a simple yarn

I find that there is usually a blip of good behaviour from the children in that brief time period between my return from a trip and resumption of ‘normal’ life. And so, we are in that a blip of time…

So it happened that today, we as a family, began to reminisce about the kids when they were small. ‘Remember when…’ started most of our sentences. And being on a roll, we then pulled out old digital tapes and had an impromptu home movie hour, watching our little ones when they were littler still. Pudgy cheeks, unsteady feet, first words.

It is difficult to remember these events as they happened in real life, the memories more often being formed by the images captured on tape, or so said Daughter-Kate. As for Son-Alex, he couldn’t believe that the events were true at all, but rather fictitious, not having any memory of them.

The most interesting memory to be revealed was the excitement and care of Older-Sibling-Kate toward Younger-Sibling-Alex when he came into our family. And so the impression of familial harmony was made on now Barely-Tolerant-Sister-Kate and Bothersome-Pesky-Brother-Alex.

Later in the day, I awoke from afternoon napping to find Kate and Alex in a most extraordinary activity, playing a board game peacefully and contentedly…..together.

The miracle of walking down memory lane.

Perspective, noun…a particular attitude toward or way of regarding something; point of view; true understanding of the relative importance of things; a sense of proportion.

I don’t know what I would do if I met the President of the United States. I’m sure my knees would knock a bit. I’d probably worry about clammy hands. I might find myself battling to keep the butterflies contained in the general stomach area. I’d also be inclined to bump into or trip over a Secret Service agent.

And today, I found myself in a similar….yet very different….situation. For you see, today I met the Prime Minister of Ireland. Head of state. Leader of Irish government. Big kahuna.

Flutterings? No. Sweaty palms? Huh-uh. Stutterings? Nope.

And with a very casual air, An Taoiseach Bertie Ahern, visited our humble school Autumn Fair.

Security detail? No. Bodyguard? None to be found. Protection of any kind? Huh-uh. Entourage? Nope. I can’t imagine that happening in the US. It’s a difference in the Irish perspective.

He mingled among the people. Shook hands. Smiled for cameras. Listened to grass roots lobbying. All hoping to change his perspective.

I heard one mother admonishing her young son that whether or not he appreciated the man himself, the child should at least respect the office. Hmmmm….a parent trying to change her offspring’s perspective.

So, I’ve added a second entry to my few-and-far-between-brush-with-fame-sightings. And as I’ve vacillated back and forth because I determined I’d never publish a photo of myself on this blog, I’ve decided to go ahead….needing to change my perspective.

Bertie and me

As a child, I remember the what-seemed-to-me-endless stream of television commercials for furniture polish that cleaned without adding a waxy buildup. Funny I can’t remember the name of the product…was it Pledge? Anyway, I’ve been experiencing a bit of buildup lately…

And due to the slowness and steadiness in building up this ‘life wax’ as it were, it has not been apparent until seeing it in retrospect, that I’ve been burning that candle at both ends.

Too many commitments.
Some were unavoidable and some are of my own doing. Right, time to put back a little more margin in my life. October will probably be hectic, but will work toward a calmer end of the year.

Too much caffeine.
The lovely end-of-the-day cup has had a few unconscious addendums including the morning-before-working cup and the chatting-with-friends cup (or two). No wonder my head throbs.

So, this morning while still in a horizontal position and being served lovely toast and decaffeinated tea by my daughter-who-would-do-well-in-the-hospitality-trade, I
Did not cook.
Did not knit.
Did not weave.
Did not do emails.
Did not get out of bed for quite a while.

And to clean away some of the wax buildup, I
Read.
Pondered.
Prayed.
Napped.
Read some more.
Napped some more.
Had more decaf tea without a cappuccino in sight until this evening when Husband-Will and I will savour one decaf cup.

Oh sure, after one day of real rest, the wax buildup is not entirely gone (contrary to what most TV adverts would lead you to believe!), but still, it’s a step in the right direction…

From 1976 to 1982, Leonard Nimoy hosted a television show called ‘In Search Of…™ exploring various mysteries. And so the show started with this disclaimer, ‘This series presents information based in part on theory and conjecture. The producer’s purpose is to suggest some possible explanations, but not necessarily the only ones to the mysteries we will examine.’  And so, with similar disclaimer, I search for ‘the thing’.

I truly envy those people who have found their ‘thing.’ A friend, after taking a course in life coaching, made the declaration that she had finally found her thing. All of the tumblers in life’s lock lined up with this particular ‘key’ and it clicked with her. Likewise, when Fibre-Friend-Holly took up spinning she, too, found her ‘thing’, although I think she’s got a lot of ‘things,’ many areas where she excels.

So, the natural question I ask myself is: what is my thing?

With the amount of time I have needles and yarn in my hands, my children might say that knitting is my thing.

My husband would like to think (after all that trouble to deliver the loom) that weaving is my thing.

After the chuckle about the eBay wheel purchase, my knitting friends may now believe that spinning is my thing.

