train of thought

it is so nice to have all this space (we moved to a bigger place-- come visit us. no really, i mean it)

and oh, how i am loving the breeze that blows through my kitchen window while i wash dishes.

and how at night, the moon sometimes appears right in the center of the frame.

i am so glad summer is here.

samuel has been wonderfully chill now that we are off the daily grind. it's nice to not be cracking the schedule whip.

i keep wondering what it would be like to homeschool.

lots of big families homeschool. (are we really done having kids?)

missionary families seem to have lots of kids.

there are lots of missionaries at lake nojiri.

only one month until our trip to japan.

it will be good to be there with everyone. to slow down more. to talk. to listen.

i wonder how much japanese the kids will use.

i wish i spoke japanese better.

maybe i should really consider studying it formally.

speaking of studying, i need to take a voice lesson. it has been awhile.

i am really enjoying the bits of singing i've been doing lately.

last wednesday was a recent highlight.

and everyone was so nice.

it's good to meet new people.

but i am really tired after those kinds of things. i'm not an extrovert in the true sense of the word.

speaking of tired, i need to go to bed.

kids asleep upstairs.

precious.

content.

for now

i don't have words to explain what went on friday night, but it was good.

so, so good in so many ways. like fitting back into pre-pregnancy jeans again. or sticking your toes in the warm sand after a long winter.

when i have more words, i'll explain.

tonight...

i will give my first recital in ten years.

right now, to be honest, i have a knot in my stomach. but at its entangled point, a mixture of excitement and nervousness resides.

i really like all of the music i'm singing. and i really like all of the people who say they are coming.

so mostly, i want to enjoy it and i want those present to enjoy it too.

can you say a little prayer for me?

listen

she was old.

and she looked so tired and worn, hunched over a pushcart full of odds and ends-- all of her personal possessions, i imagine.

this is the woman we strap hangers like to shut out with headphones and korans and library books and new yorker magazines and torahs and bibles and closed eyes.

but she started singing before i had time to figure out my blinders of choice for the commute.

and i found myself listening. her voice was strong, despite her frail posture. sad and ragged yet possessing some sort of undercurrent of deep joy.

anyway, i grabbed my phone before she moved on to the next car and was able to capture a little of it on my nifty recording app.

have a listen here.

loose

there were the sleepless nights. and the tears, oh the tears. and drool. it dribbled onto every shoulder of every shirt. then came two-in-the-morning ice cubes and soft plastic rings and fingertips dabbed in scotch on the sly, compliments of a desperate dad.

and then finally, it appeared.

that beautiful little white gem. when he smiled, it peaked out from his tender, pink gums, with big dreams of conquering bits of chicken and broccoli and pretzels. it made me giggle, that snaggley grin of his.

the first tooth of my first born, that was sure a sight to behold.

and now, over five years later, that long awaited pearly white hangs on by only a thread. he's been wiggling it since friday evening, marveling at its gradual loosening, telling me that this is a sure sign that he's growing up.

soon it will be tucked snugly under his pillow, replaced during the night with a shiny coin or two. and you can be sure that there will be more. that's how it always goes with things like this. like dominoes.

today, i looked intently at his big, wide mouth as he went on and on about something and i tried really, really hard to record what i was seeing, tried to store it away somewhere so that i will remember him this way with this little bit of babyhood still in tact.

but i know it will be blurry, my mind's eye. it just is.

and really, if i'm honest, i can say that those little teeth are starting to look kind of impractical in that big mouth. like if he wanted to eat a thick, juicy steak or something, they might just not be up for the job.

but oh, little snaggle tooth, even though you caused me so much grief in the beginning, it turns out that i'm really going to miss you.

so very much.

i'm kind of nervous about putting this out there, but...

would you like to come to a little recital that i will be giving next month?

leave a comment here or email me at tamisy at earthlink dot net and i will pass along more details. :)

acting and becoming

james and i watched Paris Je T'aime last night. so, so good, people. go watch it. it's a series of short films, featuring a variety of actors and directors in which stories are told about life in paris.

they are all good, but there is a line in Bastille that i so resonated with and i want to share:

By acting like a man in love, he became a man in love again.

this is a lesson i am learning, albeit slowly and awkwardly and painfully at times. a lesson that is learned only in the doing of things. not in the thinking or the dreading or the planning or the anticipating.

it's all about the doing.

there is a side of me that has always wanted to believe that my feelings have everything to do with the validity of my intentions. that in order for a tasty meal to be prepared or an eloquent prayer to be lifted or a beautiful song to be sung or a meaningful gift to be given, my "heart has to be right." that if i don't fully "mean it" in that moment of doing, then i might as well not do it at all. that somehow it isn't genuine at that point.

