mike and I tend to hold both hands while talking to one another. I dunno why--it's just another sibling thing. As for Mom and Dad... well, Mom is so huggable that you seldom see her without one of her children draped around her, unless she's in transit, which she often is. Mom, you see, has to rule the world in her spare time--and Daddy has to save it.

Being a sibling means that you cannot be bored, unless all of them are out of the house. Being a sibling means that there is always someone else to do the dishes with you, watch a movie with you, go food shopping or to Starbucks or to the backyard for a croquet game with you.

Being a sibling is just plain fun, once you've done all the work of getting to be friends with your sibs (which, ideally, should be accomplished in childhood).

And they're the only people in my world to whom I can say, without any qualifications or hasty caveats about what sort of emotion I am expressing...

"Baby, I love you!"

Happy Anticipation

The High Queen is coming to visit me tomorrow night!!!!

And, since the family will be conferencing in Connecticut (I opted not to go), I get to spend the weekend with Nausikaa (my next semester's roommate) at PHC! She's a camp counselor there for the summer, and her roomie will be gone, so we can hang out in the Princess Tower (I still have the key, Sarah. Thank you so much; that was a meaningful gift!) and go see a movie together and attend caregroup and visit Grace Community Church the next morning...

Also, I would like to announce that after 8 years of living in my bedroom (minus time at PHC, of course).... drumroll please...

I have curtains!

That's right. My windows have never known a curtain, and now they're going to. Auntie gave me some lovely white lace panels from her house. It's funny to think that I never got around to curtains before now, but there you have it.

Who am I, that I should be blessed as msuch as this?

And They Quoted Happily Ever After

The ever-popular office quotes post returns to you!

“Mommy and the amazing technicolor dream curriculum!” – Davy, designing offset-printing color pages with Mom.

“The Emperor’s New Groove is the best cartoon movie ever!” – Garret
“Yeah!” – Nate
::Mom and Christy exchange a look of puzzlement::
“This must be a guy thing.” – Christy

“He was making fun of my Chinchilla rubs, so I started to tease him about his twitchy knees!” – Mom about Davy. Don’t worry, it makes sense on a Somerville sublanguage level. I’ve been waiting all year to watch these two in the office. They’re sooo funny!

“My deah chayld, Ah feah you are deloosional.” – Christy

“I need to brush up on my southern belle accent. This is fun!” – Christy

When someone decides to twist the quote game…
“’Do I look stupid? You know, I never thought of myself as stupid, but maybe I am.’” – Mom, quoting Sabrina
“’Do I look stupid to you? Yes!’” – Davy, quoting A Bug’s Life outtakes.
“Um, Honey…wrong answer. Do you know what I’m quoting?” – Mom
“I’m quoting A Bug’s Life.” – Davy
“But that’s not what I was quoting.” – Mom
“I know what you’re quoting! You’re quoting Sabrina.” – Davy, grinning.
“Yes, okay then! Respond properly, and don’t offer alternatives! That’s the code!” – Mom, chuckling by this time.

“I’ve hit a wall! This is the wall where I do what I must do when I hit this wall.” – Christy
“You’re gonna play My Heart Will Go On?” – Nate
“Yes! By the Vienna Boys Choir!” – Christy
“I know her well.” – Nate, about Christy, to nobody in particular.
“It’s just what I have to do when I hit this wall.” – Christy, apologetically.

“Does this work?” – Christy
“Yes Christy. Chocolate works.” – Nate

“Christy, your mother has a gratuitous ‘begat’ in her program.” – Laura, reading Teacher’s Notes.
“Really? What does it say?”
“’The gods of [Greek] mythology begat powerful cults…’” – Laura, reading aloud.
“Well, that’s interesting.” – Christy

“Wait a minute! Why am I the slave boy?” – David to Nate

“Where am I? I lost myself.” – Garret, pondering the timesheets book.

