Buckley O'Weaver

As we lead up to St. Patrick's day, I felt it appropriate to do a tribute post to the Irishman in the house....our dog.

Here reads the description of the Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier from the AKC website (emphasis added): 

A truly Irish breed, the "Wheaten" has a special connection to St. Patrick's Day, having first appeared in the show ring at the Irish Kennel Club Championship on March 17, 1937. The name of this breed describes the characteristics of the coat–soft, silky, with a gentle wave, and of warm wheaten color. 

Underneath is a formidable dog that enjoys plenty of exercise every day. Most Wheatens are natural greeters towards people, and extremely alert in their surroundings. They are quick learners and love to travel with their owners. The Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier was first recognized by the AKC in 1973. 

Known for more than 200 years in Ireland, the "Wheaten" shares common ancestry with the Kerry Blue and the Irish Terrier, but was not owned by the landed gentry. They were the poor man's dog, an all-purpose farm dog, given to patrolling the borders of small farms, ridding them of vermin, herding sheep and hunting with his master.

Wheatens tend to be less scrappy than other terriers but they are true terriers and will be more active than many other breeds, enjoying plenty of exercise every day. They relate well to children and can adapt to city, country, and suburban life. The Wheaten is single coated and sheds minimally, but needs regular grooming to keep its coat mat free.

Clearly we picked the right breed for our family since we are not, in fact, landed gentry (despite the fact that we currently own 2 properties. Ugh. More on that another time).   Buckley has been a fantastic dog for us, first as a newlyweds, then as parents of a baby, now toddler.  He is exceptional with our little girl, and she loves him.  In fact, every morning, when her fussing gets loud enough to rouse me from slumber, I go into her room, pull her out of her crib and the first thing she says is not "mama!" or "baba (bottle)", it's "woof woof." 

Descriptions are correct that this breed needs lots of activity.  Even from his youngest days he has been a great walking, jogging and hiking companion with seeming boundless energy.  The downside to that energy is that he has always been a leash puller, despite our best (well, sort of ) efforts at training.  And his energy is only limited by the temperature and length of his coat.  See, Wheatens, or at least our Wheaten, get uncomfortably hot pretty easily.  One sunny Saturday, we took young Buckley  to a hike up Blood Mountain.  Once we'd reached the top, poor pup was hot and thirsty, seeking water at any cost.  He found a small, stagnant mud puddle and proceeded to roll himself completely around in the gray soupy muck, much to the chagrin of passers-by.  We were frozen, wanting to pull his squirmy body out of the nastiness, yet entranced by the spectacle.  Gosh he was dirty after that. That's our Buckley, sad eyes, playful heart.

Happy St. Patrick's Day to our little Irishman.  Maybe we'll give him a sip of beer tomorrow....just to watch him sneeze.  Works every time.

Will you be celebrating your Irish Heritage on the 17th...or just wearing green so you don't get hassled by co-workers and store clerks?

Woman Vs. Nature

The weather was stunningly beautiful in Georgia this weekend.  It's that time of year here when the mornings and evenings are cool enough where you wish you had an extra layer when you go to your friends house for a cookout.  The days are warm in the sun, cool in the shade, and the pollen isn't so thick that you feel like you're breathing through cheesecloth. That time will come...soon.  For weeks in the spring, and a few weeks in the fall, my husband and I quell our "Atlanta sucks" grumbles and enjoy weekends like this one. 

After a couple hours of pick-up soccer with our regular Saturday crew, my body ached a bit, yet somehow because of the blissfully sunny, temperate day, I was motivated to do yard work.  I have an odd relationship to yard work, not unlike my relationship to running, I suppose.  I feel good and satisfied when it's over, but I don't really enjoy myself while I'm doing it.  I so want to be the person whose soul is deeply satisfied by digging in rich soil, pulling weeds, mowing lawns, raking leaves.  I want to love nature and feel in harmony with it, not at war, as I often do when I'm bagging endless piles of leaves.  On paper, I should really enjoy yardwork:  I'm a self-confessed tough-girl, love the outdoors, hiking, etc.  I grew up in the country (that is now more suburb than woodlands, but that's another story) running around barefooted in creeks and leafpiles.  I love sports and physical exercise, but doggone if working in the yard doesn't just make me feel itchy and sweaty.  My husband would be the first to attest at my absolute prissy attitude toward anything resembling outdoor chores.  I huff and puff with the lawnmower cutting uneven rows, grumbling about how sweaty I'm getting.  I hate getting scrapes and burns from pulling underbrush and thistles.  My back aches after planting flowers.  Bagging leaves, the chore which I so heroically took on Saturday, is a total drag.  But, determined to conquer my bad attitude, I marched up the hill like the Grand Old Duke of York, hoping and praying Jeff would see my self-sacrifice and be impressed with my valor.  Trying to look muscly and tough, my workrate was really quite paltry. I think I filled 5 or 6 bags, but not without knocking them over, bending the sides with the rake so the big bundle you have squeezed between rake surface and (elbow-length gloved) hand goes careening over the side of the toddling bag and back to the ground.  Boo. 

