Nov. 11, 2009 - Hold the Torch High
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, fell down, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch, be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
(John McCrae, a Canadian medical officer who served in WW I)
Thank you to those who currently "take up the quarrel with the foe" daily. The foe has changed, but the quarrel has not. Those who fight selflessly for the freedom of all, hold the torch high. We support you. We appreciate you. We thank you.
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Nov. 4, 2009 - Black Maximus in Winter White
I left the house this morning with one thought on my mind. I hate winter. I hate how much you have to put on just to stay warm outside. I hate how restrictive all that clothing is. I hate having to scrape the windows before going anywhere. I can’t reach the whole windshield, so there is always a section in the middle that I can’t see through. I hate that my fingers get cold doing anything outside even in warm mitts, and there are things one can’t do with warm mitts on because one needs one’s fingers. Those things you must do very quickly! I hate that no matter how many socks I put between my feet and my boots, and even though I’m wearing Sorrels that are supposed to be good down to -40, my toes get cold if I’m outside for very long. Maybe the fact that they’re about 20 years old has something to do with that. Or maybe it’s got more to do with my age than the age of the boots…
I try to stay indoors as much as possible from the first frost until the spring melt, but that leaves me with cabin fever because I can’t stand being inside for so long. In the spring I get very stir crazy because I feel such a strong need to get outside, yet I can’t go outside without freezing or without several layers of restrictive clothing. The thing I hate most about winter is that it’s cold. I have to wear multiple sweaters inside to stay even remotely warm, and that’s with the furnace turned to 23 degrees celcius. I often find that the only way to warm up is to take a bath – a bath so hot that my face stays red for an hour after I get out. That truly warms me and I am able to be comfortable for the rest of the evening when I do this. Otherwise I can feel cold for weeks straight, without ever warming up. I hate it.
This was on my mind this morning as I spent ten minutes scraping frost off the truck windows. It’s not terribly cold yet, but after 15 years in this northern climate I have learned to dread the oncoming winter. Not even so much because it’s so cold as because it’s so long. Even this year, when winter was a bit later in coming, the first snowfall – something I used to find beautiful – only reminded me that the long winter was about to begin. “Here we go,” I thought despondently, gritting my teeth in preparation for the long, cold months ahead. This morning’s frost only reminded me that winter has begun. It is early November now, so it really was a late start, but I know that I will probably not be truly warm again until at least May.
I got in the car and drove reluctantly slow over the icy roads. It takes so much longer to do anything in the winter, I moaned inwardly. I turned into the saddle club and pulled up to Max’s temporary paddock. They are still building his stall, so he has to be out here in the meantime. Yet another thing to add to my list of why I hate winter. There is no electricity out here, so we can’t use a water heater. Instead we have to haul warm water from home 2 or 3 times a day so that he has water to drink. But before refilling his water bucket I have to chip the ice out. My son rakes up manure and says his hands are cold. I give him my warm mitts and keep my own hands warm rubbing in Max’s thick winter coat of fur.
It doesn’t take long to shrug the winter blues. In fact, as soon as we start working in the paddock the blues slip away. I shovelled, filled the water bucket, got the hay, and stroked some of the white frost off Max’s black mane and back. Max’s full name is Go Boy’s Black Maximus. Go Boys is from his sire’s name. Maximus is Latin for greatest or biggest. This big, black horse is well named. There is something magical about caring for a horse. At least for me there is. We’ve had Max for about a month now, and I still love every job I’ve had to do for him. The only thing I haven’t enjoyed is being cold while doing those jobs. Still, even when I go and think I won’t stay long because it’s too cold, I find that I don’t want to leave. I enjoy working at the paddock and especially being around Max. We’re still getting to know each other, and I want to spend as long as I can there every day to facilitate that process.
But eventually we do have to get home. So we pile into the truck and head back out to the highway. But first we have to drive through the field where the large round bales of hay are kept, and it is there that I noticed the beauty of winter for the first time this year. A beauty I used to appreciate, but having endured so many long winters I now often miss. The long grass in the field was covered in frost, and it glistened in the morning sun, reflecting, like millions of tiny prisms, all the colours of the rainbow.
If nothing else, living up here as afforded me many beautiful sights of winter that I had never seen in the more southerly climate I grew up in. This was definitely one of them. I watched the twinkling frost as I drove through the field and back out to the highway, knowing that winter does have some beautiful redeeming qualities. I thought this winter would be harder because I have to be outside every day. Could be possible that this “Great Black” horse who has already blessed us in so many ways, will also make this winter just that much more bearable? I’m beginning to think he might.
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Oct. 31, 2009 - To Hallow or Not to Hallow
I was going to leave this alone because I know not everyone agrees on this topic, but a rather interesting comment came to my attention this week that I thought worth sharing. Let me preface by saying first that I have not read this woman’s blog, other than this one post, so can not endorse anything you may find there. Also, I am not suggesting that everyone must approach October 31 the same way we approach it. So first, the quote. It comes from this blog http://asmallcornerofnowhere.blogspot.com/2009/10/happy-halloween.html . The writer of the blog is a self proclaimed witch who homeschools her children. Here’s the quote:
“I am somewhat shocked at the fundy churches who have "Harvest Day" celebrations to keep their flock away from the evils of the pagan holiday. Umm... does no one do their homework anymore? Samhain IS a harvest festival. Your jack-o-lanters with Jesus cut out on them are a really fine hallmark of the pagan reverence for the dead on this day. Your bonfire? Well... if you knew how that tweaked the nips of every pagan looking for an excuse for rolicking good Sabbat revelry, well... would you still do it? Seriously, people... if you're going to co-opt a pagan holiday, then proceed to secularize the h*** out of it with candies and Power Rangers costumes, and THEN eschew it for something else, at least take the time to see that your something else isn't rife with even MORE pagan symbolism than the thing you were trying to eschew in the first place.”
For our family we have decided to opt out of the Halloween scene. We do not dress up, we do not go to halloween parties (even glorified "harvest" parties), we do not give out candy at the door. The most common response I have to this is, “But it’s all in fun.” That may be, but it doesn’t change what they are celebrating “in fun.” We did not come to this decision lightly. We spent quite a few years (really, quite a few fall seasons) praying about this decision and doing our research. Without having seen the above quote, we realized that she is right. Another common response is, “It doesn’t matter what its origins are. It’s what it is now that counts.” I can assure you that while the origins are not entirely irrelevant, we came to our decision not because of the origins of Halloween, but because of what it is today. Take a look at the facts.
There is more crime on Halloween night than any other night of the year. Do I really want to be part of a holiday that encourages this?
You don’t have to go far down the street to see that the holiday is all about death. Do I really want to be part of a holiday that glorifies death, whether or not this is the participants’ intention?
The justification of “it’s all in fun” is also a concern. Should we really make light of things that are very real and very dangerous?
Church parties that “clean up” Halloween aren’t really changing it. They are simply taking out the most offensive elements in order to free their consciences to participate in what they like about the holiday. As noted in the above quote, even in good intentions some of these celebrations incorporate traditions that we would really not want to participate in if we truly understood what they are.
And I have asked myself why? Why is it such a big deal to simply not participate? What is so wonderful about the celebration that we have to make all kinds of excuses and changes to it in order to not miss out on the fun? What really would we be missing? Dressing up and eating candy? Surely we don’t need Halloween for that. Furthermore, if it really is a night that is important on the occultic calendar (and it is) why are the churches bending over backwards in order not to miss out? Why, I ask myself, are we not responding with prayer against the evil of the night instead? Even if you choose to ignore the satanic activity of the night, believing that it doesn’t matter as long as you don’t personally participate in that specific portion of the holiday, there is still the matter of increased criminal activity. Ask any policeman and he will confirm this. Should we not be responding in prayer rather than trying to see how much we can legitimately celebrate? It just doesn’t make sense to me.
Again, I write this not to point fingers or to tell others what they should do. Please don’t comment that I should just chill out because it’s all in fun. As I said, we did not come to this decision lightly or quickly, and it's ok if you disagree with me. I simply suggest that you do so with full knowledge of the information and in prayer. Is there really anything in the Halloween celebrations valuable enough to be worth cleaning up just so we won’t miss out? Think about it.