remember being a kid and being forced to tell someone that you love them or to apologize after you've done something hurtful? that is good practice, i think. (and not just for kids, i might add!). of course, the offending child generally says it begrudgingly, but that's ok. it's part of being human. it's part of learning that we can't always find the right feeling in us to carry out an act, one of love or patience or kindness or self control or goodness or gentleness or peace. those get buried in the muck of being a broken person. so instead of waiting for that feeling to come, we have to just step up to the plate and act like we're doing the right thing.

and in that continual process of going forth and doing it, regardless of how i feel in that moment, i start seeing that the doing changes me. and others. just like thomas cranmer says in that prayer. that the rewards come gradually in the process, not in a perfect and tidy end product. and i am learning that i can't always wait for all of my ducks to be in a row before i approach something because inevitably there will always be at least one waddling out of line.

routine

"do routine things well."

with kind firmness in his voice, a retired military man offered these words over the airwaves last sunday morning on the "This I Believe"
series that NPR has been doing.

and i have been thinking about them since.

my routine, do i do it well? as far as doing the work itself goes, i think for the most part, i do ok. beds are made, clothes clean, dinners prepared, stories read, faces wiped, dishes washed, shopping done, songs sung, prayers prayed.

but do i do it well?

isn't it true that when things are done with great intention, with real mindfulness, they are so much more rewarding?

take for example, how i go about reading to my kids. so often, i sight-read, that is, my eyes are scanning the words, my mouth is saying them, but i am totally uninvolved otherwise. however, when i actually read it along with them, taking time to follow the story, letting them interrupt me so they can offer their insight, bringing life to the characters in my voice, commenting on the illustrations, then the experience becomes a shared one, i have done my job better and we grow closer as a result.

so much of motherhood is about routine. well, really so much about being a human is. and really, it is a good thing. it is why i like the liturgy, i think. the routine is already prescribed, helping me to stay on track and to get things done. but from that place, from that constant current of the familiar, there is always an opportunity to expand on it, an open invitation to make it fuller and richer and better.

will i see an apparition in the dish soap bubbles any time soon? probably not. but when my sponge busily scrubs, if i could just try to give thanks more often for the grubby little hands that create those dishes bobbing around in my sink, maybe i will resent the work a little less each time, heck, i might even get better at it too. and maybe i will find that places like the kitchen sink are good starting points for encounters with the divine mundane, for doing the essential daily stuff better.

is this thing on?

holy moly.

has it really been almost three months since my last post?

true, i have been feeling quiet. i mean, it's not been a profound silence or anything. not the sort that might result from pain or secrecy or contemplative prayer or fear or sadness or deep reflection. i guess i just haven't had much to bring to the table here.

and also, there is that annoying little computer issue. the one that causes me to have two full memory cards. ones full of santa and twinkling lights and the opening of gifts and snow falling and a bathtub full of bubbly cousins and billboards and bare tree branches and splashing in a pool and mickey mouse and palm trees and grandparents and 3D glasses and husband making crazy faces and cute girl on couch in foam curlers.

oh, and that thing looming over us too. that might also have something to do with the silence here. it's of the life changing variety (sorry to be cryptic, friends). but you see, that thing still goes unanswered and so we wait. and i bite my tongue because what's the point in sharing news that really isn't news? whatever the outcome, it will be good. i say that not to cheer myself, but really because it's true. but the waiting part-- so hard. i am not good at waiting. i am the girl who started reading about birth plans the day she found out she was pregnant, who snuck into mom and dad's closet to dig through the christmas gifts hidden on the top shelf with the sweaters, who looked high and low in my then boyfriend's grad school apartment for a little velvet box (i later found out that he hadn't even looked at rings yet!).

so maybe that is why i haven't been here for almost three months.

but now that i'm here, i might as well tell you about a few things i'm digging these days. i know, this list thing-- it's pretty lame. but a girl's gotta start somewhere, right?

1. disney world. we had the best time with my parents and the kids. best.
2. "Big Love" on HBO. i am addicted to this show. do you watch it?
3. the book i am currently reading.
4. this recipe for blueberry muffins.
5. the new smell of our laundry because of this detergent.
6. seeing my beloved husband's hands and the back of his head in this commercial and thanking the people at tylenol for the generous mail they keep sending us.
7. more hours of sunlight.
8. sermons at my church.

that's what i got for now, reader. forgive me?

tooting my horn

i just need to say this:

i sang in front of a lot of people on sunday.

it was such a pleasure for me.

people liked it.

i got a paycheck.

chipping away over here, folks. little by little, i'm chipping away. :)

first sunday in advent

a little something to get you in the spirit.

i want to...

post some pictures here, click the publish button and call it a day, but i can't. our computer died. and since i can't exactly upload photos to the computer that i am typing on right now, one which belongs to the law firm for whom james does freelance work, i am faced with the task of writing something here instead.

but how? and what?

