Our poem is late this week. The temperature has turned and fall has really come to Minnesota. We bravely wore our shorts on Saturday one last time and the next day had to take our coats out. I'm speaking of our "light" coats, of course. They come in stages: light jackets, light jackets with sweaters, heavy coats, heavy coats with sweaters.
Anyway, I'm not adjusting well. You know how I get. At least I know I'm crazy, right? Today I was rehearsing some music and sang this beloved Swedish hymn. I just burst into tears right in the intro and didn't stop through the reprise and tag.
I'm sure if I bake a few muffins and buy a new cardigan I'll come around, but until then enjoy this hymn which is as good today as it was in the 1800s.
Day by day and with each passing moment
Lina Sandell
Translated Andrew Skoog
Day by day, and with each passing moment,
Strength I find to meet my trials here;
Trusting in my Father's wise bestowment,
I've no cause for worry or for fear.
He, whose heart is kind beyond all measure,
Gives unto each day what He deems best,
Lovingly its part of pain and pleasure,
Mingling toil with peace and rest.
Every day the Lord Himself is near me,
With a special mercy for each hour;
All my cares He fain would bear and cheer me,
He whose name is Counsellor and Pow'r.
The protection of His child and treasure
Is a charge that on Himself He laid;
"As thy days, thy strength shall be in measure,"
This the pledge to me He made.
Help me then, in every tribulation,
So to trust Thy promises, O Lord,
That I lose not faith's sweet consolation,
Offered me within Thy holy Word.
Help me, Lord, when toil and trouble meeting,
E'er to take, as from a father's hand,
One by one, the days, the moments fleeting,
Till with Christ the Lord I stand.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
Writer's Block Friday
Blah, blah, blah . . .
1. I didn't want to bore you with another whole blog entry on this week's accident, but I am truly irritated at the local news coverage. For whatever reason, their coverage is slanted towards the accident as being the kid's fault when the two witnesses I know say that her car was in his lane. We may never know what happened -- maybe she had a stroke, maybe she lost control, maybe there was an animal. It just makes me angry that clearly this news team didn't talk to anyone who was actually at the accident and are making up their own answers for a more sensational news story. In one of their pieces the woman's family was interviewed and asked if they have any animosity towards the boy. What an awful question to ask when no one knows the truth for sure.
2. The older boys are on their way home today from the two night overnight fifth grade field trip. I thought I would be racked with worry, but I have felt very positively about it. Brent reported via email that everything was going "pretty good," and called this morning to say that Colin had earned enough stars to try the orienteering challenge on his own.
I haven't had another call, so I am assuming he made it out of the woods. I should know in about another hour.
Toddler D has been known to get up at night and wonder around. Since I am a heavy sleeper, I was concerned that I would not hear him, so for the past two nights, I let him sleep with me. He took up two thirds of the bed in constant thrashing and movement. I suspect we will all sleep a lot more soundly in our own beds tonight.
1. I didn't want to bore you with another whole blog entry on this week's accident, but I am truly irritated at the local news coverage. For whatever reason, their coverage is slanted towards the accident as being the kid's fault when the two witnesses I know say that her car was in his lane. We may never know what happened -- maybe she had a stroke, maybe she lost control, maybe there was an animal. It just makes me angry that clearly this news team didn't talk to anyone who was actually at the accident and are making up their own answers for a more sensational news story. In one of their pieces the woman's family was interviewed and asked if they have any animosity towards the boy. What an awful question to ask when no one knows the truth for sure.
2. The older boys are on their way home today from the two night overnight fifth grade field trip. I thought I would be racked with worry, but I have felt very positively about it. Brent reported via email that everything was going "pretty good," and called this morning to say that Colin had earned enough stars to try the orienteering challenge on his own.
I haven't had another call, so I am assuming he made it out of the woods. I should know in about another hour.
Toddler D has been known to get up at night and wonder around. Since I am a heavy sleeper, I was concerned that I would not hear him, so for the past two nights, I let him sleep with me. He took up two thirds of the bed in constant thrashing and movement. I suspect we will all sleep a lot more soundly in our own beds tonight.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Whirring update
Yesterday when I finished my blog, I thought about how nice it would be to write and tell you that I didn't know the people involved. I thought I would be able to tell you it was a strange relief. I would have been sad for the people involved but -- happy isn't the right word -- naturally relieved that it wasn't someone from town.
But it was.
It was 16-year-old on his way to school who was hit head on by a lady from out of town. My sister-in-law Pam was one of the first people on the accident. She had a chance to talk with the woman. Pam wishes she could have talked to her more. It was quickly crowded and crazy and as soon as the emergency people came to the scene, Pam got out of the way.
The boy is the son of people I don't know well, but could certainly say hello to and use their first names. He is still in critical condition. The helicopter was for him. The was another helicopter on its way for the woman . . . but she didn't make it.
How strange to get up in the morning and get ready for your day -- a day like any other of the rest of the 90 percent of your life -- and have it end so differently. I'm talking about everyone that morning: the boy, the woman, their families, Pam, our emergency drivers who certainly don't go to fatal accidents every day. I wish I knew something smart to say about it.
I don't.
But it was.
It was 16-year-old on his way to school who was hit head on by a lady from out of town. My sister-in-law Pam was one of the first people on the accident. She had a chance to talk with the woman. Pam wishes she could have talked to her more. It was quickly crowded and crazy and as soon as the emergency people came to the scene, Pam got out of the way.