“Okay, I want to know. How did we jump from the Romans to the Celts?” – Christy
“The Romans sort of marched.” – Laura

“This could cleave a man’s skull!” – David, brandishing Nate’s battleaxe
“Yes, dear.” – Christy, peering at the computer screen and not really paying attention to the blade being swung about 6 inches from her face.

“The network is down. Why is the network down?” – Christy
“Mike’s here.” – David

“The chart! Where is the chart?” – Christy
“I ate it.” – Davy
“Oh really?” – Christy
“Yes. It tasted like a lemon cough drop.” – Davy

“Oh, by the way, I need you girls to write a final exam for Year 3 for me today… so I can give it to my students tomorrow.” – Mom
::Christy stares at her with wild surmise::
“Ooookay. Um, Laura. We need to drop everything and learn all of Unit 3 Year 3.” – Christy
“No, it’s a final exam.” – Mom
“Laura, we need to drop everything and learn all of Year 3.” – Christy, determined not to panic.
::Mom explains that she actually just wants Laura to write a few essay samples::
“Oh! Don’t scare me like that!” – Christy
::Mommy giggles::

“When I finish this, I’m going to knock off and celebrate.” – Christy, coming down the home stretch of a year’s worth of quizzes.
“Not until 5, Honey.” – Mom
“Oh, Mom. ‘Excessive attention to detail without sufficient interludes of hedonistic delight renders Jack a hebetudinous fellow!’” – Christy
“Yes, yes, I know what you’re saying. ‘Jack will be a dull boy.’” – Mom
“Hebetudinous!” – Christy

“Two pages!” – Mom
“You wrote two pages, Mom? Wow! ‘Author of 6,000-page homeschool curriculum writes two-page post! Thousands unimpressed!’” – Nate

Mom has this problem with math in general, numbers in particular, and especially phone numbers…
“How do you get to the home number?” – Mom, peering at Christy’s cell phone
“Um, you can just dial it….” – Christy
“Oh, that’s so nineties!” – Mom
“Mom, please tell me that you remember our home phone number.” – Christy
“Sure!” – Mom
::Mom stares at the phone, bites her lip, and looks up.::
“Is it ###-###-####?” – Mom
“Yes. Thank you!” – Christy
“This is so nineties…” – Mom, dialing

“I can’t think of a second essay for the Etruscans.” – Mom
“You should demand that they explain to you how to build an arch or something.” – Christy
“Yeah…” – Mom

“Oh, wow… so I open Week 35 and the first thing I see is: ‘In This Sign, Conquer!’ Then I realize that it’s the title of the week. But for a second there, I mean, poing! I was ready to go conquer!” – Christy

“It’s called a ‘rough draft.’…. Hello!” – Mom, playfully twisting a quote from Knight’s Tale.

So Happy

"Who here's happy!"
"We all happy!"
"Just how happy?"
"Oh, SO happy!"
"Why so happy?"
"'Cause Jesus is our king!"

We go through this little ritual fairly frequently at home. Dad is usually the questioner, but I think it was Grandpa who brought it into the house. He and Grandma--who moved in with us about a month ago--brought other things as well. Rolled biscuits, for example. Meatloaf you would kill for. My grandpa should be a chef--and he's a southern gentleman, the only man in my life who never fails to call me by my whole first name, but in lilting southspeak.

"Well Christina, how are you this mornin', darlin'?"
"Good mornin', Grandpa!" But what I'm thinking is, "I love you."

All of our accents are becoming more and more distinct at home, which makes sense. Remember our quoteliness, which is all mimetic anyway. What we hear, we pick up.

"That's a jim-dandy stimwinder!" Grandpa observes of a car in the lane beside us on our way to church. I smile, but I use the phrase a little while later.

"Do you notice that we sound more southern at home these days?" Davy asks me. We've picked up "Sugar" and "Baby" and "Well now, I don't just know" and "I think maybe." Southspeak is a lot more circumlocutory than the straightforward speech that we learned from our New England mother... or should I say, "our Yankee mama"?

