Davy and the Underworld

So we're working along at Dialectic level quizzes, and I come up with the bright idea of having Davy do a graphic of the Underworld, with explanations that have blanks in them for the students (we never call them "kids"--it would be unprofessional to do so) to label. You know, stuff like Hermes, Cerberus, the Elysian Fields, etc.

Davy gets started, and it quickly becomes apparent that we have different ideas about what the graphic should look like.

I wanted something like this... more clothes of course, but, you know, something that looks classical.

Davy, on the other hand...

"Um, Davy. He looks like a GI Joe with chicken legs stuck up on his head! And that nose is definitely not classical!" - Christy

“That’s what he is! Hermes is a GI Joe with chicken legs stuck up on his head! If you can’t deal with that, stop studying mythology!” - Davy

And it went on, with much laughter...

“Simple. Stylized. Not spatula!” – Christy to Davy about wings on the Hermes helmet.

Two days later, I am happy to report that the Underworld graphic is finished. We had skeptical-looking judges to represent the Three Judges of the Underworld.

We have the Asphodel Fields and Tartarus, complete with souls in torment (not explicit, of course). We have the Elysian Fields, which originally included a figure doing a somersault, but, after I vetoed that on the grounds that he just looked like he was falling over, Davy reciprocated with a figure lying on the grass and dangling a bunch of grapes over his mouth. It made me laugh.

There was a battle royal over whether or not the Pool of Lethe and the Pool of Memory, which are beside Erebus (Hades' palace) should have their respective trees reflected in their limpid surfaces. I said no, because we had already spent enough time on the graphic. Davy said yes, because it would be pretty. After an appeal to Mom, pretty won over efficient. I'm glad; the result is much more realistic.

This morning I leaned over Davy's computer for the last time.

"Ya done good, kid."

"Aw, shucks."

Or words to that effect. I kissed the top of his head and pushed on to my next duty: rewriting the Dialectic level spine book pages. Don't ask. We are all happy and a little punchy around here--after all, it's Friday. :-) Can't you tell?

“I dunno, I just… I feel like I deserve myself today!” – Mom, whose comment could be taken one of several ways. She meant that she’s been good lately. We decided that her statement is still theologically accurate, if diametrically opposed to her intended meaning.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m deleting the Amorites!” – Christy, happily, after prolonged conference with Mom and consultation of maps.
“Farewell, Amorites! May the wind be always at your back!” – Davy

“We’re getting married?” – Davy
“No! We’re planning the company picnic.” – Christy

“Not for you! You can just stay married to Dad. I will let you.” – Davy to Mom

Chocolate Pleas…
“Two sparkles please, Naphie.” – Mom to Nathan
“Me too me too please, Naphie!” – Christy
“The babytalk that goes on around here is astounding… and appalling.” – Davy
“That’s just ‘cause you’re male.” – Mom
“Yeah…well…we’re gonna have a rule.” – Davy
::pause while Davy realizes that he has absolutely no authority to make any rules, not with Dad, Mom, and Nate ahead of him in succession for the throne of Tapestry::
::Mom, watching the process, bursts out laughing::

“I’m happy with myself today, so I can be happy with other people too.” – Mom

“You aren’t worthy to be a slave. You can be Gwendolyn the Coffee Pig.” – Nate to Christy

Tribal Rituals…
“Hey Nate, old bean…”
“Christy, young prune?”

“Let joy be unconfined!” – Nate, restarting the internet
“Um… Nate… joy isn’t unconfined yet.” – Christy, whose computer is failing to read the network.
::Pause::
“Ah! Now it’s unconfined!” – Christy

“Wheee! We’re both wrong!” – Mommy to Christy

What icecream sundaes can do to people…
“I just want you to observe that this is what I meant when I said that, in my experience, you being in a ‘I want to be pampered’ mood generally winds up with you being bad. You said it didn’t.” – Christy to Mommy, about whether or not Mommy should have an icecream sundae.
“I can be right, or I can be bad.” – Mommy, thinking.
::pause::
“I think I’d rather be bad.” – Mommy

The quote was, with respect to time-travel, from Kate and Leopold: “It’s more like a pretzel of kinetic inevitability.”
“So I am kinetically, inevitably destined to do this project today.” – Christy
“Right. And it’s a mental pretzel.” – Mom

“Well, I’m glad our feelings are so in tune Mother.” – Christy joking with Mom

“I think I can, I think I can—I’m really deluded—but I think I can!” – Mom

“I can do anything! It’s my company!” – Mom

PS: She really can do anything, including copyrighting those pictures, 'cause Davy made them for Tapestry. So don't snitch. ;-)

Surreal

I won't tell you the whole story--just the highlights.

Last night I wrote, from scratch, a 3-4 pages single-spaced outline of the novel I'm going to write next spring for Practicum. Those of you who know me well should have some idea of how big a deal that is for me, not the least because it is complete from beginning to end, and makes sense and works.

I figured out, last night and this morning, what I'm going to do about continuing education/a fifth year at PHC.

The outline appeared in my head at the beginning of a fierce thunderstorm which knocked out the power in our house from 6 pm last night until... well, it's still out.

Ergo, I spent all evening reading by candlelight. Surreal.

And then I woke up in the middle of the night and the front door was open for some reason, so I went outside and sat on the step for a half-hour, in the middle of the night. It was so much cooler than my room (no AC with the power off) and so lovely, even though there were bats roaming above my head. I was astonished all over again at how noiseless bats are. Anyway, I talked to God for awhile and had that I'm-alone-in-the-world feeling which can be so delightful in the wee hours of a summer morning, with the air all rain-washed and pure.

This morning something absolutely gorgeous happened, which I can't write about here because it hasn't happened happened; it just might happen, if God allows and certain people agree.

Oh, happiness! Surreal, but delightful!

Pretty, Isn't It?

How at the Castle of Corbin a maiden bare in the Sangreal [Holy Grail] and foretold the achievements of Galahad...

Have you noticed how very few people in medieval art ever smile? They all look sad, in Lewis' sense of the word, that is: weighty, grave. I've been engaged all summer in exploring a question about whether classical liberal arts education is really an education--whether it is not more worthwhile to learn an electrician's trade than it is to debate the Great Conversation. No conclusions yet, but some interesting trains of thought. In the Middle Ages it is certainly true that people lived largely without books. On the other hand, they really lived the few books that they had. It's all in Lewis (The Discarded Image). I've been reading The Discipline of Grace all summer, and am being freshly convicted about the need to soak oneself in Scripture, to pickle oneself in it, as it were. Consider:

"The highest science, the loftiest speculation, the mightiest philosophy, which can ever engage the attention of a child of God, is the name, the nature, the person, the work, the doings, and the existence of the great God whom he calls his Father." - Spurgeon

The medievals look grave, and they certainly lived the non-contemplative life. I beg that you will not throw up monks to me; I know they were different. I mean the "everybody else." The farmers and merchants and artisans and fishwives, the bowmen and clothmakers and pig-minders and bean-counters. They weren't familiar with Plato and Aristotle, you know... or were they? For, remember, they really lived the books they had--especially the Bible.

