Our Ice Castle

This morning, I awoke to the most beautiful sight! After yesterday's snow, we received icy rain during the night.

I looked out my bathroom window, and the world was swathed in a sleek, shiny glaze. The lights from the neighbors' houses cast long rays across our backyard, softly cutting into the darkness like a dream.

Making my way outside to get the morning paper, once again I stopped in awe. As I gazed down the driveway, it looked like someone had unrolled fondant and laid it before me like a carpet. The texture was so smooth and even that I hesitated to walk on it.


Nature waved her magic wand to slipcover the honey-colored teak furniture with a white crystalline overlay, embellished with ice-sickle ornaments.




Later, as the sun made its glorious and triumphant return, the ice that coated the tree branches glistened and sparkled in the light. The rows of Bradford Pears that line our driveway bowed to one another, forming a glistening ice canopy.


Yesterday, white fluff. Today, crystalline ice. This is the glory of winter!

Play!

We went from 0 to 3 in under 15.

That is, from 0 to 3 kids in under 15 months. Needless to say, things went from neat and orderly and predictable to untidy, unorganized, and unpredictable in short order.

Three kids in diapers, in cribs, on napping and feeding schedules: I don't even remember one whole year of my life. But I do know that I lived in sweats probably 360+ days of that year. And that the sweats had spit-up on them. And that a shower was a luxury. And to actually fix up my hair and makeup after the shower? A grand luxury!

All my tasks back then were based on fulfilling the needs of babies: feeding, changing, clothing, washing, soothing, napping, strapping in car seats, attending to medical needs. They didn't know how to play independently, and they were too young to leave alone, so I was their constant companion. All day, every day.

And that's what I signed up for! I don't regret it. Those days taught me much about unconditional love, responsibility, patience, my own strengths and shortcomings.

But I admit that, as they grew older, I loved their increasing independence. These days, they do their own laundry (well, not all the laundry, but as much as I can get them to do). They choose their outfits and get dressed on their own. They brush their teeth, take a bath or shower, use the bathroom, fix their hair without me. They've started helping in the kitchen. They clean up their own rooms. I rarely need to schedule playdates -- they just head outside and find a friend from the neighborhood to hang out with.

They still have needs. Big ones, like educational placement, medical management, etc. I still work very hard to make sure their needs are met. But that's different. Day-to-day, they don't need or want me hovering.

But, true to form, my kids keep teaching me. Today's lesson: Sometimes I need to play with my kids!

We were blessed with a snow day. All the schools were closed amid a blanket of wonderful white fluff. What a gift!

We made muffins together. We sledded. We made hot chocolate. We made snow angels. We tried to make a snowman (but it wasn't "packing" snow). So we made more hot chocolate. Then sledded some more. And more and more ...


I didn't worry about my To Do list. I didn't make the kids practice their piano. We didn't make our beds.

We had fun. We made memories. We didn't plan a thing.

We just played.

Little Miss Can't Be Wrong

I hadn't heard this Spin Doctors song in a dozen years.

Until now.

I've heard it half a dozen times on the radio in the past four days!

Is Karma trying to tell me something?

St Francis of Assisi

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy;

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Although it is highly unlikely that St. Francis actually wrote the prayer that is attributed to him, it is generally accepted as an embodiment of his beliefs of poverty and obedience. (Whereas St. Francis was born in Assisi in 1182, this prayer can be traced only to 1912.)

As a Catholic and as a recent visitor to the town of Assisi in Italy (well, OK, it was 15 months ago -- is that recent enough?), I was intrigued when my friend loaned me On the Road with Francis of Assisi. The travelogue recounts most of the known events from Francis's life, starting with his years as a privileged youth; his renunciation of wealth and a wild lifestyle; his new devotion to God in his early twenties, and his accompanying vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience; his founding of what is now the Franciscan movement; and the evolution of his followers, from the first devotees during his lifetime to the thousands worldwide today.

Linda Francke wrote the book with a historical slant, rather than a religious one. Readers who are not particularly religious, but would like to learn more about the life of this prominent figure in Catholic history, may find this book an enjoyable read. I count myself among them.