I hope I will grow to appreciate tilling the soil and working the land.  It's quite Biblical (like as in, God cursed Adam with the duty after he ate the dadgum apple and blamed Eve).  But perhaps I need a few more years of wisdom.  I think of my grandparents and how Grandpa Evan would spend hours chopping logs.  He built up a woodpile the size of a school bus and he must've figured axe therapy was a hell of a lot cheaper than paying a shrink. AND, you could have endless hours of warmth in the hearth. My Oma in Michigan had a cherry tree in her back yard that she would tend to and yield gorgeous fruit from. She took pride in her beautiful rosebushes that lined the fence.  Yes I hope for that patient wisdom that desires to garden, with all it's joys and frustrations.  But for now, I just have to confess that this prissy missy would MUCH rather be playing soccer on Saturdays than getting pesky dirt under my fingernails.

Theology Thursday: Lent and Parenting

I remembered! It's Thursday, and while I'd planned to do some sort of more focused Lent-related post today -  You know, why do it, some good resources, etc. - I will instead share a journal entry I made this morning.

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Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not rely on your own insight. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths. Be not wise in your own eyes; fear the Lord, and turn away from evil. It will be healing to your flesh and refreshment to your bones. - Prov 3

One of today's readings, and SUCH a familiar passage, but one we need to say to ourselves every hour probably.  There is too much that I fret about, try to control, or think I am wise about.  Yes, He has enabled me some wisdom, but His is infinitely greater.

Parenting is humbling, and an arena wherein I trust God too little, nor do I trust myself much, honestly.  The past week or so has been trying as our little 15 month old has more an more of a mind of her own, and has been especially whiny and needy.  Her naps have been sporadic, and her night sleep on occasion as well.  Of course poor sleep begets poor sleep and makes little babies fussy.  Whether it’s teething, pollen, bad parenting or just a phase, I have felt anger well up in me this week that has surprised me.

Yesterday, the first day that we took on the discipline of our Lenten fast, is of course when I was stretched by her.  It was rainy and gloomy, I was hungry much of the day, Jeff had a late meeting so was not home until after she was in bed.  At some point in the afternoon, I attempted (for a second time) to put her down for a nap.  I KNEW she was tired, and I had loads of things to do but she just cried and stomped and would NOT sleep.  I jerked open the door to her room and yelled “what!” We were both taken aback I think, She stopped her whining for a moment and I felt immediately awful and morphed into kinder tones. But inside, oh inside my blood was boiling, and I'm pretty sure I hated her in that moment. 


Whether it was the enemy’s temptations on our first day of Lent, or God’s tender discipline and exposing of my heart I know not, but I am yet again reminded how much I need Him.  Later we took a trip to the gym just so I could put her in the childcare and get a breather for an hour. When I picked her up she started crying and didn’t stop until we were home.  The anger and bitterness started to well up yet again, even after listening to an hour podcast on the Purpose of Lent and getting me all pumped up!  Of course in hindsight, it seems one of the purposes of Lent is exactly that, to expose our hidden anger, bitterness and pride.  But dang, day 1, really!?  

I dreaded the evening ahead, counting the hours until Jeff got home and I could shower or just be away.  But you know, after she had a snack and some milk, she turned a corner.  Suddenly she was my sweet little girl again and we just rolled on the floor and I tickled her til she couldn’t control her giggles.  It was incredibly sweet, a moment of clarity within my little doom loop.  Despite the struggles, she brings us great joy and I’m so thankful. 

Lesson learned. For now.  I'm sure it will be promptly forgotten if the same thing happens next week. So a final Theology Thursday point to that ends:  we need Lent, and other holidays and feasts that happen every year, over and over again like the seasons.   Our memories are incredibly short, at least mine is. 

Anniversary

Jeff and I got married seven March 6ths ago.  While we've never been big on celebrations, we felt like this one needed some extra love.  Seven years and one baby in we decided on a little getaway.  Not too far, so as to burden any friend or family member with caring for our baby for too long, but away enough to feel...away.  It's amazing what thrills you when you become a parent, and this anniversary weekend for me, was completely emblematic of what its like to celebrate US as we are now, still in love, but in very different ways than we were 7 years ago. 

What Would You Do With a Free Day?

