Janie, one of my heroes, introduced me to reading challenges.  She persuaded me to make a plan.  And my reading has been strongly influenced by her recommendations.  With great interest I’ve watched her transition from homeschool mom to full-time teacher. 

I can commiserate with Janie more now that I’m also working full-time.  I cannot “not read”.  Unthinkable.  Right now, though, I cannot read my daily quota of 50 pages before I’m drooling and nodding and waking with a jolt. 

I had thought this would be my Summer of Southern Literature.  It sounds grand and glorious–like something Scarlett would say–, but I think I need to wait until the season of staying home returns when I can sit in an Adirondack chair and sip iced tea on my yet-to-be-built patio.      

Since I’ve joined   I’ve filled my Wish List to the maximum 200 books and get a new book or two every month.  But I have too many books in my house right now!  How I hate to admit this (I am my father’s daughter), but…..I’m double shelving. 

So my first rule for the Summer Reading Challenge 2009 is:

1.  Read books on my shelves.

The good thing is that I have several books which I want to read, but I don’t necessarily want to keep.  Paperbackswap indicates books I have that are also on other people’s wish lists.  So I can read and release.  Which means more shelf space.  Thus, the next rule which is a general principle, not an exclusive rule:

2.  Read books I’m willing to release.

My shelves have dozens of worthy books which I began but did not finish.  I know that it is unrealistic (and foolish) to vow not to read any new books until I’ve finished all the books I’ve started.  Especially since

  and     are due to arrive next week. 


And our dear friend sent us      and   

But I’m willing to live within the ratio of 2 finishes to 1 new.  Currently I am reading D-Day June 6, 1944: The Climatic Battle of World War II, which I had hoped to finish before June 6th!   Which gives me three easy rules.

3.  Finish two partially-read books for every new book I read.

~     ~     ~

Summer Reading Challenge 2009

    

   

Happy Summer Reading, Friends!

 
Seeing Eric Bibb in concert was one of the great moments of 2008, a magical evening.  We still reference it often, it was that engaging.  My 18 yr old Collin checks Eric’s schedule on a regular basis to see if we could see him again before we die .  Eric spends more time in Europe than he does in America.  The snowy January night in Sandpoint was such a gift, it seems greedy to want more.  But a gig at the Sweet Onion Festival in Walla Walla, WA  (I do love how that flows off the tongue…Walla Walla) popped up on Eric’s schedule and we. are. going. 

This is what you need to do.  Go to Eric Bibb’s website and you can hear seven tracks from his latest album.  If unaccompanied acoustic guitar rocks your socks, listen to Track 6: I Shall Not Be Moved.  I particularly like the gospel-ish arrangement of If Our Hearts Ain’t In It and the love ballad Pockets.

Evening with Eric Bibb remains our favorite Bibb CD, with Diamond Days running a close second.  The train of Bibb fans is picking up speed and gaining more passengers daily.  Get on board!

Oh my.  Around Easter, a friend produced a video of greetings for Isaiah, a young man in our church who survived a 350 ft. roll-over accident with critical head injuries and an extended coma.  As my friend ran the camera I told Isaiah I missed his faithful service with the sound system.  I also said I looked forward to the day he would be back with us, but got choked up and had to force the words through throat blockage and tears.

There were tears again today.  Tears of rejoicing.

Today, my friend, Isaiah was in church with us.  It’s incredible.  It’s unbelievable.  It’s a miracle.  Isaiah is back home, walking around, a little more quiet than usual, but ready with a smile.   He joined the guys on the lawn for a game of Frisbee.  He throws a mean Frisbee, but has a harder time catching it. 

He doesn’t remember the accident on March 31st or the first hospital.  He says his first thoughts when he woke up were that he was glad to be alive and thankful to God for preserving his life.

After the service I was chatting with Isaiah’s mom and noticed her pretty necklace.  She turned the pendant around and it had the word HOPE on it.  Her husband bought it for her the day after the accident. 

