When I was home for the week, I got together with my high school friend and blog-inspirer, Jan. Here are some photos from our visit. “Who’s the adorable red-headed boy?” you ask. Her son, Sawyer. How could we not have snapped a few photos of these two little cuties?
When I was in high school, I played the part of Elizabeth Proctor in Arthur Miller’s The Crucible. Of all of the lines I memorized and recited hundreds of times, only one sticks with me after 12 years. A bit of literary background first (working from my questionable memory): During the era of Puritan witch-hunts, John Proctor, Elizabeth’s husband, is accused of lechery and witchcraft and is doomed to be hanged unless he confesses. He struggles between wanting to protect his innocent name and wanting to preserve his life. At the end of the play, John and Elizabeth have a heart-to-heart conversation in which he apologizes for his failures as a husband and friend, confessing the temptation and interest he had once in Abigail, a young woman who helped around their house. Elizabeth stops his apology with her own, saying, “It was a cold house I kept, John.”
“It was a cold house I kept…”
When I recited this as a naive eighteen year old, my stomach balled into a knot and my imagination filled the Proctor home with gloom and gray and cold-shoulders turned. Even though I didn’t know much about marriage at the time, I knew that this was a terrible confession.
Since then, those words have wrung in my head, warning me, sometimes becoming me, sometimes repulsing me. Now that I am married, I know that Elizabeth’s confession is as terrible as I imagined. For, when I am stingy and guarded with Ryan, the lifeblood in our home runs cold. There are very few things that are worse than that.
I remembered these words recently when I watched The Jane Austen Book Club. Five women of various ages and personalities are trying to hash out why Austen’s Colonel Brandon falls in love with Marianne Dashwood instead of Mrs. Dashwood, who is closer to his age. Grigg, the one man in the club, explains, “I understand why Colonel Brandon goes for Marianne. And it’s not ‘cause she’s young. It’s because she’s generous with herself. She’s willing to risk her heart. No rules, no fear.”
“…she’s generous with herself…” “…she’s generous with herself…”
This phrase has stuck with me just as powerfully as Elizabeth’s warning. For, when I share all of my joys and dreams and hurts with Ryan, the lifeblood in our home flows so vibrantly and refreshingly. And truly, there are very few things that are better in life than a warm home.
How powerful is the difference between a turned shoulder and open arms; how powerful is the difference between a silent roommate and an enthusiastic companion who risks her own heart to love good and strong.
Like you, I have so many interests and feelings and thoughts, I have so many facets to my personality; Ryan has equally so many that I have yet to discover…
“…she’s generous with herself…”
This is the line I choose for my script.
* Burt’s Bees Lip Balm
This stuff rocks. Besides, it doubles as a healthy snack. Ryan read somewhere that the average woman consumes 4-9 pounds of lipstick during her life time. Folks, that’s the weight of our new baby girl. That’s a lot of lipstick. (I don’t know about you, but I would so much rather consume that weight of a high quality dark chocolate.) I couldn’t help but shudder at all of the toxins and non-foods smooshed into the lipsticks that I wear. I figure, I’ve probably already consumed at least half of my quota. Thus, my growing enthusiasm for cosmetics I can eat peacefully.
* The Guide to Less Toxic Products
While I’m on the “let’s eat fewer chemicals” topic, check out this extensive guide that actually rates various products according to their “good for you-ness”.
* The Ambidextrous Swaddle
Is anyone giving out Daddy Awards? ‘Cause I know a very good candidate! Ryan Booz. This guy alternates the direction of Lia’s swaddle so that when he lays her down on top of the final flap of fabric, she can sleep on alternate sides of her body. My mom always told me to marry a good dad - and I did.
* Rockin’ Rabbit
We are just so grateful that a wonderful surprise emerged from the attic with the bin of plastic Easter eggs: THIS BUNNY that my mom had so lovingly given us last year! Only, it’s even better this year because last year’s almost-two-year-old is this year’s almost-three-year old with tons more stamina to push that button over and over and over again… I must admit, though, it does get one dancing.
(You can find anything on youtube.)
Whene’er a noble deed is wrought,
Whene’er is spoken a noble thought,
Our hearts, in glad surprise,
To higher levels rise.
- Longfellow
The longer I stayed in institutional education (particularly grad school), the more insecure I became. I learned that, contrary to my natural inclinations, beautiful things like spirituality, virtue, and passion were decidedly not intelligent. The Smarties deconstructed things, they situated texts and criticized any poem, essay, or novel they could get their hands on. If you are a poem about faith, hope, or love, stay out of the way of a literature student’s proud grasp. God might say that those three things have divine eternal power, but a Master’s student will belittle them in a five paragraph tirade banged out on an old laptop the night before class. Classics were usually addressed with pitiful sneers, while edgy counter-cultural books about smut and despair were touted as superior literature. At some point in grad school, I developed a suprisingly heavy cloak of shame for my obviously naive tendency to enjoy a story for its own sake or to make personal connections with poetry before criticizing it. I never got invited into the Smarties Club because I always let something about God, feelings, beauty or morality slip out. Shoot.
