LACK-O-DANTERN, LACK-O-DANTERN, you are such a funny sight...

That's what my little guy used to call Jack-o-lanterns when he was around two years-old. I love the way it feels when it rolls of the tongue...try it! "Lack-o-dantern!"

Tonite we (my son, my mom and my Dad) carved pumpkins. This is the first year in a while that I have been able to be home and participate when everyone else does the cutting. Usually I have to work. Another reason I love my weekend schedule.
A few other things about this year's carving night were different, too.

1. My father employed power tools for the job-at-hand while my mother tried to pretend she was not afraid he was going to cut off one of his appendages (or hers, as she was holding the pumpkin all the while).

2. I did not merely Intend To Save the seeds for roasting this year, but actually did save the seeds for roasting.

3. Ian created his jack-o-lantern, from start to finish, all by himself. This intention was announced at the commencement of the carving phase, after he had already cut off the top an scooped out the innards. I can't say I enjoyed watching my seven-year-old wield a knife in such a fashion, but I sure enjoyed seeing the look of determination on his face, subsequently replaced by a look of satisfaction at his handywork and a job-well-done. See for yourself:

YOU WERE ONCE AN ORANGE PUMPKIN ON A STURDY YELLOW VINE...

"Now you are a lack-o-dantern! See the candle light shine..."

So Shall You Reap

We have begun to allow the chickens to roam in the Garden Proper and it is probably only a matter of days before they will be allowed in the teepee garden/pumpkin patch as well. While Autumn is my favorite time of year, I can't help but be a little bit sad to see our garden decay. I had begun a little notebook of what was planted when and where and how and what I would like to change next year. I had hoped that next year we'd have more than three brussels sprouts and that Id remember to harvest the lima beans before two thirds of them were dried out. I wanted to sew in some of the Alaskan Fish Fertilizer in the Spring. I wanted to plant more pumpkins and get the nastertiums in earlier.

Next year we most likely will not be here to enjoy our garden. I know, I know, we are going to have a Whole New World open for exploration and they DO have dirt and seeds and rain and sunshine in New Zealand. (I checked.) But Im feeling the loss of my first garden.

T created the raised beds with the help of his kids and Ian and myself of course when it came down to to transporting dirt from one part of the property to the other. And we all built the teepee garden (much less wonky once T pointed out it, um, isn't supposed to look like that). My garden was a reason-for-being-outside. It was the reason I caught so many amazing sunsets and evening skies. It was a way to silently meditate in the early morning hours when little boys were still sleeping soundly in their beds. It was how and where and why I saw my first Bat Parade.

My garden (OUR garden) was a way for me to feel connected to the earth, my food, and the Universe... and my family.
It gave us (and continues to give us! Don't forget the purple potato patch!) nourishment of more than one variety. It nourished my body, heart, soul and mind.

I called it the Garden of Possibility. It lived up to its name.

So here's to my garden. May it live on, even if it has to be at the hands of another.

WONTON!

At some point in time, someone gave T and his family a set of Puzzler cards bearing the mind-exercising (and really fun!) puzzles featured on the NPR Sunday Puzzler show. I found them and had been casually working some of them out with Ian as we sat on the front porch (he was mainly holding Gherkin the Turken while I figured out puzzles aloud). I happened to mention to T that I had found them and what fun they are. He had no idea they were even in the house, at least, he couldnt remember them or their origin. So, he and A have been dipping into the puzzler box every now and again and having a BLAST figuring them out.

Here's one of the ones they phoned in to me at work last night.

There is a name of a popular soup which, when written backwards, is a phrase meaning "later".
What is it?

Wonton!
(Not now)

Not only are these puzzles good mental exercise and great family fun, they make you feel SMART, too!

Nurses are Sick, but also quite Generous

Here is the first non hat or scarf crocheting project Ive ever completed. It was begun at a nursing conference where I was inspired by the sub-zero temperatures in all the presentation rooms.
Naturally, Lori began speaking right away about how much she wishes someone would make her a blanket like that...with those gorgeous colors. And the edge.

So, I presented it to her yesterday as an early Christmas present. Nurses are generous.




This picture was taken at work, where the gift-giving was to occur. There was talk of setting up a dummy isolation room and taking turns posing with the blanket wrapped around us in our Lovely Yellow Gowns, but there were no empty rooms.

See, if you were a nurse, you would think that was funny. Nurses are sick.

The down side to giving Lori her gift now is that I will most likely end up making or buying her something else before Christmas arrives. The up side is that I now have one less thing to worry about getting rid of before we move.
Im looking around at all the "stuff" Ive accumulated throughout my 38 years on this planet and I pray for the strength to part with most of it. They say it's quite freeing...having nothing. I have to say I dont know what that kind of freedom feels like, but Im finding myself more and more of late, as much as the notion scares me, drawn toward finding out.