Mama, ever the auditory learner, is picking it up fastest of all. There's a positive drawl in her language now, which I find unspeakably lovable. And then, you know, there's the jinks that we get up to. Grandpa has inaugurated a summer of croquet; he and Burgee play almost every evening, but the rest of us find time to join in at least a couple times a week. The other night Grandpa was reading the Koran aloud to us because an unbeliever had asked him to read it, and Grandpa decided to read aloud. I was cooking or doing dishes or somethin'--I spend a lot of time in the kitchen these days--and the four of us who were in there discussed it as we read.

I read Innocents Abroad (Mark Twain) to Burgee the other evening while she sewed. Soon I'll be getting back to my own sewing projects, making skirts and jumpers for school this fall. I was baking office lunches for Davy and I all last evening, while watching various programs on the little TV with the sibs, doing several rounds of dishes, and arguing the merits of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. A few hours earlier, Burgee and I had driven to the mall like modern young ladies, buying hair barrettes and grown-up perfume and stopping for a Starbucks. Yesterday morning was the Missions Presentation at church. I knew I shouldn't have worn mascara... I was in tears for half of it. God is so good to us!

Today, driving to the office, Davy told me a great life truth that he learned on his run in the early morning hours.

"Nothing can stop a man who is determined and wet!"

Apparently, already being wet is important, signifying committment and a lack of fear to plunge through foggy fields.

"That would make a great sermon illustration." I said. "I like it."

Oh, so happy!

Why?

Silly! 'Cause Jesus is my king! What other real or deep or lasting foundation is there?

It's Funny...

....how you can know a person and yet....not. I didn't know, for example, that Dad would be giving the keynote address for Charity's high school graduation today. I just sorta walked in and picked up the program and thought, "Oh. Cool. Dad's speaking."

I'm used to the "Dad's speaking" thing. I go to at least a few conferences with my parents every year, and people always come by the booth with stars in their eyes...

"Your dad is so wonderful!"

I smile, and think to myself, "You have no idea." I always figured that they couldn't possibly have a clue about how neat Dad really is--I mean, come on, they only heard him speak. I get to live with him.

My conception of Dad begins with his eyes. I always wanted eyes just like his, and I got the color at least. They're blue. But they aren't just "blue." They have a thousand shades and moods; they can snap, sparkle, shine, or pierce. When Daddy looks at you, he's all there, and you are too because he is. It's hard to explain. It's what I suppose people call "magnetism." My brothers have it too, but I'm so used to it that I seldom notice any more. It's just sorta... "Of course I want to hang out with them, talk to them, be around them. Doesn't everybody?"

I'm familiar with Dad as a passionate worshiper of God, as a logical mind like a steel trap, a counselor of homeschooling parents, an amateur philosopher, a brilliant parent and teacher, a teddy bear, an astonishingly happy person, a gifted storyteller, a subtle and powerful read-aloud performer, a slightly off-tune singer. I know all about his marvelous drop biscuits and Book Laws. I could tell you of his dinner-table habits and penchant for whiteboards. I know that he wakes up instantly when called, and when I was little I used to watch him shave. I know that his favorite color is green. I know that he writes poetry for Mom.

But what surprises me, because my opportunities to hear him are actually very rare, is that he's a splendid public speaker. I'm always minding the booth while he's giving speeches, and I seldom have any idea which room he's in. I only know that people come out starry-eyed and fresh and bouncy and looking hopeful.

So, it was odd to be able to sit and listen to him today. Five years ago, I wouldn't have been able to appreciate it as rationally as I could today, because back then I hadn't had Rhetoric, and I hadn't had to sit under dozens of professors, chapel speakers, or town hall speakers. Now that I have, I'm in a better position to evaluate.

