The lunch bell rang at 11:30.  My fifth-grade teacher dismissed the class. I put my sweater on, picked up my cello and navigated my way through the crowded hallway.  As I crossed from the dark interior to the bright sunshine my mind swept through the corners of the morning looking for a scrap of a story to tell my mom. Since Danny had moved up to Jr. High, I had my mom all to myself during lunch.

I moved slowly down the sidewalk, stopping every ten paces to change the clumsy cello to the other arm.  A tune went through my head and came out with a hum. Turning left at Elizabeth Street, I looked up and saw my dad a block ahead at the edge of the school property.  He stood still as a sentinel, shoulders slumped. 

"Dad!"

I hitched the cello closer to my body and broke into an exhuberant trot.   Never before had I seen my dad in the middle of the school day.  One by one he had taken my six older siblings out of their classes, had broken the news to them and had brought them home.  For this final breaking, he waited for me to come to him. Out of breath, I set the cello down and gave him a hug. 

"How's Mom?  Did you bring her home from the hospital?"

His face was tired granite.

"Honey, I have some bad news."

It wasn't his solemnity that struck me; it was the absence of any movement.  I looked up with questioning eyes.

"Carol, Mommy is in heaven with Jesus."

I stared at him, completely stunned.

"She died very early this morning."

He picked up the cello and we began the two block trek towards home.  We had passed two houses on the left when I protested.

"Wait, Daddy.  You said it was bad news.  But if she's in heaven with Jesus, that's good news, isn't it?"

For the first time the muscles in his face moved.  He smiled down at me wordlessly.  While I couldn't comprehend that my Mom was dead, I could see the grief that had already moved into his eyes; I could sense him pulling into himself.   Flitting back to my own concerns, my mind reminded me of a problem.

"But I wanted to tell  Mom that I got an A on my spelling test."

I didn't ask for details.  There was something in his demeanor which spoke the truth.  My next impulse was to lighten his load. 

"Daddy, let me carry the cello.  Please, Daddy.  Please...let me carry the cello for you."

He shook his head as we continued to walk.  We turned right onto Greenfield Avenue in silence.  Our heads bowed in surrender to the heavy weight as we trudged the rest of the way home.  The house was as quiet and still as my father had been. 

As we approached the porch, I bounded up the steps, remembering my news.

"Mom!  I got an A.................."  My voice broke off as the news dangled in midair. 

Semper ubi sub ubi.

One of the moments in our Latin class was when all the young students laughed at this and our beloved teacher, a giant in the academy, scratched his head and looked confused. 

You see, it makes no sense in Latin.

Only beginning students understand this. 

Semper (last syllable sounds like air) = always
Ubi (the vowel sounds in movie) = where
Sub (sounds like tube) = under

Get it?

                     ~    ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~ 

Let's switch to French.  The following is gibberish in French. 
Instead of the transliteration above, it is more a transcription of sounds. 

If you've never studied French, here are Carol's easy rules of French pronunciation:

See if you can make sense of this.  You really need to speak this aloud, even if you are at work.

I first read this in 1983 and laughed myself silly.  Now when I hear the English version, I speak along, in my head, with its Fr'anglais counterpart.

                     ~    ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~ 

Last one, folks.  Same idea as above.

If you figure these out, leave a comment.  Happy Thursday!

[Added later: I decided to resurrect my French which has been resting in peace since 1975.  If you want to **hear** me recite these pieces, it might make more sense.]

Oh, how badly I want to give the quick Sunday School answer: "To glorify God and enjoy Him forever."  That answer is not entirely untrue; however, if I am honest the answer is more complex, more self-gratifying.

Indulge me in a bit of personal history. My brother Danny introduced me to reading blogs. On one of his annual visits he brought a file of his favorite online links and installed them on my computer. He's hot into reformed theological controversies, cooking, techno-gadgets and blogs. He knew I've been reading, drooling over, and collecting George Grant's writing for years (I have a huge binder full of his book reviews from World Magazine) and showed me how to read his stuff online. It was a quick transition from reading » commenting » writing my own posts. 

So why do I blog? 

1.    I have a show-and-tell personality. Whenever I've read an excellent book or listened to incredible music, my joy is not complete until someone has read it or heard it and agrees that it is excellent. If you came to my house today, I'd ask if you'd like to see my _______ (silverware drawer, garden, guest room, whatever). I'm trying to get beyond foisting a book on some unsuspecting victim/friend and promising them they will Absolutely Love It; but that impulse will never be eradicated. 

2.   To improve my writing. Thoughts and phrases float across my brain, but getting them onto the screen in a readable form is good exercise. I need an editor, big time, but people are not standing in line to offer their services.

3.  To encourage other people. We all have our little sphere of influence; I try to use mine to share quotes, books, prayers, pictures, recipes and music. Truth, beauty and goodness surround us and I like to point them out. 

4.  It's good intellectual stimulation. This refers to reading other blogs and following their links to other stories. My world has expanded in  fabulous ways. Even if it's just exposure knowledge, I've learned much that is useful in the last three years.

5.  To develop friendships. It's very odd, especially to the analog personality, but I've made some dear friends online. It's really amazing to read someone else's journal and recognize yourself. My husband tends to scratch his head as I quote one of y'all. Which one is this? he asks with a note of confusion. 

What's wrong with blogging?

1.   Time, Where Did You Go? My clock ticks away like nobody's business when I'm online. Dana suggested a using timer and I'm becoming more convicted that I need to. Time spent blogging is time not spent fulfilling the responsibilities which we have been given. Could you argue against that last sentence? I'd sure like to hear your argument so I could use it for myself. 

2.    Incomplete disclosure. When I blog, I filter what I want you to know about me. You do the same thing, don't you? Of course, discretion is always called for, but, all the same, I'm putting my best face forward. I am thankful that real people that I really know read my blog. It helps me to combat hypocrisy.

3.    Isolation. I am more convinced each day that life needs to be lived within the context of covenant community. It is too easy to plug into the computer and zone out the people who are in the physical now. I try, emphasis on try, not to blog when my husband is home so I can be present with him. 

4.   Misplaced priorities. Since I really do enjoy blogging, thinking about how and what to write is often at the forefront of my mind. "My public needs me" has been a joke in our family for decades. My toilets need me too, but I don't view them like I view you, my dear reader. 

5.   Unlimited scope. When my oldest son began to read, I devised a plan to check out each and every picture book in our public library. After a few months I asked myself, Why? I had assumed every book the library offered was worth reading.  I used to be impressed with four pages of blog links, until I realized that it was the same fallacy. I'm content to limit myself to a small group of daily reads, a larger group of weekly reads and another folder of occasional glances. There are many extraordinary blogs which I miss and that's Okay.

Why do you blog? Or, why do you read blogs?

(P.S. Thanks, Mel, for holding my feet to the fire. I appreciate it...and you.)
 

While my bread is baking, I jumped online to see how some big happenings went with my online friends.  Oh my!  Between Cindy's son's wedding, Donna's daughter's graduation and Janie's 30th anniversary, I'm limp from emotion.

My older daughter-in-law and I had a funny phone conversation about weird stuff people eat.  She hadn't known about my not-so-secret weirdness: I eat non-instant dry milk powder.  Put some in a mug, get a spoon and lick away while I read.   When I was a child that was all we could find to nosh on one day and it just stuck.  Weird, huh?

We talked about people who eat butter: take a stick from the fridge and start taking bites.  Ewwwwh!

But my DIL had the best story:  a friend of hers used to eat bananas dipped in mayonaisse! 

What's the weirdest thing you eat?