So is the non-contemplative life a grave and weighty thing? Well, that's not all to the bad, especially since I know for a fact that they had dances and folk tunes and charming traditions. My tentative conclusion, which is of course an obvious one, is that one must live the Bible. My further conclusion, which is not obvious at all, is that it might not be a bad thing to focus on only living the Bible, at least for awhile. I don't mean that I intend to drop out of school. I mean that I want to discipline my mind in this direction: less academic speculation about my culture/subculture/modern evangelicalism/whatever, and more meditation on the nature, person, work, doings, and existence of the great God who is pleased to call himself, indeed to be, my Father.

Zebulun and False True/False

“Zebulun and Issachar got ripped off. So did Dan. So did Benjamin. So did Naphtali! Look at this! And Simeon is in the middle of Judah. Talk about big-brother domination! For your whole life… and your descendants’ lives. Issachar has it worst. Oh, man! I’d hate to be a Zebulunite!” – Davy monologuing to himself on the subject of tribal allotments in the Promised Land. He’s doing a graphic for a Tapestry quiz on it.

“All right, who moved my sharpie?” – Nate
“I did! I did! I’m guilty! Kill me!” – Davy

“You don’t want me? You don’t want me because I don’t have only one [computer] cord? If I were perfectly beautiful and had only one cord, would you keep me?” – Christy to Nate, punning off lines from Anne of Green Gables.

“Let joy be unconfined! Let there be dancing in the streets, laughing in the saloons, and spelunking in the parlors!” – Nate
“Did he just say ‘spelunking’?” – Laura
“Yes!” – Davy

“The Roman army won many wars because of its tortoises. The army bred and raised these bands of turtles, which could be poisoned and released into a besieged city’s water supply. When most of the people inside lay dying from poison, the city would usually surrender.” – Christy, reading her false answer aloud.
“No, Christy.” – Nate
“Oh, c’mon! I think it would make a great false true/false question! It’s plausible!” – Christy
“No, Christy.” – Nate
“You guys have no idea how hard it is to write false true/false questions.” – Christy, sighing and deleting.

My Life Inside A Musical

At least twice, and more often three times a day, I hear this:

Behold the brimming bowl of meat and meal
Which is brought forth to ease our hunger.
Behold the flowing flagon moist and sweet
Which has been sent to slake our thirst.

All this delivered to the tune of something that sounds like the Grand Processional.

Yes, my friends... my life has been taken over by You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown, the musical. The above is part of Snoopy's dinnertime song, and the chorus (below) seems to grace every single evening meal in the Somerville household.

It's suppertime.
Yeah, it's suppertime.
Oh, it's sup-sup-suppertime,
Very best time of day.

It's suppertime.
Yeah, it's suppertime.
And when suppertime comes,
Can supper be far away?

Bring on the soup dish, bring on the cup.
Bring on the bacon and fill me up.
'Cause it's supper
Supper, supper, suppertime.

Ye olde ancestral rings from morning till night with those lively ditties: My Blanket and Me, The Book Report, and Little Known Facts. Charity has gone permanantly over to the dark side. She plays this stuff in the car which we share--I was forced to yelp and hit the Off button rather violently the last time I turned it on--and is convinced, I believe, that she was born a Lucy.

Marjorie, when not babysitting, recovering from her recent cold, or reading the new Harry Potter book, is an enthusiastic neophyte of the Way of Charlie Brown.

And, of course, all this is exacerbated by the fact that we do in fact have, for the first time in about six months, a puppy. A dog. An animal that really does value supper. Nor does Nate begrudge Sam a rendition of the brimming-flagon song with each and every serving of puppy chow.

Oh, the delight. I am reduced to helpless laughter as a way of life. I have often put the question to you, but I will put it again. Is it even remotely possible that I could ever have deserved this splendid family of mine? This right here is the definition of grace: unmerited favor from a holy God, whose love exceeds our comprehension to the extent that, Matthew Henry put it (I will paraphrase), we quickly reach the rim of the abyss, and can do nothing but lean over to adore the depth.

Mom Keeps Getting Cuter

The sight of Mom pretending to play Beethoven’s 5th on a series of computer keyboards spread across the room… oh my…

“It was on purpose… because I basically am, like, Ellen Montgomery.” – Davy

“Can’t I have a slave collar if I want one?” – Christy to Laura, insisting that the company headphone is not a torque, but rather a slave collar.

“Why are you throwing teddy bears at me? What have I done to you … recently?” – Christy to David

“Okay. I’m leaving.” – Mom
“No, Mommy, no! Don’t leave us!” – Christy and Davy
“I’ll leave my computer with you. It will project my aura.” – Mom

“Christy has declared herself to be everybody.” – Laura
“No, she has declared herself to be as thoughtless in her speech as everybody.” – Christy

“This one says ‘You’re allowed to do nothing.’ There’s a double meaning in that.” – Davy, reading his chocolate wrapper.

“Look: in a few weeks, we’ll be gone, and a new corporate culture will arise to take our place. It’s a cycle-of-nations thing.” – Christy
“That’s so sad.” – Davy

“So Mom is the feng-shui of Tapestry?” – Christy

“She is a genius! Wisdom will die with her. Which is unfortunate, ‘cause I like wisdom.” – David, commenting on Mom.

“Oh, wow. I just wrote, ‘People of the ancient Americas, without the use of mental tools, erected magnificent temples of dressed stone.’ That needs to be metal, not mental!” – Christy

Fifty Loves

I was going through old files, trying to decide what to keep on the new laptop, and what to discard. The following list caught my eye, though I have not seen or thought of it in months. It was the result of a conversation with a friend, and I'm glad that I did make it. I need to be reminded regularly of all that I have--for it is all of grace.