He's special. The magnetism comes across very well from behind a podium, but he doesn't know that. He has a knack for soundbites, tells jokes and stories, but he's purposeful, clear, polished, and absolutely sincere. His voice broke with emotion twice today, and I could distinctly hear the homeschool moms whom he was honoring--they were in tears. Mom had a handkerchief. Dad isn't kidding when he says that homeschool moms are his personal heroes. Maybe that's part of it: Daddy hates a lie, and doesn't say anything he doesn't mean. In my whole life, neither he nor Mommy has ever lied to me or broken a promise.

Wow.

I know so much about him. I know everything that matters. I just didn't realize how much his personal integrity, fear of God, and love for his family, combined with intelligence and wisdom, could communicate to an audience. I've been learning a lot about the importance of public speaking over this past year, especially the last semester. But I didn't expect to find such a shining example of it in my own family.

It's funny.

And wonderful.

Writing About Music

Someone once said (and I'm about to botch the quote) that writing about music is like trying to dance about poetry.

Yes, well, sometimes you have to.

I wear headphones constantly at work, because it's the only way to stay sane with all that background noise and my audial-sensitive brain. So I wind up thinking about music a lot. Today I asked myself, "What music do I really love, and why?" The answers were surprising to me, and surprisingly detailed. Here's my off-the-cuff list, with explanations:

The Man from Snowy River (Soundtrack): Especially Jessica's Theme, the title theme, and The Mountain Theme. I grew up on the movie, which I will always associate with my mother and the ongoing love affair with horses that she and I share. Beyond that, the music is sweet and wild as mountain flowers, with a trace of sadness and strength under pressure. It is music that knows the pain of life, but plays anyway. I think that's why I love it so.

Chariots of Fire (Theme): This piece has fascinated me, ever since I first heard it as a young teenager. First of all, it has a wonderful percussion rhythm. Second, it is that rare thing: a gentle excitement, a shimmering energy which warms but does not burn. Third, it's mostly piano, and I'm a fool for the piano. Fourth, it is associated in the movie with running along a beach--which, in my mind, ranks right under a trail ride on horseback in the top five favorite activities.

Armageddon Suite (Part of the Armageddon Soundtrack): I've never seen the movie, and the piece is all instrumental, but there's this one moment when they cut loose with an electric guitar rift that seems to know everything about guts and glory and the kind of death that Greek heroes long for. It's an Achilles rift, and that's why I love it.

Little Organ Fugue (by Bach): Perhaps it's wrong to say so, but this piece is just plain cute. I love the small melodies that twine round one another and seem caught up in a breathless whirl. It is the sort of tune that I could imagine my Longaevi dancing to.

Messiah (by Handel): What is there to say? It's Messiah. I once sat through a 3.5 hour performance of this at the Kennedy Center, and I'll never be the same now that I've heard it. This right here proves that there is a God--who else could have put such a thing into Handel's head?

Godspell (Musical Score): Well, I've had two brother star in it at different times, so it's another childhood thing by now. But more than that, I find it beautiful. I was reading along in Luke this morning, and suddenly struck against a passage that is in Godspell, and I thought to myself, "wow, I guess it's really true that every line in that play is taken from Scripture." I fell in love with By the Willows from my first hearing of it, and wept at O God, I'm Dying. Day By Day is another favorite, but what can equal the song at the end, the song of Christ's return?--Prepare Ye the Way.

Fiddler on the Roof (Musical Score): I loved the Matchmaker song as a child. I love the Sabbath Blessing song and Sunrise, Sunset as an adult. Hebrew music fascinates me. Augustine believed Hebrew to be the language of God, the one language uncorrupted at Babel. I don't know if he's right, but there is something profoundly--I would say uniquely--otherworldly about it.

Cinderella (Musical Score, Rogers and Hammerstein): Oh wow, yes. From In My Own Little Corner, through Do I Want You Because You're Beautiful?, all the way down the line to Why Would A Fellow Want A Girl Like Her?, Impossible, and The Prince Is Giving A Ball... magic, magic, magic. We called it "The Magic Cinderella" when we were little. The words are clever or tender by turns, the music unparalleled. This is right up there with Les Miserables among my favorite musicals.