I can honestly say that if every "thing" I own were to be taken from me in an instant, as long as my family and loved-ones were safe and well, the first thing I would feel, before I had a chance to become sentimental, would be relief. I think that says something about my current state of affairs and what needs to be done.

I pray for the strength to do it. To find meaning in and inhabit the shedding of "stuff".

More on this later, as Im off to work.

Blessed Sunday,
d

My Little Franciscan

We eventually got the three knots tied nicely after the pictures were taken. (Thank you, Dad!)
How about those sleeves, eh? That's right...Im sewing things with sleeves now, folks. It's a whole new ball game.

When I finished the costume (okay it still isnt finished, it needs some sort of closure at the back, hence the saggy neckline), he was just so excited, he wanted put it on RIGHT AWAY, so we did. It really warmed my heart to see him as excited to dress up as St. Francis as he gets when he dresses up as a knight or a jedi or a pirate.

More Martinmas in the Making

This is one of the invitations Ian made to our at-home Martinmas celebration. He asked me today, after we had just read about St. Martin of Tours, if he can dress up like a soldier like St. Martin. How did I know that was going to happen? Im not sure where he got the military gene but....It's in there.

We didn't get much "school" done today. When contemplating the whole home-schooling idea, I forgot to factor in the dozens of errands that I used to run every week while Ian was in school. Now he goes with me. I wish I were one of those mothers who had the patience and energy to consistently create math lessons in the grocery store or discuss history along the interstate. Im always looking for learning moments with Ian, but I have to admit there are times I let the moment pass without exploitation.

My conscience today is eased, however, because we are planning a family walk this evening out among the glorious autumn foliage. If we plan it right, we will be able to take in the colors at my favorite time of day...when the landscape is awash in the pink and purple hues of the evening sky.

Ian has a second-grader friend coming over for dinner and play this evening. He will be doing his homework here...I must admit Im a little bit curious about what his class is learning and how it is being presented. Ian became very frustrated with the copywork I gave him to do today. I ended up changing my mind and having him create an invitation to the wedding for his friend Seamus instead.

He began crying and told me that "This is just so much harder than first grade!"

I dont know if he is just having a rough day, if he just doesnt want to do "hard things" (which had been noticed by his first grade teacher last year as well as myself) or if I really am asking too much of him. Im shocked, actually, because I had been under the impression that the work we were doing was not challenging enough for him.

Who knew?

Well, we still don't know. It could have been any number of circumstances converging at one time to create that feeling in him. I did, however, lighten up the load today and will continue to try to be more sensitive.

As for me, I have a duvet cover to complete and a St. Francis of Assisi costume to begin.

Now is the time on Sprockets when we have a nervous breakdown.

One month and one day til the wedding.
I feel something akin to entering Transitional Labor. Im finding myself asking aloud, once again, "People do this more than once??????"

Martinmas In the Making

This year, my second-grader, Ian, will be lucky enough to celebrate Martinmas twice. First, on the eleventh of November, my parents will take him to celebrate with his old school friends from the Waldorf School of Pittsburgh. They will assemble at Frick Park for their annual lantern walk, complete with songs, lanterns, hot chocolate, coffee and home-made pretzels.
Here is a photograph of one of the lanterns he made while at the Waldorf School of Pittsburgh. It now sits on the nature table in our Waldorf-inspired classroom at home in Arkwright, New York:


And as long as we are on the subject of our classroom...here are a few of the things I really like about our homeschool:



The rolltop desk ("my desk") is very old and was salvaged from a tug. All three of T's children used the desk at the center of the room ("Ian's desk") and I painted the chalkboard wall and created the window treatments myself from silks that Ian dyed in kindergarden and some scrap fabric generously given to me by my dear friend (and fellow fabric/yarn/office supply junkie)Lori.

The cross on the wall in this one is made of drift wood we scavenged on the beach at Lake Erie this past summer. Lots of beach glass from those same recon missions is displayed on our nature table. I created it on the spur of the moment one morning while Ian was still asleep. Needless to say, it was a big hit...I had an idea it would be, given his affinity for sticks (and for Our Lord, whom he used to refer to as "Saint Jesus"...but that's another story).



And the second celebration...the one Im so excited about... will take place on the Tuesday after Martinmas. My first annual Martinmas Celebration at our home in New York. If all goes as planned, the second annual Martinmas Celebration will be taking place in another hemisphere, so Im making a point of inviting a few of our dear friends to walk with us, bearing both light and witness into the beautiful Western New York night.

Poppies
Mary Oliver

The poppies send up their
orange flares; swaying
in the wind, their congregations
are a levitation

of bright dust, of thin
and lacy leaves.
There isn't a place
in this world that doesn't

sooner or later drown
in the indigos of darkness,
but now, for a while,
the roughage

shines like a miracle
as it floats above everything
with its yellow hair.
Of course nothing stops the cold,

black, curved blade
from hooking forward—
of course
loss is the great lesson.