Things that I love, in no particular order

The cross of Christ
1 John – all of it
Hebrews 11 and 12
Psalm 42
Listening to my little brother tell a story
Daddy reading aloud the Chronicles or The Faerie Queene, or Winnie the Pooh
Mama’s absolute devotion to God, to truth, and to serving her family
The silver watch that Carolyn gave me for my 20th birthday.
My little sisters’ green eyes
Singing over the dishes
The slopes of Umbria, in Italy, covered with silver olive trees
The Gardens of Tiberius, on Capri
Christ’s gentleness with his disciples in the face of their pride and ignorance
That peculiarly deep and clear, yet bright, blue that appears only in the sky at twilight, in October.
Fireflies in June
Yellowstone National Park, especially Lamar Valley
The big gunboat and sword collection in the Smithsonian Museum of American History, that fired my imagination as a ten-year-old
The Gems section of the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History
That odd, diamond-shaped garden inside the National Cathedral, the one you can only find by stumbling across it
Dancing with Mike
The Saturday-morning court that Mom and Dad hold in their bedroom every week, when all of us wander in, pajama-clad, to loll and talk and cuddle until breakfast
A quietly rainy afternoon, when the children are doing schoolwork without complaint, the house has just been cleaned, soft worship music is playing, and I have time to putter around the kitchen making lasagna for dinner.
The way my brothers treat me, like a child to be looked after, a friend to be told secrets, a soul to enjoy, a girl to tease
The last few verses of the Song of Songs. “Love is strong as death…”
The times when David will insist that I stop and listen to a new song from Rhapsody, because he just can’t wait to have me hear it
Wandering through the piano songbooks in a quiet hour, playing old favorites and perfecting new ones
Playing the piano with Mike
Bouncing on the trampoline with Marjorie
Long walks in the woods with Nate
Pink roses, Queen Anne’s Lace, bleeding heart, and lilies.
A garden on a summer evening, with a small pool of water nearby, a few candles burning, the remains of dinner, the faces of my family growing steadily more shadowed, their voices more distinct and subtle, as daylight fades
Key Lime Pie
Italian cappuccino
Watching Daddy charm animals
Watching all of my dear ones grow in grace
The way that babies and children adore Nathan, and he them
Charity singing
Dear friends, long tried and well proven
Reading Shakespeare, especially bench-readings, or watching Shakespeare performed well
The sound of light splashing down from stained-glass windows. It does have a sound.
Thanksgiving family reunions at Uncle Jim’s stone and stained-glass church in DC; First Baptist Church.
Scotland
Particular songs, too many to name… but also the general works of GLAD, Latin chants, hymns (Jesus I My Cross Have Taken), and the Les Miserables soundtrack
Books that I am reading for the fifth time, and finding them fresher, more vivid, than ever before
Catching sight of a well-loved title in a bookstore.
Latin
Living for Christ
The Odyssey
Sailing with Grandpa in the Afterglow, the Gem, or the Lookfar.
The joy and pain of “higher up and further in.”

The Companion of My Future Life

So I'm in the car with Mom, having just gotten my new laptop from Staples. Naturally I didn't wait until I got home to open it and start setting it up. What's the point of getting a laptop if you can't use it wherever you are? ;-)

It asked for a name and a description.

"What are you going to call it?" Mom asked. Names, especially computer names, are a big deal in our family.
"Musa." I replied, firmly. "It's Latin, and I'll need a muse if I'm going to write a novel next spring."

I typed it in, then considered the description line for a few moments.

"Having given my 'reasons for marrying' after the manner of Mr. Collins, I may as well designate Musa as 'the companion of my future life.'" So I typed that in too.

Well, my lords and ladies and dear friends of all assorted genders both visible and invisible...

Guess which one appears at the bottom left-hand corner of my screen? The short, elegant, and Latinate "Musa", or the lengthy, bulky, antique-sounding "The Companion of My Future Life"?

Bingo; the latter. I just about died laughing! I mean, when was the last time your computer asked you, "Do you want to turn off The Companion of My Future Life"?

I'm going to keep it this way. Humor is too rare in this workaday world, and opportunities to laugh at myself, though abundant, have not always the same flair for Jane Austen that this charming accident exhibits. What an amiable felicity!

7-22-05

“What is this!?” – Christy
“It’s a Word document, Christy. Be afraid.” – Laura

“’Finish the mind-map provided. Three major categories have already been given in bubbles.’ You know, if one didn’t already know what these directions were talking about, they would sound really bizarre.” - Christy

“You know you’re royalty when you can get away with wearing something completely silly.” – Davy, doing a graphic rendering of the Pharaoh’s crown.

“I’m bored. I want Charity to call me so I can go play!” – Mommy, swinging her feet and proving that even grown-up CEOs can still be little girls. Awwww…she’s so cute!

“I’m going to dress in the yellow tights, too.” – Davy, elaborating on his scheme of marriage proposal, which is, thus far, based upon the Gaston Song from Beauty and the Beast.

“This is why I studied military history!” – Nate, on helping his friends to plan their marriage proposals. He has just pulled off a very clever one for Nick.

“What kind of a life is that!? Surrounded by hens!” – Davy on Egyptian farmers.

“There’s, like, 22 of them in my inbox right now!” – Casey
“Dragons?” – Christy
“Yes!” – Casey
“Oh.” – Christy

“Christy, can I draw a living dead mummy?” – Davy, rendering graphics for one of Christy’s quizzes.
“No.” – Christy
“You’re so restrictive!” – Davy

“My feet are not a beacon for all mankind, okay? – Christy
“Not for all mankind; just for David.” – Laura
“Your feet are my beacon.” – David to Christy

“By the authority vested in me by Barq’s Inc., I can you Olde Tyme Root Beer.” – Christy, spinning off of her root beer label: “Canned under the authority of Barq’s Inc.”

“Cease fussing and know that I am Mom.” – Mama

“I have cute dreams.” – Mom

“I come, O David, I come… where do I go?” – Mom to Davy

“Is there joy in Mudville?” – Davy
“There is.” – Mom
“Yes!” – Davy
"Christy, do you think that the Celts had bangs?" - Laura
"Um, possibly." - Christy

Mobility At Last!

Drumroll please...

Ladies and gentlemen, behold the companion of my future life.

Isn't it beautiful? My family is ready to disown me for marrying outside the Dell family, but what can I say? I was introduced (thanks Kirsten!) this spring, and fell in love. We'll be announcing the engagement in the first week of August, once I get my July paycheck. ;-)

But seriously. DVD player/burner, wireless internet connection, 60 GB of hard drive...all packaged in a sleek and silvery 4.5 lbs of metal and plastic. This thing isn't even a foot long, and only 1" thick! My desktop is now three years old, running very slowly, and I have to write a novel next spring for Practicum. I refuse to sit at my dorm desk for a hundred hours next spring, novel or no novel. To quote Anne, "There's no scope for the imagination!" Ergo, I'm going mobile.

Ah, think of it. No more evenings and afternoons locked in my dorm room to write papers--I shall be free to roam the Dining Hall or Beans in the Belfry or (that's the beauty of it) wherever I am! My only ball-and-chain will be my cell phone! Since this computer is so small and light, I shall be able to shove it into the old satchel with that carefree what-is-it... the flicking of dust specks from my irreproachable lace cuffs, to quote Wodehouse. I shall be D'Artagnan; I shall be Sir Percy; I shall be Benedick and Henry V and Cicero in one! Of course, I shall not bring the contraption to my three Hake classes this fall. Who would dare to bring anything but a tasteful journal (better be leatherbound) and a pen--preferably a fountain pen--to Dr. Hake's class? Even Henry V is not intrepid enough for that.

So. Very well. But outside of class, what joy! Of course, I would not offend the Longaevi by introducing anything that smacks of modernity into their gazebo. I can't even wear shoes in the gazebo! For them it is the pen likewise, though they were prefer a quill and parchment. For them it is Latin and candlelight, or silence and the starry evening sky. For them my blue crystal goblet and my warm shawl, and deep breaths and bare feet. However, Longaevi belong to the dawn, the twilight, and the evening; my days belong to academia. Therefore they will understand and forgive.