Having traveled to Assisi, albeit during a short day trip from the residence in nearby Todi, Umbria, where we were staying, I particularly enjoyed Linda Francke's descriptions of all the towns she visited, including Assisi of course, while retracing St. Francis's steps. The photo at the top of this page is a view of the Basilica de San Francesco, which we happened to visit during the busiest time of year: the Feast of St. Francis, when thousands of pilgrims make the 13-mile peace (Pace) walk from Perugia to Assisi. (In the background of the photo to the left, you can see the lines of people waiting to enter the Lower Church.)

In the book, Linda Francke also describes in some detail the life of St. Clare, Francis's friend and follower for whom Francis created the Order of the Poor Clares. As was the case with the Basilica of St. Francis, the Basilica of St. Clare (the plain but beautiful pink-and-white striped building in the photo to the right) was not built until after her death. Therefore, though both Francis and Clare were born in Assisi and died near there, they never set foot in the basilicas that were built in their honor. In fact, given their vow of poverty -- extreme poverty -- it's likely that neither would even perceive the grandiose structures as an honor.

As interesting as the journey through St. Francis's life was to read, what I find more intriguing are the simliarities among various founders of religious movements. What they seem to have in common is charisma, drama, and timing. In Under the Banner of Heaven: A Story of Violent Faith, for example, Jon Krakauer chronicles the founding and evolution of Joseph Smith's Church of the Latter Day Saints (Mormonism), including its fracture into various sects, including the fundamentalist sect with its history of pluralism and violence. Certainly, there are many differences between St. Francis and Joseph Smith. Yet some similarities cannot be denied: They both founded religions based on their interpretation of "God's message." They both possessed charismatic personalities -- that combination of charm, wit, intuition, and intelligence that draws people to them. They both tended toward the dramatic. They both had the advantage of living in an era in which circumstances that could not be explained by the science, medicine, or logic of the time were attributed to faith-based miracles and directives from God. They both amassed great numbers of followers. But their founding religions also experienced inevitable fracture and dissent in later years.

So, do I believe a man named Francis Bernadone from the town of Assisi lived in the Middle Ages, grew up with all the advantages and luxuries of his day, repented his wild behavior, and became a good man of great faith in God and a desire for world peace? Yes. Linda Francke has researched the biographies of Francis written by his contemporaries and has followed in his footsteps all over Italy and beyond. Many facts of his existence, friendships, and events are undisputed. Do I believe in all the miracles attributed to him? Not so much. But it doesn't matter. 800 years ago, the people did believe in his miracles. People did follow him and turned to lives of peace. Thousands of followers even today perform many good deeds in his name. So miracle or not, the man made a difference in the lives of many.

And now that I've read about this man and all the hermitages he founded and all the cities he traveled to in his lifetime, I wish for one more chance to visit Assisi. This time, I'll spend less time in his basilica, where his remains reside, and more time visiting the places he frequented while living. The simple, small, plain places in which he can really be felt.

Difference: 7 & 54

What a difference 7 days and 54 degrees makes!

It was just one week ago that I blogged about the 3-degree morning, and the revulsion I felt about putting on workout shorts and braving the cold.

Today, by contrast, was fabulous! Although I was busy from sunup to sundown with that magically multiplying To Do list, it was so much more tolerable today.

Here in Cincinnati, the temperature rose to 57 degrees. AND the sun was out! In between work, carpooling, and errands, I put on those formerly-despised workout shorts and got to work with our trainer.

I felt so alive! So carefree!

I've lived in Ohio all my life. I'm used to the seasons, the variations within the seasons. The swings in temperature make for an tantalizing backdrop of life. But of all the seasons, winter is my least favorite. So when Mother Nature teases me with a hint of spring in January, even though my mind knows it's a mirage, my heart can't help but believe.

That mirage was just what I needed to get through the rest of winter.

I'm still sitting here in my shorts, but I'll keep that winter coat nearby.

When Life Gives You Lemons

Last night, while working the concessions stand at my son's school's performance of High School Musical, I ran into my daughter's former teacher.

We were shocked and surprised to see one another, and happily stole a few minutes to catch up.

This person is a beautiful, friendly, smart young woman who just happened to not be ready to teach, unmentored, when I knew her before. A year-and-a-half ago, her teaching contract with my daughter's Montessori school was not renewed (teacher speak for she was fired). Same went for her teaching partner, another young teacher with potential but not enough guidance. Although this was the right decision for the school, and the parents wholeheartedly supported it for good reasons, we couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for the girls. They had the potential to become very good teachers; but they were fresh out of school, and they were not given the support and mentoring they both needed.

