We are back from a three day backpack trip,
a tradition that various cross-sections of our family
have sustained for the last 15 years.
We almost feel like we own the camp spot where we stay.
This is the view at dusk.
A photo essay will come soon.
I beseech Thee,
let not only my prayer
but my whole life,
my every act, thought, and word,
be a sacrifice to Thee today,
unblamable and worthy,
through the power of Thy Spirit.
Let the message of Thy Word
fill me with assurance
of the forgiveness of my sin;
let the counsel of Thy revealed will
point out to me the way I am to go;
let Thy Spirit give me courage and strength
to choose the good part every hour.
Hold me in oneness of faith
with my fellow-Christians
and let me be a salt that has not lost its savor.
Keep me Thine
for the sake of Thy Son,
my Redeemer.
Amen.
~ Thursday Morning page
from The Lutheran Book of Prayer
We do have rules.
No words - it's too distracting.
No jarring dissonance - it's too unpleasant.
There are only two of us at home now so
we try to play stuff we both enjoy.
In no particular order, here are our faves:
This is easily my most favorite violin CD in the world.
It's a pleasant mix of high, middle and low brow.
Fritz Kreisler's Liebesieid is worth the price of the CD.
On the whole, I really like the Adagio Series.
Sometimes the music is slow and loud.
I love Bach's Adagios, but there is too much
choral music, which disqualifies it for school.
When I saw the video of a blogger's daughter
playing in a string trio, I realized that there was
a huge hole in my CD collection. No string trios!
They play composers old (Albinoni) and new (Piazzolla).
Janie turned me on to Phil Coulter.
My husband insists that he will write words
to the Highland Cathedral tune to sing in church.
We have four Phil Coulter CDs which we play regularly.
This soundtrack from Ken Burn's series
is fabulous.
Make sure you understand:
I want Ashokan Farewell at my funeral.
What can I say? My son loves Pirates music.
Has all three.
The truth is, I like it too!
I adore Night Tracks.
When Collin's appendix ruptured,
I spent a week sleeping in the chair
next to the bed in the hospital;
we went to sleep every night
listening to this eclectic mix.
Another keeper.
This gem has Simple Gifts with Allison Krauss.
I used to want every CD
Yo-Yo Ma was on, but some of his latest stuff
isn't to my taste. It was a year ago that I saw
Yo-Yo Ma in person at Ravinia, fulfilling one of my life goals.
The Haydn concerto still rings in my head.
I highly recommend his two Appalachian CDs.
And the Baroque CDs.
And the Bach CDs.
And the Vivaldi CDs.
And the Dvorak Album.
And the Brahms.
I don't have his latest, Appasianato, but I bet it's good.
I couldn't find an image for Itzhak Perlman's Vivaldi.
Once The Four Seasons was playing in the background
when the phone rang. "That is the most beautiful
music I ever heard," the caller gushed.
Another tried and true winner has been a boxed set
I picked up at some box store.
Weekend Classics.
They are green.
I gave a set to a client when she got married,
because she loved to listen to them at my house.
Four discs, all perfect for tuning your mind.
Do you have a favorite (instrumental) CD?
Back then, the Outdoor Education Camp was an annual
highlight. Local home school families of different stripes joined
together, rented a primitive 4-H camp and focused on a period of history or a
specific topic to study. Costs were low,
friendships formed, and learning actually occurred. One year we studied the Constitution; a local
judge was a guest lecturer as well as a judge for a mock trial.
I was sitting across from a dad during lunch when his eyes watered
and he started to cough.
“Are you okay, Bob?” I asked. We made eye contact before he shook his head
and got up from his seat. He didn’t make
it seven steps when we realized that Something was Very Wrong.
“He’s choking,” I called out and the nearest man began the
Heimlich maneuver.
Instantly the dining hall was quiet, an intense quivering
quiet.
Terry thrust several times, to no avail. He kept at it, but it wasn't working.
“Lord God,” I silently prayed, “You just can’t let him die here
in front of all these children! Help us!”