Oh, huzzah! It's late--I know it's late. I should be quiet and go to bed. But I am thinking, you see, of my gazebo. I have not thought of it in a long time. I am thinking of Lake Bob spread out at my feet, and the trees looking at themselves in its reflection, and a sky, an October twilight sky, a great blue window--God's window, I have heard it called--over my head, and I can look up from the little white building with its lacework of wood, and wave at the sky, and say, "See me? Here I am! I'll be home soon, whenever you call! Just call me; I'm here: I'm waiting...working...praying...hoping!"

Oh dear, I am in love. Only, you know, he isn't a computer. He is God! Come moons and Junes and jeweled realities! I call all the world to witness that my God loves me. Me! Me? Impossible, but true!

Today Was Just So Quotable, Take II

“It couldn’t have happened to a nicer computer.” – Mom, concerning technological crashes on Danya’s computer.

“Dave, your computer is the expendable crewman. It’s the nice guy who doesn’t really have a name and everybody knows he’s going to die by the end. Every movie has one!” – Kelly

“I’ve been through the history of the ancient world three times so far this summer, on three different levels, and let me tell you: what I don’t know about cartouches isn’t worth knowing!” – Christy, joking with Mom.

“Mummies are gross.” – Christy, working on Egyptian quizzes for the Dialectic level.
“They sure are.” – Mom
::pause::
“I’m glad you can admit it.” – Christy

“It’s been voted off the development team.” – Mom to Davy, about his computer.
“You can’t fire it! It quits!” – Davy

“Is Davy still wringing his hands over there?” – Christy
“Woe is me!” – Davy

“There’s a hole at the bottom of the sea!” – Davy, beginning to sing.
“David!” – Kelly, from the little office, where she is trying to concentrate on processing orders.
“I was just mentioning the fact.” – Davy
::pause::
“There’s a hole. There’s a hole. There’s a hole at the…” – Davy
“There sure will be!” – Kelly
“Children….” – Mom, in a now-now-let’s-all-be-reasonable-can’t-we tone of voice.

When Dad comes to the office…
“I was hurt last night by reggae music, and I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive it.” – Dad
“How did it hurt you?” – Davy
“Well, I was playing Apples to Apples, and the word was ‘refreshing,’ and I thought that ‘body surfing’ was refreshing, but ‘reggae music’ beat me out, and I just haven’t been able to forgive it yet.” – Dad

“Nate, Nate, Nate, what are you doing?” – Nate to himself, trying to stay focused.
::pause::
“Well, if I unplugged the microwave….” – Nate

“You are not the priority person, and you are not the priority person. Neither of you cares about priorities! I alone am the priority person!” – Mom to Davy and Christy, in her best commanding baby-talk.

“You see, sometimes ghosts of unplugged computers actually linger for some time afterwards…” – Davy

“I can’t spell ‘silhouette.’ I’m a failure.” – Christy
“Christy, some people are born failures, some people achieve failure, and some have failure thrust upon them. Which would you say you are?” – Davy

“Christy, I think your mom is being scandalous over there.” – Laura
“So? What else is new?” – Christy
“Good point.” – Laura

It must be four o’clock…
“Did I ever say that I don’t [commit crimes of syntactical repetition]? I’ve looked back over some of the papers I’ve written and wanted to kill myself… and then bury myself and then dig myself up again and make myself eat myself and then poison myself and then burn myself to ashes and throw them in the Nile!” – Christy
“And kill yourself and bury yourself and then dig yourself up and clone yourself and kill all your clones!” – Davy, getting into the spirit of the thing with a convenient misquote.
“Right. That.” – Christy

Going Celtic

It just occurred to me a little while ago, while I was researching the Celts in order to write a quiz for Grammar students...

I'm celtic.

In fact, I'm quite celtic, and increasingly so as I get older. Now, I do not mean that I listen to every bit of half-baked celtic music put out by New Age artists, nor that I read Gothic novels. A thousand times no! But my family, on both sides, is English/Scottish/Viking. I love Latin, which has been an adopted English tongue since Romans conquered the Isles in the mid-50's AD. And the only music I've ever heard that made me feel as though I had to dance was played by Scottish drummers at a festival. The drums of the highlands, and the pipes of the highlands--the shepherd-pipes, I mean, not the bagpipes--do something to my blood.

Further, I love their illuminated manuscripts, their fierceness, their colors--though not their checked patterns--and their oral poetry. I love their love of water, their seagoing ways, their torques and harps and groves of deep forest.

Of course, they had issues. Few religions, I think, are darker or more sorcerous than that of the Celts. But their embrace of Christianity was so wholeheartedly, and so firmly stuck to...

Oh, hang it all. I like them! And, like them or not, I am one, right down to my toes.

Ziggurats & Co.

“Sumerian votive statues! I mean, what next?” – Christy, writing a quiz on the Sumerians.
“Um… Assyrian voting booths?” – Nate

Counseling Christy on how to write Lower Grammar quizzes...
“Think of a non-reader. Do you know a non-reader?” – Mom
“Well… Sam.” – Christy, indicating the puppy.

“Nate, come sit next to me and hold my hand. I’ve never burned a CD in my life.” – Mom
“You’ve never burned a CD?” – Davy
“No.” – Mom
“Oh. That’s okay. I have rarely faxed.” – Davy.
::General laughter::

“A woman who is happy in love, she burns the CD.” – Davy, misquoting the old Sabrina. The real quote is about burning soufflés.
“A woman who is unhappy in love, she forgets to turn on the computer.” – Nate, continuing the misquotation.

“You can’t tell me that we should sit here with an unadorned front yard, when the Sumerians have a ziggurat!” – Davy

“The world must be peopled!” – Davy
“No, The list must be peopled, in this case.” – Mama

I Squished A Slug Tonight

I was stepping outside with two boys in tow, and in bare feet--because of course I go barefoot whenever possible--and the first step ended in an unpleasant sensation. It felt as though I had landed on a very small water balloon. Ick.

"I think I just stepped on a slug."
"Really?" Sean sounded amused. "You know, slugs can go across a razor without hurting themselves. They re-arrange their mucous or something. But worms can't."
"Where do you learn these things?" I asked, slogging through the wet grass and surreptitiously using it to unsmear the sole of my right foot.
"Well, I haven't done the experiments myself, but..."

We trudged through the velvety summer night to my car, unloaded our armfuls of dirty dishes into it, and returned to Mike's house. The Launching Pad was the site, this evening, of a party that Charity and I have been planning for weeks. We threw it for the caregroup, though neither Mike nor Sarah, our illustrious leaders, were there to grace us with their presence. They're both on evangelism trips: Mike in Boston, Sarah in Bolivia.

Mike left the house unlocked, though. Charity and I showed up at 3:30 pm and were soon joined by Brandon, whose job it was to make dessert. He was the only boy allowed in the house before 5:30. I stole marshmallows and chocolate chips from him for the rest of the afternoon, in between the exchange of friendly insults. There's a lot to be said for growing up with people, you know. It creates a sort of familiarity without intimacy which is very pleasant. Now if I could just get Brandon to forgive me for that little incident with the Congress of Vienna reenactment... after all, I was supposed to double-cross him!