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Oct. 13, 2009 - Thanksgiving: Better Late Than Never!
Thanksgiving breezed by this year as we spent Saturday and Sunday in the truck driving home from an unexpected trip to the coast. But it did not pass without the realization that we have much to be thankful for this year. In fact, there are so many things I’m thankful for (in addition to the usual things like a good husband, great kids, etc) that I hardly know where to start! So in no particular order:
1. Max. Max is a beautiful black Tennessee Walking Horse, bred and trained by my father-in-law. With Dad’s fight with cancer picking up he decided it was time to sell his beloved horses. He has bred Tennessee Walkers for many, many years, so this was a hard place to come to. He wanted one of his kids to have at least one of the horses, but none of us live on property that could house them. They sold two of the three, but the last one, Max, would just not be sold. Meanwhile, my husband surprised us all by checking into a local saddle club to see if we could bring Max here and house him at the club. After watching God work out all the details, many of them at the very last minute, Max is finally ours! I was glad to hear that our taking Max was a relief to the family who had been unsure what to do if they couldn’t find a home for him. Meanwhile, my oldest daughter and I could not be happier. Owning a horse is something I have always wanted, but thought would never happen.
2. Family. We were called to come as my father-in-law was not doing well. The decision to go was made at 10 pm on Friday, Sept 25, and by 11 pm the next day we had made the 1400 km drive and were at my sister-in-law’s. For the next week we spent a lot of time at the hospital where my father-in-law finished his 3-year fight with cancer. During that time we were blessed by their large family as a constant stream of visitors came and went. Supper was brought to us at the hospital. Prayers were said on our behalf. Several times family sang around my father-in-law’s bed blessing not only us, but the nursing staff as well with their hymns of praise. It is a wonderful heritage my children have received through their father’s family, and it was a great blessing for them to see the faith of their fathers (and uncles and cousins) worked out in such a practical and loving way. My own family supported me by phone and my parents were able to come to the funeral and blessed us with their gift of music before and after the service.
3. Heritage of love. In addition to the heritage mentioned above, I was also touched to see the deep sorrow of my mother-in-law in the final days of her husband’s life. There are many occasions that give me cause to be thankful for my own marriage, and this was one of them. To have a husband whom I love as deeply, and to know that he loves me the same is a treasure beyond measure.
4. Relationships. There is something about spending all night with someone at the bedside of another that makes one feel much closer to both. My mother-in-law had been spending her nights in the hospital with her husband, and the last two nights my sister-in-law and I stayed with her so she would not be alone. Through this, as well as the rest of the week’s events, we grew closer than we had been before. We were also able to develop more friendships with some of my husband’s cousins whom we were blessed to be able to visit with over our time at the coast.
5. Hospital staff. The ward my father-in-law was on was excellent. The doctor was available throughout the day and gave us honest and informative daily evaluations of my father-in-law’s condition. The nursing staff were incredible in their genuine care of their patient as well as his family. We were wonderfully blessed by this compassionate and competent medical staff.
6. My husband. He is an amazing man who was able to drive 17 hours (including stops) after only 4 hours sleep. (I did drive after lunch for a couple of those hours while he napped in the back seat.) He spent a huge amount of time over those two weeks driving out to where his Dad’s horses were to feed them, sorting through the barn, finding what we would need to bring Max home and care for him, packing tack, etc. He spent a full day working on the brakes of the horse trailer only to realize that he did not have the parts nor the time to finish the job and took the trailer to a garage to have the brakes done. He helped with the set up and clean up for the reception after the funeral. He stayed up very late packing up the horse trailer the night before we left, then drove about 9 hours Saturday and again on Sunday, pulling Max in the trailer and letting him out to walk in the mornings before we left and in the evenings after we arrived at that day’s destination. And through all the craziness he remained calm and got the jobs done.
7. Friends. We obviously could not pull Max in the trailer for 17 hours, so we had to make the return trip in two days. But that posed the problem of where to stop for the night where Max could get out and walk. We had met a friend and riding buddy of my in-laws a few times over the two weeks. His wife was managing a hotel at a town roughly half way between where we were and home. They graciously offered us lodging as well as a place for Max in their stable. Unfortunately one of the horses at their stable had contracted an illness so Max could not stay there, however Mike found a place for our truck & trailer behind the motel and helped my husband walk Max and clean the trailer for his night’s stay. We were very blessed by their hospitality.
8. More friends and family. It was such a comfort to know that we had family and friends all over the country praying for our father and our family throughout this whole time, and in fact, throughout Dad’s illness.
9. Our Risen Lord. Most of all we know it was the Lord’s grace that sustained us. It was His hand that ordered all our steps and worked out all the details so that we could be there with our family at this critical time, and so that we could bring Dad’s horse home with us. But most of all we are filled with gratitude that He allowed His Son to die and to rise again, thus conquering death once and for all! Because of this, says the well-known hymn, I can face tomorrow. Because He lives all fear is gone. As we said good bye to my father-in-law, we knew that it was not forever. While the parting was difficult, there was great comfort in knowing that his pain is gone, his fight is over. He now has a perfectly healthy body in which to spend eternity, and we will see him there. This is what Paul meant when he wrote to the Corinthians, “Oh death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” (I Cor. 15:55) There is no sting in death because for those who love God, it is temporary. Because I know He holds the future, I can face uncertain days because He lives! (Words from “Because He Lives” by Bill Gaither)
Me and Max
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Aug. 26, 2009 - Doesn't Count List
Where have all my serious posts gone? Let's face it, as a homeschooling mother of four my life is full of random funny happenings, and I love to share them. And that's ok. But it's also important to remember the heart of living, which for me is my faith in Christ. This morning my cousin posted a link to a blog I had never seen before, and I am glad I took a few moments to read it. I was surprised to learn that I do, indeed, have a "Doesn't Count List."
I don't know about the author and this is the only post of his that I've read, but this one I can highly recommend. Take a minute to read it yourself. You won't regret it! And let's get rid of those Doesn't Count Lists!
While you're blog surfing, surf by my cousin's blog at What's Gotta Be Said. He has a lot of good thoughts that will enrich your day and maybe even your life.
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Aug. 22, 2009 - The Lord is My Conductor
We're doing some housecleaning today, binding up old school work for storage, throwing out old papers that don't need to be kept. In the process I came across an old notebook that I used when I worked at camp many years ago. In that notebook was something we did in our staff devotions one day. We were to re-write Psalm 23 using an analogy other than that of a shepherd and sheep. It was kind of fun so I thought I'd share it here. I may have to get my kids to do this in the fall...
1. The Lord is my Conductor, I shall not go out of tune.
2. He makes me to rest while others play; He leads me through the fingering of difficult pieces.
3. He restoreth my tone and leads me through complicated key signatures.
4. Though my reeds may break and my lips give out, I will not become frustrated; for You will always give me a strong beat; Thy reeds and Thy staff will comfort me.
5. Thou preparest an overture for me in the presence of my critics. Thou anointest my valves with oil, my slide will always be slick, and my bell will always resound.
6. Surely delightful tones will be with me always; and I will play the Lord's symphony forever!
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Aug. 10, 2009 - Indian Fried Rice - a taste of nostalgia
I had to use up the leftovers tonight. But, as is so often the case, there wasn’t enough of anything to make a meal. I had some carrot soup to use up (easy because the kids all love it) and some rice. I have no onions (forgot to put them on the grocery list last week) and very little else to add. I didn’t want to cook hot dogs because the kids had those yesterday for lunch.
Then I got an idea. As Dr. Suess would say, I got a horrible, awful idea! When I was growing up we occasionally had a meal from a box. Today the only box meal we keep in the cupboard is Kraft Dinner, but back in my day there was Kraft Dinner, pizza mix, and Indian fried rice. Guess which one was my favourite?
I looked at the rice and decided to fry it. I dumped it into the wok and turned it on. It would be better with onions, but I’d have to make do. Then I went to the internet to look for a recipe. I typed “Indian fried rice” into my google search field and got a whole list of options!