Another friend darted into the kitchen and called 911. Mentally I rolled my eyes: we were 18 miles
from the closest ambulance, beyond a timely response.
“No, Nooo!!! Not my Daddy!” The daughter’s sobbing wail was the only
sound that broke through the strained silence.
Bob’s body was slumped forward and drool dribbled out of blue
lips. He repositioned Terry’s hands
higher on his abdomen before Terry thrust once again. The piece of carrot popped out, Bob’s face
pinked up, and everyone took a collective breath.
Though stunned, we paused and prayed, giving thanks for the deliverance.
Before the evening meal a paramedic gave us a talk on the Heimlich, a nice, clean, clinical echo of the real thing we had earlier witnessed. Two striking points embedded themselves on my psyche.
1. Because choking and gagging are queer, risky spasms of weirdness, our first impulse is for privacy and preservation of dignity. But in distress, isolation could become termination. Bob was headed to the bathroom. Had he made it there, he may have died. Isn't there a life lesson here? So often we are more concerned about shielding our distress from the eyes of others than (seeking and) receiving needed assistance.
2. When you are choking, you cannot talk. Communicate your problem by pantomime, hands pointing at your throat or encircling your throat. If you see someone choking, you need to talk for them. The first question is "Can You Breathe?" They can respond nonverbally to that question.
That noon after sanity was restored, we gathered together our stunned senses. There was a moment when the drama of it all absorbed all conversation. Soon a buzz began throbbing as everyone rehearsed their perspective of the story. A lot of food was left unfinished that meal.
A local reporter had spent a few hours at the camp that day and had joined us for lunch. After the dramatic interruption, a mom turned to him, picking up the thread of conversation and said, "As you can see, home schoolers tend to emphasize hands on learning!"
File this one under Lessons I Keep Re-Learning
Hydration is a key factor in maintaining energy.
Drinking lots of water is also a universal component
of every weight loss program I've seen.
The problem for me is when I'm just living...not, cough-cough, on a program.
I forget to drink water.
I get sluggish.
I sit.
Here's a TBOI (tasty bit of information).
Take your weight in pounds,
switch it to ounces,
divide by two.
That's how much water your body requires.
So, if you weigh 150 pounds,
drink 75 ounces a day.
"Says who?" you ask. I forget says who.
My best method (so far) to get it down:
Fill a gallon container almost full with water.
Add a block of ice (I use a 2 lb yogurt container).
Keep it in front of my eyes.
Drink.
How do you get your quota of water each day?
She found them at Costco in the refrigerated section.
They look like little circles of dough.
You heat a dry skillet, grill, pan, what-have-you.
Place the tortilla on the medium high heated pan.
After a short time, flip them over to the other side.
Be careful! The bubbles are pockets of steam.
These are perfect plain, better in burritos, fabulous in fajitas.
One you have fresh tortillas, you will never go back to the ones on the shelf.
The uncooked tortillas freeze well and must be refrigerated until cooked.
It's not health food, but in moderation they're not deal breakers (140 cals).
This fits right in with Mireille Guiliano's concept of sensible pleasure.
One of these puppies filled with grilled onions and peppers,
marinated grilled meat, lettuce and salsa is better than anything
you could possible get at Taco Bell. Muy bien!
Opening sentence of Vanity Fair: A Novel Without A Hero by William Makepeace Thackery: "While the present century was in its teens, and on one sun-shiny morning in June, there drove up to the great iron gate of Miss Pinkerton's Academy for Young Ladies, on Cheswick Wall a large family coach, with two fat horses in blazing harness, driven by a fat coachman in a three-cornered hat and wig, at the rate of four miles per hour."
This book was pleasant enough to listen to. If you have a pathological liar in your life, a person who, with wide open eyes, swears she is telling you the truth that you find out later are verifiable lies, you may find yourself more than a little amused at the dialog between Becky and anyone. A phrase or paragraph occasionally grabbed me, but mostly it was ho-hum. I much prefer Anthony Trollope.
On walks, in the car, in the garage, and other places, I listened to Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens.
Sigh. William Strunk, Jr. and E.B. White were born a century too late.