The firing came as a blow to both of them. This particular young woman was about to get married, and she and her fiance were building a house together. She honestly didn't seem to know what she would do next.

So when we caught up with each other last night, I attempted to come up to speed with the last 1-1/2 years of her life by asking her where she is teaching now and by congratulating her on her new marriage.

Turns out her life hadn't progressed the way I thought it would. After being let go from the school, she and her fiance broke off the engagement. She didn't move into the new house they'd invested so much time in selecting. With no job, no spouse, and no mortgage, she was left with infinite possibilities! She ended up taking a job in Hawaii for year, helping to open a new Montessori school there. She'd just returned to Ohio recently, where she is now working with children with autism. Although she hopes to return to Montessori teaching, she's finding this experience rewarding. Our conversation was cut short as the lights flickered, signalling the start of the show. We parted, each with a smile on our faces.

As she walked away, I was struck by the subtle difference in this young woman since the last time I'd seen her. She'd faced two very stress-inducing and life-changing events head-on. She embraced her unexpected opportunity, and traveled far from home, alone, to find a new path. Although our conversation was brief, she appeared more mature, content, sure of herself.

For that, I was happy.

Years ago, I found myself in a strikingly similar situation. Given my youth and my new freedom, I was willing to take a risk! I remember feeling certain that I would move to Boston. I didn't have a job lined up there, but I'd always found that I could get jobs fairly easily. I realized it might have been more challenging to find a rewarding job in such a bigger pond, with more fish, but I really wanted to try! Ultimately, however, I was persuaded by my father: What if I couldn't find a job? Where would I live? Would I be safe? Would I be happy in a town in which I had no established friends or family? His arguments were logical; how could I refute them? And besides, he and my mom had just helped me get through an unforgettable, heartbreaking ordeal; of course they didn't want me to make what they perceived as another mistake. Looking back, I know now that it was the right time to try something that wasn't logical. I would have been all right. And if I wasn't, I could always just come back home! It didn't have to be permanent.

So logic prevailed and I stayed in Cincinnati. It's a good thing, too, because within six months of that pivotal conversation, I met my future husband. We've been married for 13 years. We have a wonderful home, lots of friends, family nearby, and three fabulous children. Had I moved to Boston -- poof! -- this life would not have existed.

Do I regret being persuaded, by logic, to stay in the same town as my parents? Absolutely not. Would I have regretted moving? Absolutely not. Although that move would have been an emotional and/or intuitive reaction to my life's circumstances, it would not have been a disaster. I'm just not a reckless person by nature.

(My youngest brother, by contrast, simply chose to bypass the "logic" conversation by doing what he wanted, when he wanted, then telling our parents later. He definitely navigates his life primarily on intuition. As a result, he's lived unconventionally, and with great adventure. Still single at age 33, it appears he'll stay that way for a while...)

Back to this young woman: She made a bold decision to move thousands of miles away from all she knew. Her face glowed when she told me about that year in Hawaii. She came back, for whatever reason was right for her. I don't know what that reason was, but now I feel sure that it, too, was right for her.

I feel privileged to have known this young woman, and to have had her share her story of success with me!

The Show Must Go On

When the fire alarm sounded, we commented on how proud we were of the children. They were calmly but steadily heading toward the doors of the building, as they'd been instructed in numerous drills.

Boy, that sound is starting to get annoying. When is it going to stop?

Hmmm. I wonder if we should join them? Do we know if it's "real" or just a prank?

Once we realized that, prank or not, we needed to evacuate the building, we shut down the concessions stand outside the high school theater, grabbed our coats, and headed outside.

Forty-five minutes -- and more fire trucks and firemen than we could count -- later, it turns out it wasn't a prank. But it also wasn't a fire. A water pipe had burst in the library. Probably due to the frigid weather we've had lately.



But, the show must go on!

The middle school's performance of High School Musical went on, albeit 30 minutes later than scheduled. Once we had clearance from the fire department, I returned to my post at the concessions stand and my son returned to his job as usher.

But who knew the musical would be a drama?