The boy is the son of people I don't know well, but could certainly say hello to and use their first names. He is still in critical condition. The helicopter was for him. The was another helicopter on its way for the woman . . . but she didn't make it.
How strange to get up in the morning and get ready for your day -- a day like any other of the rest of the 90 percent of your life -- and have it end so differently. I'm talking about everyone that morning: the boy, the woman, their families, Pam, our emergency drivers who certainly don't go to fatal accidents every day. I wish I knew something smart to say about it.
I don't.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Whirring in the silence
It's quiet out here in rural Minnesota. I don't mean devoid of action -- although it's probably that too -- but I mean literally quiet. Sometimes a dog barks or a kid shouts. Car alarms occasionally go off at the dealership down the block. Generally it's just quiet.
So when a helicopter flies over my house, I notice.
It's never a good thing when a helicopter flies to town because, urban beloved, it's not the swat team or the traffic observers. It's the air ambulance. My city dwelling friends and loved ones, do you know what I mean by this? We have a very good hospital, but they are not equipped for severe life threatening injuries. The air ambulance usually means an accident. The air ambulance makes my neighbors and me fall to our knees and reach for our phones because it's a small town and someone we know or love is in trouble.
Do you remember last week when we talked about the school out in the middle of no where. I joked that you don't want to be out there after school when the kids are trying to zip back into town in their clunker high school cars. What I didn't tell you was that, although there are the regular fender benders, there have also been several fatal accidents out there. I can think of three off the top of my head. I might be blocking another. Wouldn't you?
This morning on their way to meet the bus for the two night overnight field trip (I'll come back and fret about this later), Brent and Colin had to be rerouted around the accident out by the school and shortly after the helicopter came over my house.
The neighbors kids left for school after Brent called. They are okay. Brent and Colin are okay. I am searching Facebook for signs from Chief Babysitter (CBS) Andy. I am sure extracurricular activities called him to school long before 8 o'clock.
The helicopter took off about 40 minutes after it arrived, but I am still praying -- for whomever got transported, for their family, for the medical personnel, for the others involved in the accident.
And I am waiting -- waiting to find out about my neighbor, my friend whose life changed this morning while I sat in my house in the quiet.
So when a helicopter flies over my house, I notice.
It's never a good thing when a helicopter flies to town because, urban beloved, it's not the swat team or the traffic observers. It's the air ambulance. My city dwelling friends and loved ones, do you know what I mean by this? We have a very good hospital, but they are not equipped for severe life threatening injuries. The air ambulance usually means an accident. The air ambulance makes my neighbors and me fall to our knees and reach for our phones because it's a small town and someone we know or love is in trouble.
Do you remember last week when we talked about the school out in the middle of no where. I joked that you don't want to be out there after school when the kids are trying to zip back into town in their clunker high school cars. What I didn't tell you was that, although there are the regular fender benders, there have also been several fatal accidents out there. I can think of three off the top of my head. I might be blocking another. Wouldn't you?
This morning on their way to meet the bus for the two night overnight field trip (I'll come back and fret about this later), Brent and Colin had to be rerouted around the accident out by the school and shortly after the helicopter came over my house.
The neighbors kids left for school after Brent called. They are okay. Brent and Colin are okay. I am searching Facebook for signs from Chief Babysitter (CBS) Andy. I am sure extracurricular activities called him to school long before 8 o'clock.
The helicopter took off about 40 minutes after it arrived, but I am still praying -- for whomever got transported, for their family, for the medical personnel, for the others involved in the accident.
And I am waiting -- waiting to find out about my neighbor, my friend whose life changed this morning while I sat in my house in the quiet.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
A Poem for Tuesday
Toddler D and I have survived our first morning at ECFE. I am the oldest mom in the room, but I will try not to obsess. No one needs to hear someone constantly going on about how they were in high school when you were born. (cough)
It's a gloomy wet day here in West Lake Woebegone, so let's have a fall poem by John Keats who died very young of tuberculosis.
Ode to Autumn
by John Keats
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
It's a gloomy wet day here in West Lake Woebegone, so let's have a fall poem by John Keats who died very young of tuberculosis.
Ode to Autumn
by John Keats
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Craft Emergency Preparedness
I bought two packages of construction paper in the back to school supply clearance at Target the other day. I managed to make it to the area in my home where I store the craft supplies only to discover I had many many packages of construction paper down there already. Apparently I am storing up for the winter like a little squirrel, only instead of nuts I am getting ready to craft.
If you have followed my blog for any amount of time, I know you are now chuckling merrily to yourself. Crafting isn't really my strong suit. Well, now, that's not true. Finishing crafts isn't really my strong suit. Remember last Thanksgiving's apron? How about this Spring's counted cross stitch eyeglass case? Right. Not so good at the finishing. So what -- exactly -- do I think I am going to make with all of that construction paper. Homemade Valentines for all the U.S. troops in Afghanistan? Rainbow colored snowflakes for holiday decorating? I can't even think of anything else. Perhaps I need to find myself a book on construction paper crafts.
No, not really.
Maybe I should get into scrapbooking. Ohhhh! I'm sorry! I was almost able to say that with a straight face. Do you realize what a mess I would make of scrapbooking?!
Maybe next year or so, I'll give Toddler D a safety scissors and just let him go to town.
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