Isaiah–and his family–have more hills to climb.  He will continue therapy twice a week.  His father will tutor him in academic subjects.  The next glorious event is the wedding of his older brother at the end of the month.  Isaiah, of course, is in the wedding.

Right now, he is a walking display of God’s kindness.  Our hearts are swelling with thanksgiving.

Our friend Steve was describing a birding trip he recently enjoyed.  In real life he doctors most of our family, but he is a credentialed ornithologist and a hoot to be around.  My husband, a bird-watcher from way back, can appreciate the rarity of a grackle sighting in our valley, and show proper enthusiasm.  Me — I sit back on my perch and enjoy their chat even though most of it flies over my head.   

Then Steve rocked my nest by casually mentioning there are dialects in birdsongs, a fact proven by sonograms of the songs.  There are variations between different parts of the country, but there can even be a variation from one valley to the next.  Why does that fizz and sizzle in my bird brain?  Does anyone else find that Absolutely Fascinating? 

I jumped on Google to scratch around.  And promptly ordered The Singing Life of Birds: The Art and Science of Listening to Birdsong (which comes with a CD).  Reviews of the book here.  I gleaned some quotes from an NPR story about Don Kroodsma and this book.

This is our crazy Quinn at the original wedding site.
Before. the. ceremony.

We’re getting to be specialists in the area of sudden wedding venue changes.  Each “crisis” is an opportunity to see God work wonders.  I’m re-winding and re-viewing the details, both dazed and amazed at our Quinn and the infusion of grace in her life. 

The wedding and reception were to be at a private home, complete with a rolling, lush lawn, towering trees, a gurgling brook, and a photogenic foot bridge.  The preparations had been made and it was going to be a wedding worthy of a magazine spread. 

The back-up venue in case of rain was the Thunder Room, the “watering hole” at the rodeo grounds.  Think neon Coors Light signs, a dark and dusty den of a room, garage doors on four walls, piles of portable metal fencing, open rafters.  The Cowgirls bathroom was gulp! a twelve-seater, non-flush toilet.  The bar (kitchen) area didn’t have a sink or running water. The whole thing was tacky times twelve.

It rained all week.  The afternoon before the wedding we had a sudden downpour, the kind that produces flash floods.  It rained during the rehearsal.  It wasn’t raining the morning of, but the weather report said 70% chance of rain.

A decision needed to be made and it was the bride’s call.   Should we chance it; gamble (if you will) that we’ll stay dry?  How would we coordinate the expected 350 guests in a downpour? 

(The groom and) Quinn decided to bring the wedding inside without a tear, a pout or a grump.  She willingly gave up her picture book wedding and rejoiced that at the end of the day she would be married to the man she adored.  She took the weather as a gift from the Father’s hand.  She kept the big picture in mind and refused to be dismayed. 

Everybody swung into action, moving all the rented chairs and tables, cleaning, setting up, notifying guests, etc.  The Thunder Room was transformed.  My daughter-in-law worked her magic with flowers, Japanese lanterns and an eye for all things beautiful. 

Redemption was on display.  The transformation of the building was an inadequate reflection of the changes that have taken place in our beautiful Quinn.  She’s been to the Thunder Room many times: this was the best event she’s ever had in that room.

Quinn still walked down to Amazing Grace (only time for two verses); the shotgun shoot was canceled.   And when the rain pounded the roof while folks were eating, family and friends smiled; the wisdom of the choice was validated.

I’m headed out the door to focus on the wedding of my dear friend Quinn.  My talented and wonderful daughter-in-law is already started on the flowers.  Her sister is coordinating food for 350 (my friends and I are making the yummy Artisan Bread). 

Two absolutely wonderful things:  The bride is coming down the aisle to Amazing Grace.  No dry eyes, friend; no dry eyes. 

And this from the invitation:  Kindly bring shot guns, shells and clay pigeons to start off the reception. 

You know you live in Eastern Oregon when a Shot Gun Weddin’ means skeet shooting.  Quinn will be showing off her sharp-shooting!

See ya on the other side…