The one I used ended up tasting EXACTLY like the rice I had all those many years ago. It was a little taste of nostalgia for me. Unfortunately, my husband wasn’t thrilled and my son, who had to eat some because he had complained as soon as he saw the raisins in the rice, really didn’t like it, although he didn’t complain again. One problem was that I was distracted half way through the cooking, so I didn’t turn the burner down when I should have, so too much of the water boiled off, leaving the fresh rice I had added a little on the chewy side. Cooking the rice better next time will make this dish that much better.
But I still enjoyed it. And in a pinch I will use it again. Only in a pinch because I seem to be the only one who’s particularly excited about this recipe! But in case there are others out there who want Indian fried rice in a box without the box, I thought I’d share the recipe. It comes from a website called cooks.com.
I did not have almonds, so added some ground almonds for a hint of flavour. Other than that, I made it pretty much as written, except I used leftover rice with a little fresh brown rice added in.
Indian Fried Rice
1 cup uncooked rice
1 small onion, chopped
1/3 cup butter
½ cup raisins (light or dark – I like light in this recipe)
2 tsp instant chicken bouillon
1 tsp curry powder (I accidentally added 2 and it was good.)
½ tsp salt
2 ¼ cup boiling water
¼ cup toasted slivered almonds
Cook and stir the rice and onion in the butter in a large skillet. Cook until the rice is yellow and the onion is tender. Stir in the raisins, bouillon, curry powder, and salt. Add the water and stir. Cook over low heat until the liquid is absorbed. This can be put in a casserole dish and put in the oven at 350 degrees for 25 to 30 minutes to absorb the liquid. The almonds can be toasted on a paper plate in the microwave. Stir in the almonds when ready to serve. This is tasty with chicken or lamb.
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Aug. 9, 2009 - Summer Storm
I was sitting on the deck a few minutes ago, with my 6 year-old on my knee, when we heard some thunder and the wind began to pick up, blowing the treetops to and fro. I told her I love the air before a storm because there's so much energy in it. As I described to her why I love summer storms it occured to me that it was rather poetic I had to come in and see if I could turn it into a poem. I have a weakness for writing poetry. It's not always very good, but I always enjoy writing it. So for better or worse, here's my poem about a summer storm. It should come as no surprise that English is one of my favourite subjects to teach, second only to History and Music. :-)
Summer Storm
I love to be outside right before a summer storm,
The air is thick and humid, the air is thick and warm.
I love to hear the quiet as the birds begin to hide,
Creatures run for shelter, people rush inside.
I love to feel the air filled with energy, suspense,
The wind begins to grow, the wind feels so tense.
I love to hear the rumble of clouds looming low,
The lightning flashes bright in the darkening summer glow.
I love to feel the drips of raindrops as they fall,
The cool, dripping raindrops - light rain becomes a squall.
Then all the water bursting forth comes shouting from the sky!
The clouds give forth, they rumble forth, with water shower high!
I love to feel the quiet just after summer storm,
To rest in the refreshing, thirst-quenched summer born.
The silence lasts a moment, then birds begin to sing,
They come again to bathe in the summer storm-bred spring.
I love the sweet, fresh fragrance just after summer rain,
And rest in the quiet ‘till summer storm comes once again.
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Jul. 28, 2009 - Omnibus III Book List
I am in the throes of planning the coming school year. One of my favourite subjects is a history/literature/world view course called Omnibus. We have done the first and second book and are about to embark on the third: Reformation to the Present. The problem with any all-encompassing history program for this period is always that it is written by Americans, primarily for Americans. In other words, there is a large American content and a striking lack of Canadian content.
So my problem is this: Which books should I exclude simply because we don’t have time to spend on all the American content, and what should I add to include Canadian content?
The reason this is so difficult is because all the books included in Omnibus III are worthy of study. I truly hate to leave any out. However, I feel the need to keep a balance on the history component of our studies, and while I’m willing for us to spend 2 years on this course that will still require some limiting of the literature we cover!
So here is my public plea: If anyone who reads this is doing or has done Omnibus III, please leave a comment about the books you covered and why they were worth keeping or not. I am of course particularly interested in the opinions of Canadians who have added Canadian content and perhaps cut some of the American content, but I am also interested to hear what Americans have to say about some of the books I’m considering dropping. Perhaps you know a good reason to keep it in, or perhaps you can tell me that it is wholly American history and one that we could probably skip. Even if you didn’t use the Omnibus text as a guide, I would still love to hear what books have been worthwhile (and not) for your high schoolers to study.
Some of the books I am considering skipping are:
Of Plymouth Plantation
Anti-Federalist Papers
Federalist Papers
Benjamin Franklin Autobiography
Lincoln Speeches and Writings
Killer Angels (I’m considering The Red Badge of Courage instead)
Some of the books I’m considering adding for Canadian Content:
The Call of the Wild
Roughing it in The Bush
A Short History of Canada
A Military History of Canada
Portions of Winston Churchill’s History of the English Speaking Peoples
Some books I’d like to add just because they’re worthwhile…again, we will be taking 2 years for this course!
Treasure Island
Count of Monte Cristo and/or The Man in the Iron Mask
The Scarlet Pimpernel
Red Badge of Courage
The Scarlet Letter
To Kill a Mockingbird
Robinson Crusoe
Lord of the Flies
The Screwtape Letters
The Importance of Being Ernest
Amusing Ourselves to Death
Taming of the Shrew
Hamlet
How Now Shall We Live
Oliver Twist
As you look at this lengthy add-on list, please keep in mind that the books we study without the aid of the Omnibus text will probably be read more quickly as I won’t have as many assignments to give as the text has. Also, one of the reasons for some of the additions is the fact that I wanted some books specifically for my son. He is a voracious reader, but to say he hates writing is a gross understatement. He has balked for the past two years at the Omnibus assignments, so I want to be sure to include some books he can really sink his teeth into – like the Count of Monte Cristo and Robinson Crusoe – in order to give him something interesting to offset some of the more “girl” oriented books we’ll be doing (like Pride and Prejudice).
Thanks in advance for any comments as to your successes, failures and suggestions!
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Jul. 26, 2009 - Backyard Visitor
Being rather tired after a late night at a fabulous wedding last night, and since the weather has been so sunny and warm, after lunch today I took some iced tea out to the deck to enjoy the afternoon sun.
As I sat in thoughtful repose I heard a rustling sound coming from under a corner of the deck. Assuming it to be our cat, I began to make those kissing sounds one makes to call a cat. He didn’t come, so I thought I’d go down to the lawn to see what he was up to. I thought he must have a mouse or something under there, the way he was rustling the leaves of one of the bushes.
But I immediately realized that this was not our cat when I saw a tail much bushier than his. Then I noticed the distinctive black & white stripes. Then I saw its head. I quietly went back into the house to retrieve my camera. When I returned to take his picture, he saw me and gradually backed further into the bush. He had no need to fear me! I had NO intention of disturbing him!
Cute little guy. Too bad they are so potent! Thankfully I was not treated to a taste of his potency. He is now under the deck, doing whatever he pleases. Hopefully he won’t stay because I’d hate to have to get someone in to remove him, but he certainly can’t live there!
All scrap supplies are from www.scrapgirls.com. Complete list at http://scrapgirls.com.ipbhost.com/index.php?autocom=gallery&req=si&img=85590
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Jul. 23, 2009 - Just Text Me
Beware...this is a LONG post. I would never have been able to send this via text message...
These were among my husband’s last words to me before I left yesterday morning for a day long trip: “Text me when you get there,” he said. Sure, said I. At 15 cents per message it’s a pretty economical way to keep in touch.
I was meeting my sister for lunch at a town about 500 km from where I live. It seems like a long way to go for lunch. But the real reason for the trip was to take my 9 year old daughter to spend a week and a half with my sister’s 9 yr old daughter. The two girls would go to camp together and spend a few days at my sister’s house and then they’re all coming to visit us here.
So the three of us, me and my two youngest girls, set out from home at 6:30 yesterday morning. When we made a pit stop at a town 1 ½ hours later I decided that this “texting” would be a fun way to keep my husband informed as to our whereabouts. I soon decided this was not as much fun as it sounded like.