Keeping in contact via the internet, my family in the US might say that blogging is my thing.

After going on and on about it, Arthur-The-Cappuccino-Barista-Guy, might think that coffee is my thing.

Watching the organic veg van deliver our produce, our neighbours might be convinced that eco-living is my thing.

But, no. As much as I enjoy every one of these activities, I cannot say that any one of them is ‘my thing’….that endeavor which centres me, providing ultimate satisfaction that cannot be found in other activities.

So am I to go through life ‘thing-less’, Jack-Of-All-Trades-Master-Of-None, destined to be a dabbler?

Well, yes.

And is that bad?

Well, no.

I like the challenge of learning new things, previous ignorance being replaced by new understanding, even if the understanding is limited.

And so I reconcile myself to never being a master knitter, weaver, spinner, dyer or coffee barista. I will never have a small holdings where our family lives entirely off-the-grid. I doubt that I will ever earn an advanced degree in any field of study. But ya know, I will enjoy unlocking the mysteries of life as I come upon them. And such a renaissance view to being ‘thingless’ may indeed be ‘my thing.’

I realise that I talk about my daughter frequently. And I realise that I’m the mother of a son as well. No favouritism. She and I have the fibre connection. If I need a ‘wheeling and dealing’ connection, then we call in Son-Alex.

He has this inexplicable ability to go to school with the normal, everyday school life items…pencils, erasers, parers, books and a lunch. What he comes home with will include more than one of the latest school-boy treasures!

I never bought my ‘Salesboy-In-Training’, any Yu-Gi-Oh trading cards. But before I knew it, he had a stack of ‘em in his hands, trading and swapping at the speed of light. How’d he get his first one?

‘Where’d you get that?’ I ask, pointing to the stack of cards.
‘I swapped for it,’ is the standard reply.
‘How d’ya get so many?’
‘I traded stuff.’
‘Like what?’ (waiting to hear that he no longer had socks or a jacket!)
‘Oh…I don’t know…nothing much…..sharpened pencils, I guess….’

So my kid is acquiring boyish gold by swapping common everyday school supplies. No wonder we don’t have any writing implements in the house!

I have to say, as objectively as I can, that I don’t see bullying tendencies in Son-Alex to increase his assets. Rather, he’s generally happy-go-lucky-with-a-smile-on-his-face, except when the emotional storm clouds brew, burst with brief showers, and the smile comes out again. And so he wins friends by his overall likeability, all the while adding to his stack of cards.

What’s ironic about what I see is to remember the early days with the boy, and the general countenance of his face:

I had no idea that this somber, serious toddler would burst into pure-energy-in-speech-and-motion as a schoolboy!

Yet I wonder, as most moms do, what he will become as he gets older? Every now and again, the curtain masking the future seems to be pulled aside for a quick peek at what my boy will be when he’s grown, but still I find myself curious to see how his amazing ability with names, his quickness of thought, his impulses and compulsions, his lightning-quick-temper-and-tongue will blend together in future.

And I have to ask myself what will he be wheeling and dealing? I guess I’d better hide the pencils.

It is perhaps an overused analogy, but a true one nonetheless, that it is the dark threads of the tapestry that give depth to the woven work, much like the darker times in our lives give depth to our character. I do not suppose it will surprise you that our recent ‘death in the family…even if only a pet…gives cause for today’s reflection…

And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.
‘The first day’ after yesterday’s trauma has been a better day. Outside the sun is shining and the rain clouds have passed. The kids have had a good night’s sleep and in the daylight things don’t seem so bleak.

Kate has spoken when she needed to share. She has wept when she needed to cry. She has found solitude when she needed to be alone. She had foresworn ever having another rabbit, but now speaks of perhaps a gray bunny ‘next time.’ Today she has smiled, even laughed. A very healthy walk through childhood grief.

Is it because she’s a kid and kids are seemingly so resilient? Perhaps in small measure, but I believe it is more that she believes life is not left to chance nor fate nor a capricious being dealing out pain in some cosmic experiment, but simply that God is good and He is infinitely capable of caring for her, in happiness and tears, light threads and dark, joys and sorrows.

With childlike trust, and because there is no reason not to, she takes Him at His word when He says, ‘Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows.’ (Second Epistle to the Corinthians, chapter 1, verses 3-5)

So, Daughter-Kate-Who-Also-Does-A-Bit-Of-Blogging, wants to get a picture of her rabbit, Fern, in a ballet costume.

Not going to go down that bunny trail, as it were, of storytelling. But, if I were truly a good teller of tales, I could weave a great yarn all about that. However, I’m not. Actually, I was more interested in, and frankly sidetracked by, her comments. They went something like this…

‘Mom, can I take a picture of Fern in a ballet outfit?’