Dickens is dark. Dickens tends towards sentimentality. This go around with Oliver, I found myself a cynic, questioning elements of the storyline and a little miffed that our precious Oliver was so perfect. The good women in this story were smothering, cooing, schmaltzy, mushy pots of emotion. I have the distinct notion that I would not like an adult Oliver raised by one of these women. Yikes!
Dickens does has a way with words. I will continue to read or listen to Dickens just for his character's names. One name in this book always went past me when I read it, but when I heard it I laughed out loud. (It's too ticklish to put on the blog; he makes his appearance in chapter 9)
I often wished I had a notebook handy to write down one of Dicken's phrases.
Thackery writes about high society; Dickens about low society. I still prefer Anthony Trollope.
Chris has always had a keen sense of propriety, a kind and gracious heart, and a relaxed but courtly bearing; I started thinking of him as T.O.G. when he was five or six. No one calls him The Old Gentleman - this is all in my head - but it captures a part of who he is. Masculine modesty without improper prudishness.
Don't be fooled though. He's a magnet for fun; he laughs heartily and delights in practical jokes.
When I think about Chris it is always in the context of relationships. Old or young, very old or very young, he is good with people. I love to see him in the various roles he's been given: husband, father, son, grandson, boss, big brother, friend. He's nothing if not dependable. He's learned to work hard and God has given him success. Blessed (is) the man that fears Jehovah...
For those interested in homeschooling, I want to share his success to give you a different sort of encouragement. Chris always did well academically, but wasn't particularly brainy. He was a solid B+ student, an 89 per center. He did what was assigned to completion whether or not he enjoyed that subject. These are his strengths: he likes to work hard, he's great with people, and he enjoys learning new things.
He started working part-time for a manufacturer when he was 17, an entry-level job in which his fingernails got very dirty. He mastered that job, challenged himself, and kept at it. He was moved to another job and worked at that. His boss recognized his native abilities, appreciated his attitude, and tacitly put him through an informal management training. Marrying the boss's daughter wasn't part of the scope and sequence, but Chris applied for that position and was granted permission. This spring when a retirement opened up a foreman job, managing the assembly plant, Chris was the man the managers thought best suited for the job. He is highly respected by both his subordinates and his superiors.
He doesn't have a college degree. I don't either. I have often wished I had. When people suggest I go back and get a degree, I laugh and say, "Then I'd have to study whatever they require, and I don't want to take Abnormal Psychology, thanks all the same." I'm not against a university education. But I want to go on record saying it's not necessary for success.
We've always chanted the mantra: we're raising our sons to be lifetime learners. We're giving them the tools with the hope that they will continue. I see that happening with Chris. He will never read Virgil in Latin, but he just roofed his steep 1920's roof. He won't discuss Quantum Theories, but he will counsel people in need. He started reading his son Winnie the Pooh at about 18 months. He opens his home to others, leads his family with confidence, loves his Grandpa and Grandma, and he always has a smile and hug for his mom!
Happy (belated) Birthday, my Hoffer. You make your dad and me happy and grateful parents, you bring us joy all our days.
Wednesday Words
"In the eighteenth century, scientists became interested in a kind of substance found in all living things that acted differently from all other substances. If a fluid like blood or egg white was heated, it did not become a boiling liquid like water or oil. Instead, it became a solid. And, if this was not strange enough, once changed to a solid, it could never again become a liquid. Nothing could be done to return blood or egg white to its original liquid state. It did not take scientists long to realize that this strange material that changed permanently when heated was the very basis of all life. For this reason, they named it protein meaning, of first importance."
Kenny, our nice neighbor and friendly mail carrier,
walked up to our door with letters in his right hand;
then, in a dramatic gesture, he pulled out of bundled pile of packages from his bag.
"Wow!" I exclaimed, "I've hit the jackpit!"
I was so excited for ten seconds that I couldn't think of the correct word.
Only one of these is an assignment for school.
I'm excited about each title.
Hat Tip to Deb for turning me on to Gervase Phinn,
'The James Herriot of schools...'
PaperBackSwap: it's a beautiful thing.
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