Now, I am not unconnected with today’s technology. In fact, one of my teenage daughter’s friends has declared that I am a “cool” mum because I have Facebook. I’ve been connected to the internet (mainly for the life-line to friends and family across the country) since the mid-90s. We got our first cell phone back in 1996, just in time to really appreciate it when I went into labour and had to call my husband home from the marina. I also happen to be married to a techno-geek. Even my father (a 70-something techno geek) is connected. However, at 43 I don’t seem to have the nimble teen fingers necessary for this new verb “texting.”
I will save the topic of vocabulary for another post because I could speak for some time about the new words that have developed in the past few years. We used to “message” someone, once again using a noun as a verb. Then phones began to hold the ability to send a “text message” which makes perfect sense, but the “messaging” has now been shortened to “texting” once again creating a new word to fill in where technology has advanced beyond the current available vocabulary.
Nevertheless, I let him know that we had made a pit stop and our location so he could track our progress on this trip. Then we piled back into the car and headed out on the road once again.
The night before my husband had informed me that he had made sure the map was in the driver’s door so I would have it at my disposal. “It’s a pretty straightforward route, but thanks,” I replied half-heartedly. After all, I’ve done this trip several times and it is an easy route – just head west and keep going until you get there. There are a couple of turns that need to be made, but they’re clearly marked. Aren’t they?
Apparently not. At one point the highway makes a 90 degree curve to the south. I was pretty sure that we had made that curve, but where was the right turn I needed to make shortly thereafter? I thought we had come too far that surely we must have passed it. To make matters worse (or maybe better) I vaguely recalled a road flying past that I had not seen any signage for. Surely it would have been marked with a large green sign bearing the name of the next town I was to pass through. Wouldn’t it?
Well, it turns out it was, but I was at that time following a large truck. I hate following large trucks because I can’t see anything until I am right beside it, and then either I miss it or it’s too late to react to it anyway. Apparently on this occasion I missed it.
I saw a sign for two upcoming towns – towns I was NOT supposed to pass through. There was what looked like a town ahead, so, grabbing the map, I decided quickly not to turn back but to find an alternate route west and then north back to the highway I was supposed to be on. Fortunately this proved quite easy, and the time lost on this unanticipated detour was minimal.
Back on track we made good time. I thought we would be able to reach our destination without another stop, but just before the last town before our destination, one of the girls said she needed a stop. Urgently.
So we stopped and I sent another painstaking text message to my husband. We should arrive at our rendezvous by 12:15. Perfect.
However, just beyond the town we ran into a stretch of construction. A LONG stretch of construction. We had to wait twice, drive at 50 km/h for quite a distance, and coming out the other side had a long line of traffic that took some time to spread out and allow highway speeds again. Fortunately the waits were not long, and we arrived at our destination by 12:35, only 20 minutes later than anticipated.
My sister had arrived at 12:10, so she had a bit of a wait for us, and once we arrived the girls immediately began to talk about all the plans they would make for the upcoming week. My nephew is close in age to my youngest, and the 6 of us had a lovely lunch at Subway. The days leading up to this trip Emily had prayed, “Give us a safe trip to Subway.” I think she was most excited about the prospect of eating out – and not only that but twice in one day!
Once we had our food and sat down I dutifully “texted” my husband so he would know we had arrived safely. As I complained about how annoying this process is my sister laughed at me and said she was glad she wasn’t the only one. I commented that I need my teenager to do the texting for me. I explained that the way my phone does the messages is that I type all the letters I want and it gives me options based on the 3 or 4 letters available for each number I pressed, and I choose which word I want to send. The whole process is much longer than if I could simply press the number the correct number of times for the letter I wanted. For example, if I could press the 2 twice for a B or 3 times for an E that would be much easier. She agreed. I explained that my phone used to do it that way, but then it got changed to this more annoying way, but since I changed it by accident I had no idea how to change it back. She laughed at me again. Then I wanted to tell my husband that I would be home around 7:00, only I don’t know how to make the numbers type actual numbers instead of the letters, so I spelled out “sevin.” Sevin? No, that’s wrong. My brain must have taken a left turn at
After a nice lunch and visit, we gassed up, said good bye to my daughter who was already having a fantastic time with her cousin, and my youngest and I headed back towards the east.
The construction held us up even less time on the return trip, for which I was thankful. We passed through the first town heading east after which I would need to make a left turn in order to stay on the correct highway. After the detour in the morning, I was sure to stay alert to all road signs! However, when I am doing something for a prolonged period wherein my brain is not fully engaged, my brain tends to find something else to do, usually it makes up stories and blog posts. Times like when I’m standing on parade and can’t hear the speeches anyway, and when driving long distances. That is how I write. It’s not so much that I love to write, although I do, but that I am compelled to write. These narratives form in my brain on these occasions when it has nothing else to focus on, and the trick then becomes remembering it later when I’m able to write it down. I often open a Word document and stare at the blank page trying to remember how it all began. That first sentence often takes almost as long as the whole rest of the story. Once I begin, then it comes, though it is usually not quite as entertaining as it was in my head the day before. If only I could put an audience in my brain…they would be regaled with witty stories that would keep them laughing and pondering for many an hour. However, as it stands you will, if for some reason you have decided to read my blog, have to accept what I can remember from yesterday.
As I began writing in my head…I think it was the fourth blog post that was beginning to form…I realized that I should really engage my brain a little more with the trip and a little less with writing, concentrating on the road and the sign posts along the way. I did not want to miss this turn as it would be a bigger detour to get back on track than this morning’s trip if I did.
I saw the turn, you will be relieved to know, and remained on the highway I needed to travel. We passed through town #2 and I thought we were going to be able to by-pass #3 as well, stopping for supper at #4, but Emily had to make a pit stop at town #3. And of course, when we stopped I sent another text to my husband to let us know where we were. I estimated our arrival time, forgetting to calculate supper into it, but I figured afterwards that he is savvy enough to do the math himself.
Back on the road I asked Emily if she was hungry. It was 4:30. We would be in the next town before 5:30, but we could be home by 7 if we didn’t stop and could eat then. Assuring her that we would eat in a restaurant regardless of what town we were in, I asked if she wanted to stop at the next town or go on to our home town. No, she was insistent that she was hungry and we needed to stop. I think it was simply more exciting for her to eat in a different town than that she was actually hungry.
Nevertheless, we stopped at the next town just before 5:30 and ate at the only restaurant we found which happened to be an A&W. I tried not to rush her as we ate, watching the seagulls through the window, but I was anxious to get home. On any trip once we’re almost home I am loathe to stop anywhere, and my husband is generally the same. We tend to push forward and get home, then relax and eat if it’s meal time. However, my youngest is the only child at home for a couple of days, so part of the return trip was to spend time with her. So we stopped, ate, watched seagulls, and were back on the road in a little more than half an hour.
Again I sent a text to my husband to tell him we’d eaten and would be home by seven thirty. You’d think I’d be getting the hang of this text thing by then, but I was not.
Back on the road I knew we would soon need to make a left turn to, again, stay on the highway we were on. A left turn passed us with no sign of the highway number. Was that the turn? I wasn’t sure. Not wanting the detour this mistake could force upon me, I pulled over and looked at the map. It’s not a terribly new map and the road I needed was unclear. I was pretty sure that it was still ahead, but I didn’t think it was as far as it seemed to be, so I decided to double back and make sure that I wasn’t supposed to take that turn I had passed.
I did, and I wasn’t, so another U turn and I was back on my way on the final leg of the journey. Emily saw the signs that we were “home” quite a ways out in the country, and at 7:15 we rolled into our driveway. It was a long day. Don’t I always say, “Enjoy the journey”? Indeed, I do, but I am almost always referring to a journey through history, not a quick trip across the province! But the day was warm and the girls were good company in the car. I had a lovely visit with my sister, and Emily and I sang much of the way home. So in spite of a few minor inconveniences, some caused by nothing but my own cerebral distraction, it was a good day. But I’m glad to be home. And in one week and 2 days, all my kiddlies will be back in my nest where they belong! Then I’ll let my teenager do the texting.