Jen and Besilica arrived soon after Brandon, dressed up in ruffled Mexican skirts and white blouses, because the party was Mexico-themed. Charity, the ingenious little thug, had made two piniatas: one for girls and one for boys. The girl one was a milk jug, stuffed with candy and already slashed through in places to make it easier for us. The boy one... ay yi yi! She had taken a two-liter soda bottle and reinforced it--as though it needed reinforcing!--by swaddling the thing in half a spool of post office tape. The boys finally destroyed it by skewering the thing on a sharpened stake, and that was after half an hour of the usual battering! They enjoyed this immensely, so I suppose there's no point in remonstrating with Charity, who enjoyed it even more. She also superglued a horseradish jar lid on, and then asked the boys to open it for her. The little imp had an exact duplicate on hand, and when they couldn't open the first, she switched it with the second behind her back and then twisted off the lid with an innocent, "Oh? It doesn't seem that hard to open."

Brilliant. Evil. Actually, we had rather even numbers of people present--seven or eight guys, and six or seven girls. But it quickly became apparent that three or four of the girls wanted to go off to the basement and play Encore, while the other three or four wanted to play Mafia. Of course, all the guys prefered Mafia, and we had an array of veterans, and it was too good an opportunity to pass up. Sean, Chad, Brandon, and Paul are all excellent; I had so much fun just watching the first several rounds. I was too busy keeping the food going to play the first round, and the second I proctored so that all the really good players could play, but the third I was able to join. What a blast! Sean and Paul and Kevin and I were the Mafia. Of course Charity knew I was Mafia right away, but I managed to turn suspicion on her, and then kept if from falling on myself for the rest of the game by demanding, of all things, logic. I insisted on having a reason before I would consent to vote for anybody's death, and so no one suspected that I might have other motives. A scientific mask can be, I found out tonight, splendid cover in a Mafia game.

Peter Schellhase was pretty good at Mafia too. How odd that he is coming to PHC this fall! For, you know, Jacob Hall was in my caregroup when I came to PHC, and now Peter is coming on campus from the same place. I wonder if you can only come to PHC from CLC if you were in Mike's caregroup? Or is it something in the water?

In Mike's caregroup the guys have a protocol of walking girls to their cars, for safety reasons. Tonight, Charity and I had several of them helping to carry out the debris of the party. One was a guest with us from another caregroup.

"It's funny how they talk about marriage," he said to me, musing aloud about our boys. "All the guys in my caregroup are so young, we never hit the subject much."
"Oh, they were all pretty young a year or two ago." I replied, smiling at the memory. "But they've grown up a lot. In another year or so, they'll be ready for marriage."
Alex, walking ahead of us, misheard me. "Oh, Christy! You're ready to get married!"
"I wasn't talking about me, silly!" I laughed. "Besides, I can't get married. I have to stay single and look after all my boys. I can't leave you guys on your own!"

I was joking, but sometimes I think it's true. Tomorrow night I am scheduled to take Danya shopping for his fall wardrobe, at Daddy's behest. There's nothing more fun than having a good-looking guy to buy for, and Davy is just beginning to understand that oxfords can be cool. Hallelujah! He'll be stunning in black, just like his daddy, and if I can find the right yellow or blue...

You've seen me write often about my girls, but let me just take a moment to express appreciation for my boys as well. They are good guys, solid and sweet, helpless as all get-out one moment, then leaders and men the next. I love being their big sister, and I love watching them grow up into Christ.

News from Home

When I am at school, my letters and posts frequently acquire the tone of a soldier somewhere on the front. Thus: "Mama, I'm dreaming of the candles in the window, and your cooking. Mama, tell everybody that I'll be home soon. Not so long now, and I'll stop aching for you all. Tell everybody..."

But I have been granted leave from the front; leave from the heart and mind and soul ache of being stretched almost beyond endurance--for the Lord never fails to grow me in dependence upon him through the course of each semester. Now, here, with steam upon the windowpanes because it is so very warm and wet during a Maryland summer, I am utterly at rest in our cool, spacious house. I have spent the afternoon in the library, sewing and watching Anne of Green Gables with Burgee, who has a cold.

The fragrance of home envelopes me; a thousand small things make me smile--moments which pierce my heart with sweetness. Mama tickling Davy's tummy, because he always gives his funny Doughboy chuckle when she does. Burgee's seaglass-green eyes, just beginning to grow deep with womanhood, but still clear and unhurt. Darling, how can I ever bear to let you meet with the dark world? Charity's sunglasses--the way she likes to perch them above her dear fluff of a short ponytail. The way she teases me and laughs with me like the College Girl which she has just become. Buying ribbons and ribbon-roses and white eyelet with Charity. Moments of comradeship with Mama, as women and teachers and members of Tapestry Development... or just as mother and daughter sharing delight in Pride and Prejudice.

Daddy, handsome in a black shirt. Nathan, handling his new puppy with such gentle skill, and his warehouse with such efficient excellence. Mike and Jessica, so young and happy together, and withal so upright before God, that they seem too bright to look at. Danya's blue-gray eyes, his voice speaking to the Lord in morning prayer at the office. Oh, morning prayer! Laura and Danya and I, sharing troubles and seeking grace, caring for one another throughout the day. Sam tearing across the office floor to keep up with Nathan. Garret and Courtney packaging up Tapestry orders to be sent all over the country, to serve mothers in educating their children for God, while we design tests and magazines and graphics to help them further. The awe of serving in that way. The need of God in it. The jokes and laughter, the quotes and counterquotes! The music. The music we make ourselves, singing together.

And when work is over, the meeting again over dinner, and sometimes wine in chilled glasses, and sometimes croquet tournaments, and sometimes an hour of quiet conversation beneath the pavilion on our deck, with an evening breeze, an aura, caressing the morning glory vines. Grandpa's stories about his ministry at the prison, and Grandma's latest meeting with a foreigner at Giant, or Starbucks, or McDonalds, or even the Post Office! Good books, old and beautiful books who whisper, "Oh, you are home! I've missed you, little girl. Come, come lose yourself with me once more!"

Omnis candidissimae formae est... It is all of the most white and pure form. Suffuse with light these happy golden days, and let me forget that I was ever sorrowful or lonely. Let me forget my heartaches. Is this not what God does? He gives us such gladness that all our former pain seems as trivial as cuts from a blade of grass. And why should he so bless us, who are but grass indeed?

The book I am reading, Discipline of Grace, quotes a pastor from former centuries who said that the worst sin we can commit against God is to disbelieve his love for us. I do not know if this is true, but it rings true to me, perhaps because I spent so many years sinning in that way. But by grace, it has come to seem to my soul that each separate ray of sunlight is a word of love, and every color a kiss, and God is light, and I cannot live without light.

And I need never again live without light, because of news from Heaven. Is that not proof enough of love?

I'm home... and I'm going home. To him!

A Dangerous Duo

Tonight I'm going out with Courtney and Jessica. I should be scared. Let me explain...