Moon River (sung by Barbara Streisand): When I was a little girl living on a farm in Virginia, I had a secret place, an almost-island formed by a bend in the stream, with two small and graceful willow trees, and a quantity of Queen Anne's Lace. This song always reminds me of the afternoons that I spent there dreaming beside the brook (which was my Moon River), spinning out my future adventures. They always involved flying horses and my brave brothers, armed with spears, rescuing me from some fearful giant. At the end of each adventure, we would come home to our heavenly mansions (for these adventures always happened in the hereafter) and celebrate.

Tchaikovsky (you know, the 1812 Overture guy): In any of the art mediums, I find that there are very few Romantics whom I can bear, but the few that I do love are very dear to me. Tchaikovsky won my heart with his Sleeping Beauty, which I imbibed with Disney as a child, all unwitting. The more I know of his music, the more I love it. It is passion mingled with reason.

Select Scottish Instrumental Music: I'm picky, but again, profoundly attached to a few pieces and bands. There is so much bad celtic music floating around, and so much that is merely sentimental, that I find myself digging very deep before I hit something that sounds real to me. I was at a Scottish festival a few years ago in Kentucky, and there were two bands there who made me feel that I was in a Narnian dance, the sort that the dryads and fauns hold in glades at high summer. Again, they were like the song that Tumnus played for Lucy on her first visit to Narnia. It is hard to describe; there is something so wild and abandoned about it, but at the same time piercingly lovely, fierce, and full of firelight. I always know it when I hear it, but I could not tell you who wrote or played it. It is not the sort of thing that belongs to anybody, except perhaps the falcons and highlanders.

Today Was Just So Quotable

So I'm gonna quote it. Sorry for the length.... sort of. ;-)

“Well, your opinion [on Madagascar] is just wrong. [That movie is] hilarious!” – Davy to Garret
“An opinion can’t be wrong, by definition.” – Christy
“Garret has a special gift.” – Davy
“Oh, thanks!” – Garret
“You’re welcome!” – Davy

“This is Yoda!” – Davy, answering his phone

Christy “borrowed” Rhapsody from David…
“Shame on you! Shame on you and your whole family! Wait, that’s me.” – Davy to Christy
::pause::
“Shame on your socks! Oh, woe! Not an innocent thief but an intending thief! Mourn your fate! Jesus has some strong things to say about thieves, Christina Joy! Forsooth! We’ll change your middle name to ‘Woe!’” – Davy to Christy
He went on for about five minutes. It was funny, but I was laughing too hard to get it all down.

“No, you take it. I only wanted it while you were in the other room. Now you’re back. Take of me my Rhapsody.” – Christy
“Oh no, I couldn’t.” – Davy
“Oh yes, you could.” – Christy
“Well, I could, but I wouldn’t. You take it.” – Davy
“Oh no, you.” – Christy
“Oh no, you!” – Davy
“If you keep arguing, I’m gonna take it!” – Garret

“This poor lady’s name is Beerwagon!” – Kelly, doing data entry.
“She probably did something wrong in a former life.” – Davy

“Can I ask you a personal question?” – Garret to Davy
“No.” – Davy

David exaggeratedly miming Josh Groban…. Oh wow…

“Women crave security in relationships, so being shaped like an airbag is a natural advantage!” – Davy

“The thing about Davy is that he’s so cuddly, you just can’t be mad at him for long.” – Christy, discoursing on the nature of her little brother to Kelly.

“I love eyebrows. They’re so useful and quirky. You can say anything with eyebrows.” – Christy

“Ah! The young squirt has returned. Now we can bribe him.” – Christy to Laura, about Davy (and chocolate fudge sundaes).