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Jul. 19, 2009 - Best Moments in Parade History
On Friday I had the privilege of playing with the band for a change of command parade. It is our job to support the Wing in such functions, and this was a big deal because it was for the Wing Commander. It was during this parade that I witnessed what I consider to be one of the Best Moments in Parade History. Surely they should make a “Canadian Moments” vignette about it for the CBC.
At the beginning of the parade, after those on parade have formed up, an announcer read the histories of the reviewing officer as well as the incoming Wing Commander. When she was finished she told the spectators, “Please stand for the arrival of the Reviewing Officer. Please be advised that there will be a flypast.” It is good to be made aware of something that normally requires one to cover one’s ears.
Not a full minute passed after this announcement when a large gull flew over the parade square, squawking just as it passed over the dais and the spectators. A ripple of laughter broke out on the parade square and grew until everyone was laughing. That bird’s timing could not have been better!
When all the laughter had settled down the announcer spoke into the mike again. “There will be ANOTHER flypast.” Laughter broke out again as we appreciated the announcer’s sense of humour. I have only been participating in parades for 3 years, but I’ve seen quite a few over the last 25 years with my trumpet player, and this was, by far, the best moment I had ever seen in parade history!
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Jul. 9, 2009 - History Teacher, Heal Thyself: Advice on School Planning
If you homeschool you can probably relate to my excitement as a box of text books arrived at my home last week. There is something about new books that excites both the teacher and the student in me. I quickly open the box, then one by one I remove the books, carefully flipping through them for a first quick glance. Those who know me well know that this was my favourite book delivery because it contained History books!
Some of the books we’ll use in the fall we already own and have used once or twice or even three times before. But I recently discovered a new series which we began using mid-way through the 07-08 year, The Mystery of History. I love this series and was particularly excited to receive volume III: The Renaissance, Reformation, and Growth of Nations. Having studied the Middle Ages last year, we are moving forward to one of the most exciting times in History. As we neared the end of our Middle Ages study this past spring I often reminded my children of what was coming. My favourite thing about this period is how it paved the way for the next.
The only problem with planning for the Renaissance and Reformation year is that there is SO much material to fit into my plan. The problem with loving a particular subject is that I want to read everything! We can’t possibly fit all of this material into one year!
To make matters even more difficult, as I planned I realized that I would need to dig out the Canadian History books. During this age of exploration John Cabot made his voyage to the new world. We need to include his story from the Canadian books, and Champlain’s, and…How far can we go in one year?
Too many books, too little time. I realized as I pondered adding the Canadian element to the age of exploration that rather than go through each book individually it would be much easier to take a copy of my Canadian History guide, Modern History Through Canadian Eyes off the shelf and use that to bring
So, taking a break, I opened the book that I wrote a few years ago and began to read through the introduction. These words caught my eye:
“…take your time in the study spending as much time on each unit as you need to become familiar with the people, places, and events….Take the time to meet the men and women who had a vision for a new country, those who rose to defend her, and those who struggled in her beginnings.”
And here I was trying to fit the entire Renaissance into one year. My own words came back to haunt me…or maybe to comfort me. History is a journey, I always say, that should be enjoyed, savoured. Do I really want to make sure that we cover an entire era in one year, or am I more concerned that my children delve into history and get to know the people who made a difference along the way?
With my oldest entering grade 10 I have become more time-conscious than ever before. She has three years left, and I find myself planning the year with that longer time frame in mind. But this is her third time through the ages of history, so if we take a little longer to cover the modern era more thoroughly it will be time well spent.
I know most homeschool mothers are now spreading out the books, along with a 2009-2010 calendar, and beginning to plan out the year’s work. Let me encourage you to take a deep breath, sit back, and think about what you want to accomplish this year. But don’t think in terms of finishing the book or completing the curriculum. Our goals should be deeper than that. Set a goal of getting to know the people who made history and then allow enough time to do that. Decide now that this year you will enjoy the journey!
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Jun. 19, 2009 - Concert Night
Normally I have to let something simmer a day or two before I can write about it, but this is just about jumping out of my skin and I know I won’t be able to sleep until I’ve written at least some of tonight’s concert experience down. They say we perform over 100 events/concerts per year (but who’s counting?) and from the past 3 years that I have been a member of the band, this was by far the best.
First, we had more band members on stage tonight than ever before, and those numbers gave us a fullness that allowed us to play louder sections effortlessly, yet quiet sections oozed from our instruments with ease. I recall back in high school when I had the opportunity to sing in the Provincial Honour Choir in
The theme of the concert was the centennial of flight in
And I think it was. There were times during the music that I looked up at the bandmaster, as I do from time to time, just to make sure I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing when I’m supposed to be doing it, and I saw him smile. Not that he doesn’t often smile, but this was a “You guys sound amazing!” smile.
The concert began with a bang. Sherry directed us in Oh
Also in the mix were show tunes (a medley of music from Porgy & Bess), songs from classic WWII movies (“Dam Busters” and “The Great Escape”) and of course some stalwart marches. We played a tribute to the navy with the unbelievably high (for we clarinets) “On the Quarterdeck,” and to the army with the fun march “Argandab,” in which we clarinets get to be “chirpy little birds.” (Not really, but that was the description…)
During the concert our bandmaster introduced each piece with the stories he is famous for, both on stage and off. As he elicited laughter from the audience and band alike I wondered if the audience had any idea that they were being treated to just a taste of what our practices are like each week. I wondered, too, if they knew how much fun we were having tonight. I thought of times when I was in the audience. I listened to the music and enjoyed it, but I never gave a thought to those performing. My mind drifted to the years before I joined the band when I found band concerts difficult to sit through. I loved the music, but I so longed to be on stage performing with the band that listening to them brought an ache to my heart.
My wandering took me back to the days when my family attended the Christmas concerts put on by this very band and every time I left with that sad ache in my heart to join them. I had no idea what a big part they were to become in my life. My trumpet player told me I could join the band. But life was so busy, the kids were in sports, I had all the excuses. But really I was just leery of committing another night each week and, well, I was too shy to go alone.
I remember the September day when my trumpet player e-mailed me with the bandmaster’s invitation that was widely distributed on the base, saying simply, “Shall we join?” I remember the thrill that brought to me. Our daughter had begun babysitting the other children a few months before that, leaving us free to go out together. He e-mailed the bandmaster, who welcomed us to come even with both of us very rusty. And we were rusty! I hadn’t played my clarinet more than twice in 25 years!
But we went. And never looked back. That first practice as I sat at the end of the front row, I remember thinking how horrible I was and that for the first time in my somewhat perfectionist life I was the worst musician in the room! But I didn’t care. I was back in a band! I am not normally an emotional person, but that night my eyes teared up as I listened to all the parts being played all around me. I had forgotten how amazing it is to sit in a band and be part of the music. The caliber of musician in this band is high – much higher than I will ever attain – and it is a privilege to play with them.
My mind drifted to all of this as I sat on the stage listening to the bandmaster’s masterful storytelling, and as I played the music that was now so familiar. Sometimes it’s good to look back because it reminds us of how blessed we are.
One of my favourite pieces tonight was Superman. We played a terrific arrangement, a medley of pieces from the Superman movies. The sinister bass clarinet and low brass sounded eerie. The gradual swells in volume were effective. You could feel the excitement in the air as we played. I think I even gave that nasty throat note the extra kick our bandmaster tried endlessly to elicit from the clarinets. But my favourite few bars – a section that you can really hear my part – I completely blew. Rats. I don’t think I’ve ever messed those bars up before. They have some tricky fingering, but they’re really not difficult. And I love them. And I mucked them. Rats. But by the time the piece was nearing its end the disappointment was lost. The ending was amazing and that’s what people will remember.
I should report on one more thing. If anyone reading my blog also knows me on Face Book, you will, I am sure, be anxiously waiting to hear if I mastered the Luftwaffe March (from the movie “The Battle of Britain,” affectionately referred to by me as that Waffle March) or if it mastered me. After practicing it almost exclusively for the past couple of weeks, I had really wanted to be able to say that I pulled it off with perfection. Unfortunately I did stumble on one section, but it was not the hardest section. And after that flub I paid closer attention and pulled the rest of the piece off with the desired perfection. I think I have earned the right to call my clarinet the Spitfire. (When I stated that I WOULD conquer this march, my musical nemesis, the bandmaster commented that just like the RAF conquered the Luftwaffe in WWII, I would conquer the march. He suggested that I could name my clarinet the Spitfire, but I knew I couldn’t do that until I had, indeed, conquered the march.)