Jessica is a blond, blue-eyed, prankster par excellence. I'm told that we look alike, but she's not my sister; she's my brother's courtee, and one of my best friends from high school. I like to remind my brother that she was my friend before he knew she existed--romantically, at least. Doesn't she look innocent?

Don't be fooled for a second. Jessica has masterminded and executed more deviousness in the past year than I have in my entire lifetime... and last year was relatively tame for her, because she's in nursing school and courting this guy... aka my brother Mike.

They are even scarier together. See those sock puppets? That's an in-joke: Jessica made them so that she and Mike could stage sock-puppet skits out the sunroof of Mike's car at stoplights. Talk about a safety hazard...

Courtney is every bit as frightening, though I don't have pictures for her. She's been friends with Jessica since they were both in diapers, is in nursing school with her now, and is responsible for executing many of Jessica's evil schemes. Court has a razor mind and a love for mischief. She also has tastes almost exactly similar to my own on the subjects of books, art, music, movies, etc. We enjoy talking through the arts together.

And they both just turned in 15-page papers.

So this is the equivalent of post-midterms.

And we're going to see... well, I would show you a picture of Batman Begins, but the technology just conked out on me. I'm going to see it for philosophical reasons: I hear it's scary but extremely good at dealing with the question of a world in which absolute justice--and I mean absolute black-and-white--reigns.

Should be interesting, to say the least. And with these two? Well, I should be scared. Except I was raised a Somerville... and, well...

What's a couple of mischevious post-midterm blondes, armed with cell phones, car keys, and credit cards, compared to what I deal with every day?

Nothing new, but everything fun. ;-) I'll letcha know how it turns out.

If I make it back, that is.

Outremer

Brittainy and I decided to do a historical Crusades theme for our room, which is especially easy to imagine because we will be residing in the Princess Tower of the High Queen. Her Serene Highness gave me a wrought-iron key to the tower, and I have been busy...

You see, we have these couches at home that no one is using, and Mom said that I could bring one of the big cushions to school. Auntie also just moved, getting rid of a lot of stuff in the process, and she gave me--at my request--a bunch of pillows.

So now I have a plethora of cushions for our Byzantine divan (aka pillows piled up into a very low couch)... but what, oh what, am I to use for a cushion-cover? Blue checks just aren't very Crusades-ish, and that's what the cushion-cover currently is.

Enter Ebay... two yards of gorgeousness (though I've decided to use this for the bedspread, not the couch. The couch may wind up in a similar pattern but different color, depending on Brittainy's opinion.)
And an additional six yards of splendor...

The Latin kingdoms of the East were collectively called Outremer. When I was sixteen I wanted to write an epic book about them (yes, I once wanted to write an epic. Don't worry, I got over it.), but I think I can settle for living in them... specifically, in Lebanon.

Nate Overfed Us On Brownies

“If we pat her on the head and say ‘Dear Laura, sweet Laura…’” – Davy

“This is the working screen, not the preview screen. Don’t talk to me about the working screen! It’s like objecting to a girl going to a party in a bathrobe! She’s just getting ready!” – Davy, making a somewhat convoluted argument which was, nevertheless, extremely cute.

“Aren’t we tired of boxes?” – Davy

“What proof do you have of my gooberhood?” – Davy

“Christy, don’t hold back.” – Davy, giving Christy a very earnest look.
::Christy considers for a moment, and then utters a prolonged scream::
“Christy, there is almost no good reason for something like that!” – Nate, from the other end of the warehouse.
“David told me not to hold anything back! It was the only way I could think of to prove to him that I had heard and heeded his words!” – Christy
“I said ‘Don’t roll back!’ Sam was behind your chair!” – Davy
“Oh.” – Christy
::Laughter all round::

“Okay, the eternal question. Is it ‘hippopotamuses’ or ‘hippopotami’?” – Christy, working on a quiz on Egypt.
“I think it’s the latter.” – Laura
“Just because it’s Latin doesn’t make it right, Laura.” – Christy
“Can I quote you on that?” – Laura
“I’ll quote myself and save you the trouble.” – Christy
“I think it’s hippopotami.’” – Davy
“But go look it up on dictionary.com.” – Mom
“No, just trust me.” – Davy
“Rigggghhhttt.” – Christy
::several minutes of internet research later::
“It’s both!” – Christy

“Hey Nate, you know those women in Africa who put lots of rings around their necks to make them longer?” – Christy
“Yeah.” – Nate
“Me.” – Christy, pointing to her neck, which is adorned with a set of personal headphones and, also, the office head-phone.

“Ow, ow!” – Davy, as Garret fists him gently.
“Boys only punch the ones they like, Davy.” – Mom, trying to console him.
“Go punch a girl!” – Davy to Garret
“If only I could.” – Garrete
“Okay, let’s reel it in now.” – Mom, laughing.

“The Star-Spangled Banner was written to the tune of an English drinking song. WorldBook says so!” – Christy
“Now, can you deal with that fact?” – Davy

“Unbelievable! They buried George Washington in a sarcophagus!” – Christy
“I knew that!” – Casey, elated.

“What are they, Nate?” – Casey, eyeing the plate in Nate’s hand
“What are they? Who cares! They’re chocolate!” – Nate

“Can you imagine? Dogs can’t see color, and chocolate is poisonous to them. How do they live with themselves?” – Christy

We're Back

“Oh, but, ‘girl’s name,’ I am your own…” – Christy to Mommy
::Mommy scrunches up nose and thinks hard::
“I left out the girl’s name because you’d get it too easy otherwise.” – Christy
“I know this! I can hear the voice; I just can’t put a face to it!” – Mommy
“I know it!” – Charity
“Oh!” – Davy, just getting it
“You mean you didn’t get it until now? Davy!” – Christy
“Wait, wait… Knight’s Tale!” – Mommy
::general applause::

With respect to cold and heat in the warehouse…
“The girl suffer in the mornings, and the guys suffer in the afternoons. We’re an equal-opportunity suffering facility around here.” – Nate, who then very kindly trotted off and got a sweatshirt for Mommy.

“I’m not even thinking about where the chocolate might be hidden, Nate, honest! It’s probably on the third shelf though.” – Christy to Nate

“I’ve only been waiting for this for five years, hello! It’s called a dream!” – Mom, quasi-quoting Knight’s Tale on the subject of her new camera. That seems to be the movie of choice right now.

“A hope deferred makes the heart sick.” – Nate
“Yes, but a hope satisfied makes the heart happy, and that’s me!” – Mommy, bouncing out the door to pick up her new camera.

“I will go get it and come back and sit here on the couch and play and gurgle and be available to answer your questions.” – Mom to Christy, on her way out of the warehouse to pick up THE CAMERA.

::Davy walks in with a sheet of bubble wrap::
“Why?” – Christy
::Davy pauses beside her chair::
“Take a nibble.” – Davy
::Christy begins to pop bubbles, with thorough enjoyment.::
“’Why’ she asks me! ‘Why!’” – Davy

“Don’t call me ‘lens cap’!” – Casey

“Would you please stop being sentimental!” – Christy to her computer

“Oh, man! That’s just not couth!” – Davy, reading Darwin awards

“Samwise, you are a cute. You are! I’m serious!” – Davy to Samwise the Mighty Hunter
“There we go! Now the pixels, they flowww…” – Davy
“I can’t tell you how happy I am about that.” – Garret, drily.