“Hi! Young Squirt, are you bribable?” – Christy to Davy, as he walks through the door.
“Potentially.” – Davy
“What if I said, ‘hot fudge sundaes from McDonalds, and if you go get them we’ll pay for yours’?” – Christy
“Okay.” – Davy
“You aren’t going to hold out for more? That takes all the fun out of it!” – Laura
“Hey, this is ice cream!” – Davy

“’Flushing out our chart series’!?!?! Please don’t say that! Oh, wait… ‘Finishing out our chart series. Okay.” – Christy

“You’re not quite my paradigm of manliness, but…” – Laura to Christy
“I hope not!” – Christy

“It’s not that you don’t have a right to it—it’s just that your speakers stink like all get-out.” – Davy
“Tell us how you really feel, Davy.” – Christy

“As soon as I gave it to him, I knew it was a mistake.” – Christy, watching Davy jam to the Madagascar soundtrack.

“Oh cool! Catharsis! I know about this! I’ve read Aristotle on this!” – Christy, writing quizzes.
“What do you love?” – Laura
“Catharsis!” – Christy
“Ah. Episode III, for example.” – Laura, with a wicked twinkle in her eye
“Um, how shall I put this… No!” – Christy, twinkling back
“Nice one, Laura!” – David

“Christy, are you composing an ode to Sparta?” – Davy
“She’s composing a quiz on Sparta, David.” – Laura
“Oh. I thought you were composing an ode. Which would cause me… mmmm… some concern.” – Davy

“Davy, please don’t get killed getting ice cream. I would be sad.” – Christy
“You ruin my fun. Every bit of it.” – Davy, grinning.

“No way! Somebody put ‘downtrodden slaves’ in this chart! That’s fantastic!” ::pause:: “I’m going to add ‘oppressed’—the downtrodden and oppressed slaves. Oh yes, this is good.” – Christy

“You want to be a Helot less than I want to live in the Middle Ages.” – Laura
“You… you… you comfort-loving Postmodernist!” – Christy
“No, you don’t understand. I actually do want to live in the Middle Ages.” – Laura
“Oh. Yeah. Of course. Doesn’t everybody?” – Christy
“Actually not, sadly enough.” – Laura

“Your mother only very rarely let me near any Teacher’s Notes or Student Activity Pages, because she knew that I would go nuts trying to systematize things that couldn’t be systematized.” – Laura

So Sean knocked over a table in Collating… and there were three guys, including the office manager, happily dancing in the reams of paper which are all over the floor.
“Isn’t any of this salvageable!?!?!” – Christy
“Nope!” – Garret, gleefully.
“Why did we just overturn a table?” – Charity
“On purpose!?” – Christy
“Because it’s Sean’s dream!” – Davy
“Christy. This is a table full of bloopers that we’ve been saving for this occasion all year.” – Nate, speaking from the depths of a pile of paper. Charity had buried him.
“Oh! In that case…” – Christy
“The Productions people would give their right hands for a chance to do this!” – Laura
There were something like three full boxes worth of paper on that table. We had a paper fight to end all paper fights. I’ll never forget the sight of Nate grinning while I threw a full ream of paper at his head, or Sean throwing up fistfuls of the stuff. It was glorious and completely unpremeditated.
I knew I loved my siblings. :-)

“There’s extra fudge, and then there’s above and beyond. The ‘above and beyond’ is what we’re after.” – Christy to Davy

“So Sean, are you here for some other reason than to knock over tables and frolic in paper?” – Christy
“I’m looking for a Chevy Chase ATM.” – Sean
“Ah.” – Christy

“I always wanted a mess of my very own.” – Christy

“Be bold, Dave!” – Christy to Davy, as he is leaving to get ice cream
::Davy seizes Christy’s head and kisses the top of it.::
“I didn’t mean about kissing me!” – Christy

“Are you quoting freakish moments from my past?” – Davy

“Charity stapled my shirt! And now I’ve gotta use the staple remover to kill her!” – Davy

“I’m going to my car, where I can sing as loud as I want!” – Charity

“Why is David lounging on the hood of Charity’s moving car?” – Christy
“He’s singing Think of Me Fondly to the occupant inside.” – Laura