At the end of the evening we played a beautiful hymn called, “The Airman’s Prayer” while a retired WWII veteran recited the poem “High Flight.” It was a beautiful and fitting end to the evening.
Following this we played the march that we play virtually every time we play, the Air Force March Past. We end every concert with this march, but I have never seen what I saw tonight. Tonight as we played with more fervour than we’ve ever given this piece before, the audience stood. Gradually I began to hear them clapping in time to the music. I have written before on how much a musician appreciates his music being appreciated, but this was unprecedented, at least in my three years with the band. It was as if the audience knew that this night was special.
When we finished the bandmaster gave his bow and turned to motion to us to stand. The people applauded and remained standing, so the bandmaster and singers returned and we played, as an encore, the last part of “A Whole New World.” Now, I was already getting a bit teary from the Air Force March Past. It was painfully evident to all of us that this was our bandmaster & his wife’s last concert, and it is no secret that they will be dearly missed. But when the singers began to sing “a whole new world…” I realized that when they leave it will be a whole new world for our band. A world with a new bandmaster, a new chapter in the life of the 4 Wing Band. I quickly pushed that thought out of my head so that I could see the music before me and continued to play.
When we finished the bandmaster bowed again and the band stood. When the singers bowed we applauded them. When the bandmaster invited his wife to join him in front of the band and the audience applauded them, whoops and shouts were heard above the increasing volume of the applause coming from the band. I have only been in this band for 3 years, so I am sure there are those that will find saying good bye even more difficult than I, but of all that the band has meant to me in those three years, Jeff & Sherry have been a large part. I know we’ll say it again before they leave, but you two will be very sorely missed.
The audience would not be placated with the end of “A Whole New World.” They wanted a whole new piece! So the bandmaster turned and said, “Let’s go out with a bang!” and then said, “Zoot Suit Riot!” Groans may have been slightly audible from the clarinet section. There are very few pieces in our folder that I don’t like. A couple that are just thin arrangements and one or two that have horrible clarinet parts. But this one…well, it’s a fun piece and I can see why people like to listen to it and why certain sections like to play it, but let me just say one word: Loud.
When we play Zoot Suit at a mess dinner we in the front row have a ringing in our ears for a half hour afterwards. It begins with a big, loud drum solo, then the trumpets take over. It is crazy loud. Tonight we had 6 trumpets. I think that says it all. Fortunately for the clarinets there were enough of us that even those of us near the middle of the front row were a fair ways over on the other side of the stage. And the auditorium was large enough so the sound had somewhere to go (unlike some of the smaller venues we play in). So what can I say? The crowd loved it. The back half of the band loved it. Two of us didn’t have music – we had removed the concert music from our folder and left the 1st clarinet folder off-stage. So the second clarinet gave us his and he played with the third. It was interesting playing second and remembering part of the first part. Kind of fun to see how much I could remember and switch back and forth from what I was reading to what I was remembering. And nobody could hear me anyway!
It was a big, full end to an amazing evening. I doubt this evening will ever be topped. The concert felt like the end of something. But it really wasn’t. Our job as a band continues. Next week is a mess dinner. The week after that there’s a parade or two. Summer is a busy season with parades all through July and August. And now that I have gotten the story of this incredible evening out of my system and down on “paper” I can head upstairs and hopefully I will sleep. It will be tough, though, with the strange “tune,” if it can be called a tune, of Zoot Suit in my head. Thanks, Jeff.
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Jun. 19, 2009 - To Believe or Not To Believe...
I have been accused of perfection. I have no idea why, because I am far from perfect. Perhaps I am good at hiding my faults, although I don’t think I try to hide them. In fact, I willingly admit that I have many flaws, faults, weaknesses and fears. Those who know me are sure to know my greatest fear. That is, the greatest fear that I have to face somewhat regularly: Arachnophobia.
Today my son played on this fear. He didn’t do it deliberately as he is not too fond of those 8 legged critters either. Although what he said did make me think he was just pulling my leg.
We were at the grocery store, loading all our groceries into our big ugly truck. Matthew was behind me when he said, “Uh, Mum…you’ve got a big spider on your back.” I turned to look at him and he was having a hard time keeping the smile off his face. “Yeah, right,” I replied. “I really believe you.” There was no belief in my voice.
“No really!” he insisted. “Matthew,” I reasoned, “I can tell you’re just pulling my leg. You can’t even keep from smiling!”
“I’m not joking!”
“So brush it off,” I said, still not believing.
“I’m not touching it!” my brave son replied.
“Sure, sure,” I was still skeptical.
“Ok, I’ll get Emily’s book and knock it off with that.”
“Ok, whatever.” I sure am a hard sell.
He got the book and said he would get it to crawl onto it so I could see it. It was at this point that I began to think he just might be telling the truth, but the ensuing image of a spider crawling from MY BACK onto the book I quickly pushed out of my mind!
Fortunately he decided to just brush it off my back. I looked down. There on the ground was the creepy, 8-legged proof that he had been telling the truth all along. Shudder. I quickly stepped on it. Hard.
But usually he’s pulling off a gag. Really.
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Jun. 17, 2009 - That Waffle March
When I joined the band almost 3 years ago I hadn’t played in about 25 years. When I played in high school I played 1st clarinet and was among the best in the band. What a difference 25 years can make!
The September I joined I struggled to remember what I had learned all those years before. On my first night one of the clarinets told me to choose what part I’d like to play. “I’ll stick with third for now,” I realistically and wisely decided. I quickly regained my embouchure and was able to play the simpler pieces without too much difficulty. But the more difficult pieces did not come easily! There was a concert coming up in October – just a few weeks after I joined the band. That gave me incentive to brush up on my skills very quickly. I practiced like a madwoman in order to be able to play 3rd in that concert. One of the most difficult pieces I had to learn was the Luftwaffe March.
This is the march that is played at the beginning of the movie, “The Battle of Britain.” It is played as the movie introduces the German Air Force – the Luftwaffe – to the viewers. It is a tremendous march, complete with a sinister low brass section and a determined-sounding theme. But it is not easy to play. I worked hard and by the time we performed it I could hold my own on the 3rd part.
After being in the band for a couple of years I had moved up to 2nd clarinet, and had increasing opportunities to play 1st. Always enjoying a challenge, I jumped at those opportunities, and brought copies of many of the more challenging 1st parts home to practice. By the end of my second year I had discovered an entire register that I had not known existed back in high school. And I decided that it was time for me to learn to play in that register.
To that end I brought home the 1st clarinet part of the Luftwaffe March. As I struggled to learn this extraordinarily high piece, I chuckled at how difficult I had found the 3rd part only 2 years before. The register I was determined to learn is beyond-the-stratosphere high. The notes are written on ledger lines well above the staff. For those who know music, these notes are D through G two full octaves above middle C. These are notes I haven’t had to read often, so part of the purpose of learning this piece was to ingrain those notes in my brain so I would no longer have to think about what they were.
That was goal #1. Goal #2 was gaining the skill to make those ultra-high notes sound. And not just sound, but sound good! The clarinet can get a little squealy on the higher notes if one doesn’t play them carefully. I was determined not only to play these notes, but to make them sound as rich and full in that higher register as they are in the lower.
Last summer I decided that the best piece to help me attain these goals was the 1st part of the Luftwaffe March. At that time I did not know if I would ever play that part with the band, but that didn’t matter. I knew that if I could learn to play that, I would fully know that upper register, and be able to play it on demand. I was right, but those goals would not be met easily.
I practiced the piece, off and on, for the next year, though not as diligently as I should have. During this third year in the band, I was able to move to a relatively permanent 1st position, making this upper register skill even more important as I now run into it frequently. A couple of times the Luftwaffe march came up in mini concerts, and I was able to muddle through on 1st. But a few passages still tripped me up. When I learned that we would be performing it at this Friday’s major concert, I determined to finally properly learn that ultra-high march.