i want to tell you what i have been up to, about my lessons and how much i am learning. about the little job i took. about the paths that have crossed with mine recently. about the cracking open of something. about the things that have been made known to me in such obvious and grace-filled ways lately, ways in which i find myself periodically blinking away salty pools at the most mundane of moments. like when i later reflected on this gem of a conversation i overheard on the F train the other morning on my way to choir rehearsal for church:

old brooklyn guy number one: i tell ya, my wife had a heart attack when she was only forty six years old, God love her. and to this day, it confounds me how much she still wants to have sex with me. i mean, i gladly give it to her when she wants it, but every time i do, i'm afraid i'm gonna kill her!

old brooklyn guy number two: (long pause.) i never married.

old brooklyn guy number one: really? you don't know what you're missing out on. right now as we speak, my wife is waiting at mcdonald's to meet me for coffee. and just thinking about her, i mean it's like i'm seeing her for the first time or somethin'.


old brooklyn guy number two: yeah?

old brooklyn guy number one: yeah. it's the best thing-- marriage. (pause) well, if you wind up with the right one, that is. i got friends, you know, ones who ended up with the wrong one and it's absolute hell for them. hell. but i got lucky, you know. i'm a lucky man.

i listened to this very loud discussion on an otherwise very quiet and sleepy train last sunday, trying my hardest to avoid smiling and to appear as if i was dozing off. and then later in the morning as i was thinking about this funny exchange, i spotted my family coming in late through the doors in the back of the church. i then just happened to glance down at the folder of service music on my lap and saw these familiar words, words that no doubt i've sung many, many times:

"redeeming love has been my theme and shall be til i die."

hard to explain

(man on subway at dusk. november, 2008)



as he approached the first of many stops on our much anticipated trick-or-treating journey last friday night, just before getting to the stoop, samuel turned around and quietly but joyfully shared, "i have tears in my eyes, but i'm not so sure why."

and now, four days later, i know exactly how you feel, dear son of mine.

exactly.

trick or treat

a ninja warrior and his little princess sister



the best one i could snap of the squirmy cousins


getting candy


pretty jack-o-lantern display on a neighbor's stoop


james carved this ultraman max. pretty impressive, eh?


post trick-or-treating dinner with the ninja at a local diner

last night

window reflection. Bellfonte, PA. Oct. 2008





it was sort of like an airplane hitting a brief but powerful wall of turbulence.

that's the best way i can describe what i felt. like the ground under my feet was being pulled out from under me, my body following it down a split second later. in between, there was that disconcerting sensation of being suspended in mid air for a moment. then, a pit of dull sickness in my stomach.

the ceramic tub firmly under my feet once again, i turn the stainless steel knob and get out, the suds in my hair not yet rinsed. despite the fact that i have only a towel wrapped around me, my instinct is to rush outside onto the sidewalk. once there, i see before me my apartment building. i know in my gut that it's where i live, but it's totally unfamiliar to me. when i look very closely, i see that it is sinking ever so slowly, like the base of it is planted in a pool of quicksand.

i turn to the stranger next to me. "it's sinking," she tells me.

well, duh.

"but i need to go back in and get some things."

i start to panic about my camera, books, photos, letters. my clothes! oh my, i am standing on the sidewalk in only a small yellow towel in front of all my neighbors (though i can't say they look like anyone i actually know). i desperately want to hide, but the area around me is wide open and there is no place to duck into.

then, i glance up the block and i notice that the buildings to the left of mine look like a row of cell phone signal bars. from left to right, they get gradually taller, each one just a little further along in its descent than the next. mine is the tallest of them, but i know it will soon disappear into the pavement with the others and i am panicking.

"shouldn't the police be called? they could at least put some sort of yellow caution tape around the area so that nobody will get hurt," i say to the woman.

"i haven't seen any cops around here," she replies.

then i look again and i notice that there is a big patio next to my stoop. funny, but i never noticed it until now. on it, there are several picnic tables lined up where faceless men in straw hats are sitting on the attached benches. they are looking down, their hands busily playing some sort of game, i think. dominoes? or maybe it's cards.

"but what about those men? they will sink along with the building, won't they?"

"oh, those guys-- nobody seems to care much about them," she tells me.

comfort

since a few of you have told me that you enjoyed trying the last recipe i posted, i thought i'd share this one. i feel i should put some sort of disclaimer here though-- if you are a vegan or a serious calorie watcher, then you should read no further!

little sidenote: check the weather forecast before making your meal plan for the week. it was only after i had already done my shopping today that i heard it's supposed to be in the mid-seventies for the next several days.

oh well. somehow we all still managed to clean our plates tonight. :)


Ham and Potatoes Au Gratin

INGREDIENTS:
5 cups boiled potatoes, peeled and
cubed, cooked al dente (i like yukon gold)
2 cups diced cooked ham
1/2 cup minced onion
1 stick of butter
6 tablespoons all-purpose flour
3 cups milk
2 cups shredded sharp white cheddar
cheese
salt and pepper to taste
1 dash white pepper
Chopped fresh parsley

DIRECTIONS:
Combine potatoes, ham and onion in a greased casserole; set aside. In a saucepan, melt butter over medium heat; stir in flour until smooth. Gradually add milk; stirring constantly until mixture thickens and bubbles. Add 1 cup of cheese, salt and pepper; stir until the cheese melts. Pour over potato mixture and stir gently to mix. Top with remaining cheese. Bake at 350 degrees F for 20-30 minutes or until bubbly. Finish off under the broiler until cheese is golden brown. Let sit for 10 minutes before serving. Garnish with parsley and serve with a green salad.