I know I should encourage my children in their creativity when the mood strikes, but being a realist, I heard myself say, ‘Wellll….I foresee a couple of challenges (didn’t say problems….didn’t want to put her off). First, we don’t have a ballet costume that would fit Fern and secondly, even if we had one, I don’t think we could get her to put it on.’ (I didn’t tell her that there was no way on this earth that I was going to chase a rabbit around the back garden trying to get it into a tutu!)

Not to be dissuaded, she replied, ‘That’s okay, we can just Photoshop it.’

Photo courtesy of Daughter-Kate with camera phone
Now, I’m not a deep philosophical thinker and I don’t have many metaphysical moments and I know she was just doing a little computer-aided-problem-solving, but I was boggled by her apparent disregard of reality and the ease with which she was willing to alter it. Guess I shouldn’t be…she’s a 21st century kid.‘Just Photoshop it….’ It doesn’t matter that there won’t be an actual bunny wearing a leotard. But, there will be an illusion of it and that’s all she needs.

Right, don’t want to limit my kids’ creativity….want to foster an imagination without boundaries…want them to be firmly grounded…and realise that I’m probably saying that from my 20th-century-mindset.

I know that’s true because I’m re-thinking ways to get Fern into that tutu….

Perhaps it’s better said, ‘To have or not to have….that is the question.’

Alas, our time at the country lodge has come to an end and we return to our own little house in the city. We say good-bye to endlessly wide green spaces and hello again to overlooked gardens where hushed conversations are necessary, preventing neighbouring tongues from wagging. Sorry to go? Not really. A lovely place to visit but, you know, I like the wagging tongues and the little garden and the cozy house. Suits our family.

And so I toss an appreciative nod to the family-motto-engraved-plaque-on-the-wall…

Parma Domus, Magna Quies
Small House, Great PeaceLikewise, I reflect on my spinning experience also saying good-bye to Holly’s spinning wheel. Thoughts begin forming along the lines of ‘I need a wheel…gotta get a carder….what else should I have?’ So easy to accumulate. Much harder to de-accumulate. Necessary tools are good. But what is necessary?

Case in point….carding. Very nice drum carder on eBay. Reasonable price, so far, but a few days to go in the auction. Wouldn’t it be handy? Quite a nice tool….

The mental ‘push me-pull you’ begins. But, simplicity ultimately wins the day.

Realistically, unless I’m going into full-time spinning even a reasonably priced couple of hundred quid is too much. Thus, the downsized option, hand carders. Suits the budget. Suits the pace of my fibre production. Suits me.

To b(ake) or not to b(ake)…that is the question in our household…

This past Sunday witnessed a miracle in our family. My children don’t often want to do a group baking thing, but on this day, Daughter-Kate said, ‘Can we bake cookies together, Mama?’ What mother doesn’t have sentimental pangs that reverberate through her heart at the lovely, idyllic picture that paints? A mother lovingly working alongside her two children on a beautiful Sunday afternoon…….

When the mist and fog from the dream drift away, I am left with the reality of Daughter and Son bickering to see who can put in the sugar, who can turn on the mixer, who can measure the flour, who got more chocolate chips to taste…..(can’t hear for the throbbing in my head.) And usually, they lose their enthusiasm before the first batch is in the oven and I am left alone amongst the whirlwind mess. Sigh.

But as I said, miracles do happen. The children and I baked chocolate chip cookies together….no arguing…..extreme cooperation….no reprimands…..no headache. And the only ‘disagreement’ was which was better, baked cookies or the dough.

In our family, we desire Sunday to be a day of rest and reflection and as today is Sunday I am reflecting on how we spend our Sundays…

I love Sundays. For us, it is one day out of seven to replenish our bodies and renew our minds after we’ve been dashing about the other six. I love the intentionally slow pace…the peace…the quiet…okay, not always quiet when there are two children in the house.

Agenda-free
There is nothing to accomplish on a Sunday. Meandering, napping, listening to music, reading, sitting, pondering. It’s all about being, not doing, so whatever we are drawn to that day is where we find ourselves.

Kitchen-free
We all know where the fridge is and it’s well-stocked for foraging. And we clean up after ourselves so it’s ‘dish-free’ for me.

Squabble-free
It’s a day that is ’set apart’ out of the ordinariness of life, so we try to leave pettiness outside to enter our house another day (usually Monday morning!)

Techno-free
Mobiles off, breaking the compulsion to be ever-connected to the world.

Well, even as I reflect on how we spend our Sundays, I’m describing more the ideal of it than how it always occurs on a weekly basis. Life still happens…birthday parties, bored kids, forgotten laundry.

(I have to break in on myself here because in the constant humour of life, I’ve had to interrupt my reflections to help Kate with her newly-acquired bunny and its indoor poo-fest, unload the dishwasher as new dishes are piling up, and intervene between Kate, Alex and their DVD choices! How ironic! Ha!)

Even so, as we desire it, so we pursue it and as a family, I think, have benefited from it. And so I think I’ll finish by sharing a peaceful scene found in the National Gallery of Ireland made famous by Johannes Vermeer around 1670 for you to reflect on on this Sunday.