Since then I have spent a considerable amount of time going over the problem bars. I have played the piece along with the movie which forces me to keep up allowing no time to trip over sections. The recording is slower than we normally play it, which has been good for learning, but I know I will have to put a bit more speed on it to keep up on concert night.
Last night my trumpet player and I played through the march together a number of times, along with the movie. I actually played it perfectly once or twice! Those few bars still cause me grief now and then, so I have more polishing to do on this march, but I am on the cusp of that incredible feeling that musicians experience when they master a particularly difficult piece of music. My personal challenge nearly met, I feel almost ready to perform the Luftwaffe March at Friday’s concert…as long as the band doesn’t play it too fast!
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Jun. 17, 2009 - Random Summer Musing
Today is a gloriously warm, sunny day in June. So when Katie asked me to come along on her paper route with her, I decided to leave my studies and take an hour to walk with my two youngest girls. I pulled the wagon of papers while the girls ran back and forth up the walkways to deliver the papers. It was a good arrangement, good exercise, and a nice time with the two of them. The sun was warm, yet the day has not yet warmed up completely so the cool breeze kept us from overheating as we walked around the neighbourhood.
As we walked I noticed the various houses along the route. There are all kinds of homes in this neighbourhood from the very humble to the grand, from bungalows to two-stories, from modern siding to rustic wood and stone. Some of these are houses we looked at when we moved here. Sometimes I wonder if this one or that one would have been better than the one we bought. It doesn’t matter, though. It’s a nice neighbourhood and my home suits us well. But as I look at various houses my mind often turns toward the future. What kind of house will we live in next?
Perhaps this frame of mind comes from the transient nature of our life in the Canadian Air Force. Though we haven’t moved as often as many in this line of work, we live always with the knowledge that we will move again. And currently we are staring at the end of our current posting, expecting to be moved next year, or the year after at the latest.
Perhaps my contemplating is also due to the fact that I have never really been happy about our current posting. Though there are wonderful people in this town, and there are some advantages to living in a small community that I do not take lightly, I am not fond of the climate and sometimes get frustrated by the remoteness of our town, so the prospect of this posting being over is not altogether unpleasant for me.
So as I wandered the neighbourhood looking at houses, I wondered what my next house will be like. We have lived in 8 homes over the years so you can be sure that our list of requirements is lengthy and specific. Most important of all is the age-old realty chant, “Location, location, location.” We long to live in the country, and plan on our next move to stay in rented housing as long as necessary to finally find the acreage of our dreams. As we approach the possibility of retirement, we wonder if we’ll be able to stay in our next home permanently. What a treat it will be when we finally discover that we never have to move again! Not that we never will, necessarily…but we’ll never have to.
Meanwhile, I look at houses and note the beautiful stone-work on this one, the gorgeous front window on that one, the lovely deck and landscaping over here, a fabulous entry there. Tucking these ideas into my head for the future, I returned to my current home, one that has much to offer including the location. Though we’re not on an acreage yet, we enjoy many benefits in this house – we can walk to the beach, hear the surf on a windy day, smell the campfires at the nearby campground on long summer evenings, and the paper route is right outside our door! Life is good, even when it’s not perfect. We are blessed to be where we are, and though we may not know what it is, we are grateful that God has a purpose for placing us here for a time.
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Jun. 15, 2009 - One Proud Mama and a Warm Summer Weekend
I had hoped this would be much more clever than it is, so if you were looking for a cleverly written, humorous account, move on to the next blog. If, however, you are curious about our first Warm Summer Weekend, read on...
I am looking towards the end of a 7-week busy period in our year. Last weekend was one of the busiest, but also one of the best. Saturday morning was the kids’ ACR (Annual Ceremonial Review) for their cadet squadron. In the afternoon was our band’s annual Grexne Cup World Invitational Championship Golf Tournament followed by a bbq dinner. There was an activity at the church that we skipped due to already being overbooked that day. Sunday afternoon we were all invited to the birthday party of a friend of my 6 year-old.
To begin at the beginning, Saturday morning was not a sleep-in day. Four of us had to be up to get our uniforms ready for the parade. It would be an especially memorable parade due to the roles we all had in it. My husband and I were in uniform because our band was filling out the cadet band. I had been unsure of whether I wanted to play because, while the musician in me ALWAYS wants to play, the mother in me wanted to watch my children and be sure to get good photos of them. Fortunately a friend volunteered to come and sit with the little girls and take photos for me. So, pressed and de-linted, we headed out the door at 9 am.
The cadets had a full run-through of the program, and the band also ran through the music. We needed to be briefed, and the Drum Major made sure we all knew where we were to be and what we were to do. She was very good at giving orders, in spite of the fact that two of the band members were her parents! One would think that it would be odd to take orders from one’s daughter, but I found it absolutely delightful! What a thrill it was to be in the band and watch my first born standing in front directing us and leading “her band” on parade! To puff me up even more, my son would sound the general salute on his trumpet. Before the parade I took plenty of pictures of the kids practicing. I was so proud of both of them, and being a scrapbooker I of course needed plenty of photos of the event!
One trumpet player commented on my daughter’s bossiness, though I must admit that she comes by it honestly. She was a little intimidated because she was leading adults as well as cadets, but she did her job with confidence and it paid off. Without any instruction, she conducted Col. Bogey during the inspection. I was particularly impressed with the way she was able to get her bass drummer back on the beat when the drum strayed slightly from the rhythm. When the Wing Commander, who had agreed to be the reviewing officer for the parade, inspected the band, she took him through our ranks like a pro. When he finished, as is customary, they stopped to have a quick exchange of words, and on this occasion this happened to be right in front of me, since I was the last to be inspected. It was not a terribly big moment, but for some reason seeing my daughter handling her responsibility so well was more than this mama could take and my eyes teared up with pride as they walked away.
In the arena sound carries, and when my son played the General Salute, he filled the large space with full, rich sound, hitting each note with precision.
After our band’s participation was over my trumpet player and I sat down to watch the rest of the parade. We knew what was coming – being on the parent committee I had seen a list of the award recipients a few weeks ago. When the reached the award for the Top Marksman I watched my daughter’s face so as not to miss her expression when they called her name. This was the only award she wanted, and I knew she wanted it more than she let herself believe. She loves to shoot and is going to rifle coach camp this summer. To receive this award she needed to have the best score in the squadron.
It is hard to take photos while clapping. But I did my best. On her way back to her parade position, I saw her grin a wide, toothy grin.
Then they called on my trumpet player to present the Top Musician award. It was a surprise to my son both to receive the award and to have it presented by his father! I was able to get a priceless photo of him saluting his Dad!
After the parade we enjoyed a bbq, and then I took the kids home. My trumpet player had left already to make his tee-off time at the Grexne Cup Golf Tournament. I decided not to play this year so that the kids wouldn’t be rushed after the parade. Instead I took them home and got changed and enjoyed some time in the newly-arrived summer sun. It was the first day this year that I could sit in the shade and not be cold! I headed out in time to be at the golf course before my trumpet player finished his game. Surprisingly, his team won the tournament! Although, since my team won a couple of years ago I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised as he is a considerably better golfer than me in spite of the time he normally spends bush-wacking. He did say that he finished 3 above par – that is, 3 above HIS par, which means he finished with 3 balls more than he started with. In reality we have only won the coveted cup because we were fortunate enough to have good golfers on our teams. Once all the golfers had returned, we had a lovely evening with the band enjoying a delicious bbq steak dinner.
Sunday afternoon was the end of the busy weekend. We headed up to a nearby playground at 2, where the kids played and the teens and a few of us adults played Frisbee and basketball. My trumpet player had “won” a bag of goodies at the golf tournament, and he had the foresight to bring the hollow Frisbee along to the park. It was a beautiful warm sunny day – we couldn’t have asked for better weather for the whole weekend!
From the park we headed over to the birthday girl’s house where we enjoyed visiting, eating ice cream, and what warm summer day would be complete without a water fight? Though my trumpet player claims innocence, the whole thing was started when he put an ice cube down his daughter’s back. The rest of the afternoon became her challenge to get her Dad with water, and soon all the teenagers were involved. There were cups of water, water bottles of water, and eventually even a hose in play. By the time we walked home, both my trumpet player and my teenage daughter were soaked! It was a great way to end our first warm summer weekend.