“Dreams and delusions of grandeur will not help you.” – Mom to Davy

“You want me to do all that before I see you again?!” – Davy to Mom
“Yeah.” – Mom
“I’ll cry myself to sleep!” – Davy.

“Guys, we are producing discs with ‘c’ on the end. Just in case you were wondering.”– Mom
“What what WHAT!??!” – Nate, from the other end of the room.
“It’s okay Nate. We’re standardizing.” – Davy
“So, forever and ever amen, we will spell it with a ‘c’?” – Christy
“Well, until further notice.” – Mom

“I love Sam’s floppy ear.” – Laura
“Yeah. Sam has the best ears of any dog that ever was.” – Davy, lost in adoration.

“You know what’s great about Samwise? He lives in my room, but he’s not mine.” – Davy

::background noise: Samwise whimpering::
“Nate, your baby is fussing!” – Christy to Nate
“Christy, I have news for you. That’s what babies do.” – Nate

“I guess he’s just decided that that is the place to be.” – Christy, watching Sam curl up at Davy’s feet.
“I’m here.” – Davy
“Yeah.” – Christy

“Congratulations. We have acquired an office teddy bear.” – Christy, watching Samwise sleep.

“Do you get bonbons and room service too?” – Davy to Laura, upon learning that her college bathrooms are cleaned by “housekeepers,” not students.

“You’re sitting on my foot and biting my toe.” – Davy to Sam, in loving tones.

Midsummer Night's Dream?

It's midsummer, and right about this time I always begin to wonder...

Did I only dream a place called PHC? Seriously. I mean, don't you ever wonder? I can't recall the feel of the bricks beneath my bare feet; I only remember that they were warm when we sat out there for dinner in the summer evenings. I don't remember the smell of the buildings, though I remember that one existed.

Speaking of dorms... did I ever really sit in one of those chairs and watch the light change? A golden teatime hour after classes and before dinner--was it truly there that I spent those moments of relaxation? Was that the site of evenings with tea, boooks, conversation, and good friends? It is as unreal to me as Titania or Oberon, truly.

Over and over again, friends tell me "I don't belong at home any more. I only belong at PHC." At the beginning of each summer, I agree with them. But soft--why then is it that, by August, PHC is the dream and home the warm, living, many-colored reality?

By August, I shall be hard-pressed to contain my rebellion against leaving home again. What, again? How, sever myself from my dear ones again? What sort of a fool do you take me for?

"I look on it as a necessary evil." Mama says, while I lie curled up beside her on her bed. "It's not fair," I reply, hurting. "Why should I have to be cut up between two worlds?" I felt like the baby in that story of Solomon's judgment. But this system of education is my allotment from the hand of a gracious, all-sovereign God. Have I an arm like God's, and can I thunder with a voice like his? No.


"Where understanding fails, let worship begin." - C.H. Spurgeon

Domine, te non intellego.

Sed te oro.

I'm In Love!

Nathan brought Samwise the puppy home today--who would have believed that anything could be so.... awwww!

I Enjoy Being A Girl

I was inspired by Carolyn's post on fashion, and by the delightful hour just spent with my sister..

Charity wandered into the bathroom, which is a principle meeting-place for the girls of the family. We seem to only really see one another over the mirror, morning and evening. Meals count, of course, but those are devoted to general conversation; the Girls' Bathroom is sacred unto girl talk.

This is Charity's first Singles Meeting. She's understandably nervous.

What am I gonna do with my hair, Christy?
"Oh! You should let me put it up for you!"
She looked apprehensive. "Up?"
"Up!"
"I was going to blowdry it." The hair in question is short and thick, and much sunnier than mine.
"No you weren't; you were going to let me put it up." I teased, taking the positive approach. She bit her lip and gave me one of those sideways looks--green eyes are somehow just right for such glances. I grinned at her, knowing that she is perfectly capable of turning me down.
"All right."
"Yay!"

Pink shirt. Bangs clipped up in multiple twists, the back tightly coiled. I slipped in a few pearly pins for effect, and handed her my little silver hand-mirror so that she could look at it. "Lovely! You should grow your hair out, Darling."
"No one can do this sort of thing on themselves, Tisy."
"I do it on myself all the time."
She gave me the sort of look which signifies that I don't count, and began to fiddle with makeup. "Can I wear lavender eyeshadow with a pink shirt?"
"Certainly. The law stating that eyeshadow has to match clothing has been abolished."
"But does it work?"
"Yes," I assured her solemnly, "It does."

Soon it was my turn to ask for opinions. "Dear, which necklace?"
"What are you wearing?"
I gestured vaguely at the bed. "White oxford. Jeans."
"Hmmm..." Charity is an art major, so she began to talk about geometric designs and the need to fill spaces, which didn't make much sense to me. I nodded and tried to look intelligent.
"Forget the earrings!" She said, finally. "Just wear your hair down!"
I, knowing a piece of good advice when I hear it, did so. Sort of.

Perfume, nail polish, etc. "Do you like this scent, Churdee?"
"It reminds me of Mama's perfume."
"Yes," I sighed, happy.

Finished, Charity and I smiled at each other in the mirror. We didn't exchange compliments--what need? Mama has a maxim: "Look your best, then walk out the door and forget how you look."

I went back to my book. Charity donned an apron and returned to her cooking. In a little while we will probably make time to pray for the meeting. And we'll go, but we won't be thinking--God giving grace--about how we look. That's not the point of a meeting. Worship is the point of a meeting. But the point of dressing together is an opportunity to enjoy beauty and girlhood together, to play and build our friendship over vivid colors and little brushes and pins and all the paraphenalia of a woman's dressing-table.

I can't say that I really like the fuss of dressing up. It's often more of a nuisance than anything else, especially if you have an eight AM class. Yet I have found, to my astonishment, that it can be a real chance to serve another girl, build a memory, and deepen a friendship. I still have fond recollections of "dress-up nights" with Amanda and Maggie and the High Queen, or with Carolyn. What delight I had in doing Kaylyn and Emily C.'s hair for the Liberty Ball! It was sort of the same thing as taking out goblets up to dinner. That bit of vivid glass at the table could make a meal special, a way of celebrating. For, you know, a life lived in Christ is a thing which calls for constant celebration, thanksgiving, and enjoyment.

Go figure. I used to despise with my whole heart everything that smacked of "girliness," and now I find that after all it is a way of loving and of living in gladness. And now...

I enjoy being a girl.

Se Moi

You know that annoying song which Lancelot sings in the musical version of Camelot? Well, it is I, but I won't claim all of Lancelot's abilities, nor certainly his deeds.

I'm home, unpacking, buying fabric off of Ebay (summer sewing has descended, clothed--pun intended--with an awful and unsuspicioned power), and occupying a corner of my mind with the eternal question: what have I got, that is clean, to wear to the Singles Meeting tonight?