*Tip: I purchase the ham from the deli counter and ask them for two slices (each around one inch thick).

election year

oh, brandon.

red-headed, only kid in the class with a single mom, glasses wearing, sort of shy, brandon. in nineteen-eighty-four, you and i were in the fourth grade together. you must remember mrs. anderson, right? with her frosted lipstick, her upturned pink polo collars, her feathered hair, her rotating invitations to let us sit at her desk during lunchtime, her cozy reading nook arrangement, complete with big velour pillows and squishy beanbag chairs. yes, that was a good year, fourth grade. well, except maybe for the accidental stapling of my thumb and the embarrassing film strip on how babies are made.

and the destruction of your mom's autographed walter mondale photo.

funny, but it just came to me yesterday, the fuzzy memory of ian o'mara taking a sharp object, something like an untwisted paperclip and pushing it across the surface of the glossy photo your mom had loaned to our class that fall for the presidential election bulletin board. i stood there and watched while his spitty little mouth curled up at the edges, squinty brown eyes following the jagged marks as they went back and forth quickly over the smiling face of a man who nobody's parents seemed to have anything good to say about that year. later in the day, when mrs. anderson discovered the damage to your mom's photo, she stood there before us indignant, saying something about how everyone has the right to their own opinion and just because you don't agree with it, doesn't mean you can do something hurtful like that. she looked right into our nine year old eyes and demanded that if any of us knew who did this, well then, that person ought to come forward and fess up right this very minute. God already knew our hearts anyway, she pointed out to us.

you looked down at the floor, brandon, tears spilling into the green wool carpeting below. and me--i just sat there, staring silently toward the front of the classroom, eyes glossing over the little wooden altar and its two candles and cross, the blackboard with long division scribbled across it, the bubbling fishtank, the drooping flag.

i'm sorry, brandon but people are flawed. we try our best not to be, but we just are. fourth-graders and grown-ups alike. we pull out our little paperclips and begin the scratching. we sit silently, looking at the blackboard.

september is here

girl playing in sprinkler, july 2008

the first of september usually has me feeling a little gloomy. afterall, its arrival means the closing of beaches, the draining of pools, the packing of lunches, the quickening of dusk, the preparing of early dinners, the waking of sleepy children, the longing for good strawberries, the competing for neighborhood parking spaces.

but this year, it's not all dark and doom. there's an anticipation in the mix, an eagerness for a shift that frankly has me stumped a bit.

and i wonder if maybe, just maybe, the arrival of september could also mean the growing of relationships, the reading of books, the singing of songs, the deepening of prayers, the taking of risks, the releasing of grips, the trusting of words, the gleaning of wisdom.

the embracing of change.

old ink

james copied this poem into the front cover of a journal he bought me twelve years ago. i found it in an old box the other day and had to share.

distance

eight hundred miles.

that's how far new york is from chicago. if you go by airplane, you can do it in around two hours. if you go by car with a five year old and two year old in tow, you can do it in three days.

but don't be deceived by the numbers. because you see, what the speedy and shiny airlines try to distract you from is that those three days on the road can be fun. really, really fun. you can sing harmony with johnny cash and roll down your windows. you can swim in motel pools and eat greasy roadside breakfasts. you can ride roller coasters and take the scenic route through elk country and buy fresh peaches from the hands that grew them. you can look in the rear view mirror at your sleeping kids and you and your husband can hold hands over the gear shifter, listening to the rhythmic bumps of the highway under your tires. you can wrestle and play tag at rest areas and feed quarters to machines to get icy cans of coke. you can put your fingertips to the cold wind and move your arm up and down, riding the gusty waves past wide fields dotted with cows and bales of hay. you can walk into little diners and eat strawberry rhubarb pie that makes you want to cry it's so good. you can wade in clay filled rivers and clink glasses with your kids at your ten year anniversary dinner. you can watch the sun make it's way from one end of the sky to the other and you can see the moon take its place.

and you can marvel at how you don't really deserve any of this goodness and yet it has been given to you. you can have the space to take it in and pray that some of the awareness will come home with you when you inevitably re-encounter the nitty gritty stuff.