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Jun. 6, 2009 - The music, my friend, is blowin' in the wind...
I am sensing a theme. That theme is cold. It occurred to me this afternoon that in joining the band I have gained many growth experiences, opportunities to endure. When else would I choose to march in the rain, drive 8 hours to march and then stand in the frigid morning air for an hour, then drive 8 hours home, or sit and play while the wind is blowing clarinets and music willy nilly over the tarmac? These are situation I would never have found myself in had I not joined the band. I owe them a great deal. And they owe me a few toes lost to frostbite.
This afternoon we played an outdoor concert at the open house of the big air exercise going on at our air base. Last year, you may recall, proved to be disastrous for the clarinet that fell over, and many spent their bars of rests retrieving flying music. Perhaps we should have played “Blowin’ in the Wind” on that occasion. Today promised to be much better. Until the temperature dropped.
With a forecasted high of a cloudy 12 degrees (that’s about 52 F) the bandmaster wisely changed the dress from short-sleeve uniform to “weather appropriate civvies” with a band hockey jersey on top. Well, it’s not really a band hockey jersey, per se, but it is a bag of jerseys the band has for use at sports opening ceremonies and the like. At any rate, we were grateful for the extra layer this put between us and the wind.
The wind was not as strong as last year - only once did my stand begin to tip and for a few minutes require being held down with my foot. But it was colder. We played for nearly an hour, the highlight being a dancing toddler who made a few of us smile while we played.
He began in his stroller, bee-bopping along to the music. His Dad took some photos, and then his mother took him out of the stroller so he could really dance. This little guy couldn’t have been more than 14 or 16 months. And he went with all the force and enthusiasm of an elastic band set free from my son’s fingers! It made playing a little more difficult, but a lot more fun. I almost forgot how cold I was for a minute or two! If only more listeners would enjoy the music with such abandon!
As usual, I learned a few things at this gig:
1. Having already learned that it is difficult to play when you can’t feel your fingers, today I discovered that when it’s not quite that cold (but darn close) playing isn’t too bad, but trilling is still hard to do. It could be due to the inability for frozen fingers to move quickly rather than the lack of feeling in the tips of them. Perhaps both are factors in this phenomenon.
2. I can play while smiling – almost laughing – but if I keep looking up at the adorable toddler dancing his tiny little heart out, I will at some point (or points) lose my place.
3. When I lose my place I can easily find it again because I know the music well…unless, of course, the first note on every line, as well as the ever-important-always-elusive repeat sign, are hidden behind the thingies we use to hold our music onto the stand in windy conditions.
4. Not only do my fingers have a hard time playing at near-sub-zero temperatures, but my brain also loses function as the temperature decreases, which affects my playing accordingly.
5. My clarinet (or rather, the Wing’s clarinet which I used today) does not like playing when it’s cold and windy. Strange sounds came from the bell of my clarinet on more than one occasion…
6. If you have your clarinet standing on its stand just to the right of you, and you’re wearing a hockey jersey that’s about 7 sizes too big, even with the sleeves rolled up they could pose a problem. After switching to my second reed (and just in time for the world’s fastest piece, or at least our fastest piece) because the first one broke (the corner broke off), I noticed that when I had fastened (and I do mean FASTENED) my music to my stand and put my arm back down, the sleeve was dragging over the edge of my mouthpiece…pulling slightly at the corner of my reed and effectively breaking it.
I think the bandmaster was out to get me today. This may not always be the case, but when he said, “Let’s play something we can all play…Luftwaffe March!” I wondered. I recently admitted that this piece is my nemesis. Fortunately I made it through, missing only a couple of sections that give me trouble when there ISN’T cold wind to deal with… But when he announced that we would play “Amparita Roca” which just happens to be the fastest piece in our folder, a piece that I had practiced quite a bit when I first moved to 1st, but haven’t played in many weeks since lately I’ve been spending most of my time practicing the Luftwaffe March for our upcoming concert, I knew. Right after that we played Mack the Knife, which isn’t terribly hard, but has several triplet runs that are best run through before performance, particularly when one’s fingers and brain are cold.
But we did our job, and enjoyed ourselves in spite of the conditions, as we always do. People waiting in line were entertained and occasionally applauded. Little ones danced. Cadets (who were there to help with security, of which my daughter was one) did random drill patterns as they passed by to view the aircraft. And when we got home I filled the tub with the hottest water I could squeeze from the tap.
Hot baths always remind me of the story of the frog. It’s usually told to illustrate how easily we can become accustomed to sin, thereby being overcome by it because of our inoculation to it. In the same way a frog can sit in a pot of comfortable water, and as you gradually turn up the heat it doesn’t realize it’s getting hotter and eventually boils to death. I must, somewhere in my being, be part frog, though I’ve thankfully never become frog soup. But I find a steaming hot bath is the only way to warm up when I’m truly cold, and that proved to be the case today.
Today also happens to be my son’s 13th birthday. Yes, there are officially two teenagers in the house now. They will soon outnumber us. At present we are somewhat like Noah’s ark: Two adults, two teens and two children. He had a fun day with his sisters, and ended it with German pancakes (which are exactly like crepes, but since we got the recipe from my German mother-in-law and they call them German pancakes, we call them that too) and to make them special we even had fresh berries for the filling! We topped it off with Dairy Queen’s new Double Chocolate Brownie Batter Blizzard cake. Only ours was actually a peanut butter cup ice cream cake with the wrong label. It was still very yummy, and it fit in with today’s frozen theme. And now I have about a pot and a half of hot tea to drink to warm up again!
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May. 31, 2009 - And What About Me?
I would like to write a p.s. to yesterday’s post. I finished it with the following verse:
“A pupil is not above his teacher; but everyone, after he has been fully trained, will be like his teacher.” (Luke 6:40)
This verse should be a strong exhortation to parents to choose very carefully those who will teach their children. It is essential that we choose teachers whose lives exemplify the kind of people we want our children to become, because this verse promises that they will become like their teachers.
This is true whether we entrust the education of our children to some other teacher, or whether we take on that task ourselves. Choosing to teach one’s own children does not make this verse any easier. If I am to be my children’s teacher, then I must be the kind of person I want my children to become. This is a hard question to ask oneself. Am I the kind of person I want my children to become?
Too often the answer is no. But with the exhortation of Luke 6, I continually check myself - my attitudes, my character, my heart – to see if I am falling short, and when I am, because often I am, I take it to the Lord to change me and make me into the kind of person He wants me to be – the kind of person He wants my children to become.
Scripture is clear about the importance God places on those who teach. In Matthew 18:6 Jesus said this: “…but whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in Me to stumble, it would be better for him to have a heavy millstone hung around his neck, and to be drowned in the depth of the sea.” Further, James wrote: “Let not many of you become teachers, my brethren, knowing that as such we shall incur a stricter judgment.” (James 3:1)
Does this sound daunting? It should. God clearly understands the importance of the teacher in the lives of his or her students. But the enormity of the task should not dissuade us from what God has called us to do. For where He has called us, He will provide what we need to obey. James goes on to say, “For we all stumble in many ways.” (1:2) None of us are perfect. Perfection is not required. James outlines many ways in which we all stumble and fall in our walk. Then he gives the secret to getting back on track, “Submit therefore to God….Draw near to God and He will draw near to you.” (4:7-8) None of us are perfect. But if your children have a teacher whose goal is to be like Christ, and who admits her failings while turning again to God, then your children are in good hands.
This is about far more than our children’s academic education, though that is certainly part of the parcel. This is about their hearts, about who they will become as they mature. Will they be like Christ because their teacher strove to be like Him? Or will they follow in the ways of the world because that’s the way they were led? If I were to list all the reasons I am not a good teacher for my children the list would take many pages. However, God has given these children to me and has called me to raise them and educate them for His glory. Therefore I trust Him to be my strength and to make me the teacher they need as I obey Him in this calling.
Yes, it is a daunting task. But Paul said it best in Philipians 4:13, “I can do all things through Christ, Who strengthens me.” He who has called you will equip you to the task.
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