Stars wrote to me--huzzah!--and I finished a four-page handwritten letter for Kirsten. This is only fair, since she sent me a four-page handwritten letter in the first place. Handwritten correspondence is splendid! I can think of few thrills greater than the possession of an unopened letter, satisfyingly fat, and full, you know, of news. Like Jane Austen's Emma, I always like news.

Kirsten writes that she is trying to keep up with Latin for the incoming Latin III exam--dear Dr. Noe--but having little success. I told her, and I think I told her true, "negative perspiration" (no sweat). We'll have a Latin Jam Party just before the Wednesday exam. Remember those, Carolyn? Good times, dear times, times fondly remembered by me at this time!

I read On Beauty and Rules for the Dance (Mary Oliver) and started the Iliad for the second time--Pope's translation--while I was away. I am convinced that Elaine Scarry and Mary Oliver are still some of the most charming writers of my reading acquaintance.

In sum, it was a delicious retreat. But it has made me ache all over again for Latin.

Nathan gets his puppy tomorrow! All hail Samwise!

From Sandy Cove

I write briefly, because there's a time limit on Sandy Cove's internet access. I love it here. The bay is curled up just outside my window, practically licking my feet. There's a dock, and small sailboats--I'm going to try to talk Mom into a sail tomorrow afternoon--and canoes (the whole fam went canoeing up here on the 4th, and the Swallows capsized and the Amazons laughed at them and the Friendly Natives kept their boat dry since Mom had the camera in it, and we paddled all over and had the grandest time), and shuffleboard on a hill above the bay, where you can play in the sunset, and a pool--since there are dead fish in the Bay, you shouldn't swim there. It's kinda like Lakum Bobum. I was over the moon when I found out that they had air hockey!!!!--until I got in there and found a kiddy table. Grieving commenced. I cannot WAIT to get back to our table; this one was just high enough and big enough to prove that I've forgotten everything I ever knew about corner shots.

They asked me to give my testimony... and then asked me to give it again, to the teens. Both were Spirit-blessed, I believe. Both were given with tears, anyway. Thank you to Jessica and Brittainy for your prayers--they availed much, and giving my testimony almost every day is certainly keeping me right in front of the cross, which is more than okay by me. :-)

I brought my laptop and I am working, but in a leisurely fashion. Mom and I fell asleep last night watching Pride and Prejudice on her laptop. We have a suite, but now that most of the kids have gone home to various jobs, I have one room all to myself, and the Parents have the other. It's so much fun to trot around with them and have meals with lots of cool people who have big ideas for homeschooling. The latest that Mom is interested in is a lady who has figured out how to do online classes with audio, not just digital. You can make $50,000 a year at this, teaching once-a-week classes to missionary kids all over the globe. At least, that's how they do it. Sound like fun, O High Queen?

As I said, my time is limited. Love to all, and I'll be posting regularly again from Friday on. Meanwhile, I think I'll go grab a suntan. Do you know how delightful it is to be able to sit in the sun for a change? You know what a fool I am for light and colors--well, plenty available to yours truly at Sandy Cove.

Basking in the Son...
Christy

Mayday!

Girls, come to my aid! My little brother Danya, whom I love with all my heart, has gone insane.
He is insisting that, when he proposes to his future wife, he will do so through the sole medium of the "Gaston Song" from Beauty and the Beast.

How in the world can his three protesting sisters talk him out of this lunacy?!?!?!

HELP!

The Forseeable Future, Barring Divine Acts

"Well then that's all right, best-beloved-don't-you-see." Davy said to no one in particular, as he sat one computer down from me at the office.

I smiled, and thought, "No, I'm really not the only one who does that."

It's nice to have crazy people around. I need them.

But oh, my dears!--Such a flutter! Here's the drill...

Tonight: two sets of cousins, complete with two complements of Nuncles and Aunties, are coming for a cookout/croquet bash (yes, we really are the sort of family that plays croquet. Stop laughing; we're good at it! :-P) and possibly a go at the volleyball net. Anyway, there will be lots of frolicking on our back lawn, which is, mercifully, a capacious one.

Tomorrow: laundry and packing, but, though I am scrupulous about laundry before a trip, I like to play chicken with my packing. So... packing might begin before midnight tomorrow. Also errands, etc.

Sunday Morning: Church! Church, church, church! Nuff said.

Sunday Afternoon: we head off to Sandy Cove, a conference which is actually in Maryland--gasp!--where Dad and Mother are conducting a seminar all next week. I'm fuzzy on the details--what else is new?--but gather that this place is a sort of resort/quasi-hotel on the beach, a retreat center for homeschoolers. I shall be bringing my office laptop, and will begin the momentous, the stupendous, the guaranteed-laugh-a-minute, Faux Vacation For Five.

Not kidding. I will be writing quizzes and exams, Mom and Dad will be teaching, Burgee and Churdee will be playing, and the boys, plus Jessica, have promised to join us for the 4th at least. I have no idea what the place looks like or where I shall find a spot in which to work equably, and don't know whether or not internet access is provided. That's partly why I'm bothering to post all this. But don't sob; you have the High Queen back, and the sun is not dark in your eyes.

Will I like it? As to the place, I don't know. I expect it will be pretty and pleasant; many conference locations are. As to the people: how could I fail to enjoy a week with my dear ones? I'll have to wear corporate casual a lot, but that's good training for this fall. I shall be back on or around the 9th, in time to admire Nate's new puppy (whom he has already named "Samwise") and do a bridesmaid's outing with Tope, and all such manner of things. July is going to be a whirl! Charity and I are putting on a caregroup dinner, and I have my winter skirts to sew, and so forth. I probably shan't breathe again until August, by which time I will wake up and realize, "hullo, it must be about time for school."

By the way, O High Queen, you are cordially invited to the first Evening Stroll of the semester, which is set to commence upon the first-and-twentieth day of the Augustan month, and shall probably be proceeded by an afternoon of reading aloud. Which reminds me, Ben and Jonathan, do you think you could extend the invitation to Master Nathan? I haven't got his email address. And we'll have to ask Joemoe, if they do not lie who say that he is to be back with us this fall. What fun! Joemoe throws such a mean frisbee, but he's a wonderful teacher of the art of the "little white disc."

Oh, by the way... since this is a tying-up-ends type of ramble, I will here answer the question which several people have asked me, viz, am I writing much in the way of fiction or poetry this summer?

No, I am not. I have written absolutely nothing of that nature since a little before I came home. I'm sure my style has fallen off as a result, and I know I'm getting sloppy. Nevertheless, I can do nothing. I have no heart for it, and haven't for months now. Sometimes you have to just live, you know? Sometimes you have to just hurt, or joy, or be sick or well, before words to describe these things will come to you. When they come, they are perfect, because born of deep experience; but it's no use forcing them. They are like the Longaevi--utterly untamed.

Speaking of whom, they are out of their dress-up phase and into something worse. It is their opinion that they are "grown up" now, and ought to be treated like adults. Help! Perhaps a week at the sea will do them good...