But I also say this: that light
is an invitation
to happiness,
and that happiness,

when it's done right,
is a kind of holiness,
palpable and redemptive.
Inside the bright fields,

touched by their rough and spongy gold,
I am washed and washed
in the river
of earthly delight—

and what are you going to do—
what can you do
about it—
deep, blue night?

I just love this poem. It is one of my favorites...and I have a hard time choosing favorites in most situations. The subject matter, the imagery, the truths expressed.

And Im grateful that I know what it means to be washed and washed in the river of earthly delight and etheral delight in that momentary bliss when they are, in fact, one and the same. That moment when the expansive poppy sky spreads forth and moves away away away over the horizon with the sweeping storm clouds that half-obscure its red glow. That moment when the autumn leaves, at the climax of their death-song, are literally intoxicating and God and Universe and Earth and All are sweeping me up and saturating my senses. And what are you going to do about it, deep blue night?

I will never be a princess and this is not "my day".

I have the uncommon distinction of being a thirty-eight year-old first time bride. One of the great things about having this distinction is that I gave up my delusions of princess-dom (and my desire to wear a tiara) oh, say...thirty years ago. So, I've got that going for me, which is good.

Another really wonderful "thing" about being an older bride is that I've had many really wonderful days in my life already. And I don't really need this one to be "mine". While doing the requisite pre-wedding reading (books on planning your PERFECT day! Imagine! A PERFECT day! Sign me up, right?) It occurred to me over-and-over-and-over again that Brides in this culture are being told a big, awful, potentially relationship-damaging lie by the Bridal Industry. And we all know why they're even showing up for the Big Day. Their reason has nothing to do with commitment, the creation of a family, our spiritual well-being or our happiness in marriage. They want our money.

How fortunate I am to be in a position where, as it happens, I have no money. Or at least, very very little money to spend on this wedding. Yes, this too is a gift. Here's how:

I can not afford the 1500 page Fairy Tale Wedding Album full of photographs where I look....well...perfect.\
I can not afford the forty layer cake that better be just oh so perfectly right even though most brides dont get a chance to eat it except whatever her groom accidentally places in her mouth as he publicly betrays her trust by smearing it all over her face and her perfect makeup and her perfect gown with the price tag the size of the average mortgage.

Instead, we have (gratefully, joyfully, solemnly) had to approach our wedding day as the day it really is. The day when the people we care about, not all the people with whom we were ever acquainted, but the people who really know the us that is us deep down inside, will gather around us and with us and lay their hands above us and pray with us that we will remember these vows stated in the presence of God and man and air and sky. And we will witness the creation of something that is Greater than the sum of its Parts.

I am so so very pleased, and yes grateful, to be a thirty-eight year-old first time bride.

Co-sleeping....in shifts

I came home from work this morning to find this guy (the one without feathers) all rolled up and warm under the quilts in my bed. He says he likes the way it "smells like you, Mama".
And you ask me why Im so grateful?

And so, not wanting to disturb him (he prefers sleeping sideways, smack-dab in the center of the bed, and has done so since he was nine months old...incidentally, when we stopped co-sleeping on a regular basis) I chose to stay in my dirty dirty ceil blue scrubs and lay down on the sofa to catch a few moments of peace before he awakens, we eat something for breakfast, his grandfather swoops in to take over and I go upstairs to a warm, darling boy-scented bed and fall fast asleep.

Except there is a woodpecker delivering what is apparently a most urgent message via morse code, conveniently, against the exterior of my house. An annoyance, absolutely, but once I remember what it was like when I lived in a basement apartment and it was people delivering loud, often obscene and far less melodic messages on the stoop just outside, above and to the left of my bedroom window that kept me awake late into the night, I decide it isn's *so* terrible a sound.

I can get just as much rest by focusing on my breathing and engaging in quiet meditation and prayer as I can from actual sleep.

At least, that's what Im going to tell myself until Im upstairs.

Last night my dhtb rang me at work and asked if I had time to listen as he read our daily devotional (we hadnt a chance to read it in the morning as I was off to get my ds from his second-ever sleepover and back to Pittsburgh in time for karate class). It was such a small gesture, but so great with meaning.

The devotional is a new thing for us. With everything that is going on, all the changes in our lives (eu-stress is still STRESS, after all), it was my suggestion that we actually put into practice what we have said all along about wanting our spiritual life together to be held as a priority. We both had envisioned, I think, something much more....eastern. Something involving zafus. At least one zafu, anyway.

But my ds's own spiritual path, as it crystalizes and takes shape in front of our eyes, has brought me back Home Again to the realization that I can live my truth wherever I find myself. And so we return to what we know. And what a deep, rich homecoming it has been.