Once, I had the nerve to purport that Romeo and Juliet is really about love - messy, petulant, imperfect human love. (Note: One should never ever ever purport such a predictable and naive thing in graduate school. Never ever. But I did.) The entire class looked at me patronizingly, encouraging me to become an elementary school teacher or a university chaplain - the two cozy spots where they relegate idealistic folks like me. For three hours, my classmates bantered about the political, ethnic, and psychoanalytical readings of R&J. I slunk down in my chair and wondered what I had missed during my reading. At the end of the discussion, the humble professor (perhaps humbled by grad school as well), said that he agreed with me: Romeo and Juliet is primariy about human love in all of its deep and shallow undulations. At the time, his support was sweet, but not powerful enough to salvage my confidence from the day-in, day-out deconstructive Smartie Club.
Since grad school, I’ve continually had to address that bugger of a question: “Am I smart enough?”
A worthless unanswerable irrelevant question, really. But pesky… and persistently demoralizing.
You can imagine my relief to have graduated. Now the University is just a nice place to hear a concert or pick up an ice-cream cone every now and then.
You might also imagine my relief to discover - within a library of home-education resources - a world of people who are quite intelligent, and quite humble, and quite admiring of spirituality, virtue, and passion. Charlotte Mason, Karen Andreola, Gladys Hunt, and Susan Shaeffer Macaulay write about how we can live nobly and richly without selling our souls to intellectualism. I needed their confident voices to remind me that our very smartest moments are to be spent on beauty and are to be shared with children and other people who are humble enough to converse with us there.
These women have revived my spirits by writing that there is nothing more worthy of our pursuit than virtue,
nothing more worthy of our vision than beauty,
nothing more worthy of our hearts than love,
and nothing more worthy of our intellects than Truth.
They wrote over the pesky question with far more honorable questions like, “Whom did I love today?” “Whom did I serve?” and “What did I notice about God’s artistry today?”
They remind me of poems like this one by Emily Dickinson:
How refreshing to be in the midst of this affirming company who are fierce and smart guardians of hearts.
Even if you aren’t considering homeschooling, you might enjoy:
A Charlotte Mason Companion - Andreola
Honey for a Child’s Heart - Hunt
For the Children’s Sake - Shaeffer Macaulay
“Maybe the worse thing in the world is to believe that today is exactly like yesterday . Then we forget to notice and to share what is new and fresh and good about today.” - Gladys Hunt
Today’s new and fresh and good… so far:
* the energy of Mari Winsor’s dance workout (love it)
* the rain-colored rocks that remind me of Spring and make me think it’s warmer outside than it really is
* the big blue bin in the middle of our living room that is filled with plastic eggs waiting egg-spectantly (I had to) for Easter
*the little girl who loves those plastic eggs… a lot
* the other *littler* girl who reaches for shiny and colorful things dangled in front of her (!)
* Ryan’s new cute jeans (poor guy wore his last pair through to the skin)
What’s new and fresh and good about your day?
5 Proofs that I’m Growin’ Up:
* Our off-white furniture moved to another idealistic couple’s home; we opted for a dark leather set and decided that this time, the couch would not double as a “swimming pool,” tent, hide-out, gym mat, etc.
Good-bye, Impracticality! (sniff)
* Curtains now privatize our after-dark Benny Goodman showdowns (After all my years of passionate “I hate curtains” tirades, I realize now that “hate” is a strong word.)
* Our children wear undershirts (A custom in which we did not participate when Vivienne was a baby. Poor girl; she may have had plenty of attention and way-too-many baby pictures taken, but she certainly missed out on some of the tried-and-true parenting trends that I’m just now getting the hang of. Like, for instance, cutting grapes. Even though V’s been eating whole grapes since she was, oh, six months old or so, I am now beginning to cut her grapes. She’s almost three. I must say, though, that she likes cut-grapes better. Her hands get stickier, I can never decide how small is “small enough”, and I almost slice my own fingers, but I have a lot more peace this way. *Apparently, the best way to cut them is length-wise in quarters.)
* I am suddenly committed to soy and/or beeswax candles and don’t even clip the coupons for Glade-anythings (it’s all poison, I tell ya!).
* I carry a diaper bag (Another custom in which we did not participate when Vivienne was a baby: the stockable pockets, matching changing pad, and plastic lining finally got me. And wonders of wonders: I usually have an extra burp-cloth, snack, and lip balm stashed in there somewhere. Who knew these things could be so handy!)
God, the Eternal God, is Love.
Covet therefore that everlasting gift,
that one thing which it is certain
is going to stand, that one coinage
which will be current
in the Universe when
all the other coinages
of all the nations of the world
shall be useless and unhonoured.
You will give yourselves
to many things, give yourselves
first to Love.
-Henry Drummond
(brought into my thoughts through this month’s Above Rubies publication.)