Our actual anniversary fell on Sunday, so we decided to celebrate Saturday night.  But first, the weekend kicked off with me getting a day to myself.  Jeff took off work and agreed to keep Hadley all day Friday.  I left fairly early,  contented to sip coffee and read the paper in peace at a local coffee shop (insert quick trip to tag office - a day cannot be entirely non-functional).  I then meandered to the mall to make some returns and try on a bunch of clothes at Anthropologie (long story). I took FOREVER.  If you've ever shopped with me (that's you mom and sister!) you know it can be laborious. Well I could think of nothing better to do without the encumbrance of time constraints than to shop for clothes.  WHY do I take so long? Because I don't like doing it. I'm too analytical about purchase decisions, I'm not entirely comfortable with my body or how I look in clothes and I hate spending money.  But anniversary Friday, I psyched myself up and I actually enjoyed the pampering of the dressing room attendant (well, "enjoyed" may be a strong word, lets just say the whole thing didn't make me all sweaty red-faced.  I think mostly because I had the luxury of time. ).  I even ended up with some clothes that I (might) like.

After a fairly successful shop stop, I got my eyebrows waxed. That's pamper-ey right? Then, almost thoroughly me-ed out, I went home, even managing to ignore the whines of my girl as I whisked back out the gym.  As evening drew near, I took a long long shower, then the three of us went out for Mexican food.  It was fun and by the end of the day I felt incredibly relaxed.

Will Trade Childcare for Laundry

View of Atlanta from our room

As for Saturday night, an oh-so-generous friend volunteered to watch our daughter for the night, under the condition that she could do laundry at our place.  Uuuh.  Deal.  She said that theyhad a grand old time, and Jeff and I, well we did too.  While the fancy hotel and overpriced sushi place were amazing, I truly think we enjoyed the little things with most pleasure.  We sat in the hotel's lovely lobby sipping 5 o'clock beers, reading the paper and joking with each other about what conference must be in town to gather the odd variety of people milling about.  I took a LONG bath in the incredibly comfy big bathtub in the hotel room. We pulled back the curtains and just stared at the Atlanta skyline, gray and rainy though it was that dusk.  We took our time at dinner, ordered expensive things (I had to breathe deeply and be re-assured by Jeff many times that this was okay to do once in a while).  We walked arm in arm to and from dinner, through the chilly rain, and it was lovely.


When in Buckhead....Act Like You're in England

One of the delights of being "away" was the prospect of sleeping in.  Given that our little bundle of joy has a bit of an early waking habit, sleeping in past 7, and waking of our own volition was a luxury to anticipate.  Unfortunately, Jeff was up at 5, and I at 7, unable to get back to sleep.  BUT, at least we were able to just relax.  We sipped hotel-room coffee and read the paper propped on cushy feather pillows.  It was fabulous.

Our kind babysitter took Hadley to church Sunday morning, so we knew we were free until noon.  But rather than visit a museum, or pop over to Lenox to shop some more, we felt it fitting to enjoy our child-free time together by going to a nearby pub to watch an English League soccer match.  This is another luxury which we don't enjoy very often, watching those 8:30am European games in a pub setting.  And after our lean, hip sushi night, there was nothing we craved more than a big greasy Irish breakfast and some footie.  And it was a fantastic match. Wins all around on that windy, gray anniversary morning.   We truly enjoyed each other last weekend, and the fondness of common rituals that in our current rhythm of life are not so common.  An anniversary well spent.

Oh What a Universe

"Wouldn't it be a lovely headline... ' Life is Beautiful ' on the New York Times? "
- Rufus Wainwright, "Oh What A World"

Last Saturday I had some restless sleep. At about 1am I took at peak at Twitter and was surprised to see author / pastor / speaker Rob Bell as a top Twitter trend.  Okay, I know this story is SO last week, but since reading about Bell's forthcoming book "Love Wins....,"  I've been doing a good bit of reading and stewing on the issues of Salvation, Heaven, Hell and bathroom renovations (but that's a separate issue).  Critics quickly pounced on the "universalist" implications of his book promo video.  Bloggers called for calm.  Tweeters wrote Mr. Bell off. The New York Times picked up the story.  It's been a fascinating week if you're into this sort of thing.

Among the things I've been reading:
Greg Boyd's take on the  "Is Rob Bell a Universalist" issue.  Hint: He's actually read Bell's book.

A thorough article on hell from Tim Keller. 

And, because I am a confessed quote-o-phile, I will leave readers with this thought-provoking little gem from Bishop Kallistos Ware, Orthodox Author and Theologian.  (h/t theycallmepastorbryan )

How are we to bring into concord the two principles, 'God is love', and 'Human beings are free'? For the time being we cannot do more than hold fast with equal firmness to both principles at once, while admitting that the manner of their ultimate harmonization remains a mystery beyond our present comprehension… Our belief in human freedom means that we have no right to categorically affirm, 'All *must* be saved.' But our faith in God's love makes us dare to *hope* that all will be saved… Hell exists as a possibility because free will exists. Yet, trusting in the inexhaustable attractiveness of God's love, we venture to express the hope – it is no more than a hope – that in the end… we shall find that there is nobody there. Let us leave the last word, then, with St Silouan of Mount Athos: 'Love could not bear that… We must pray for all.'

        - Kallistos Ware | The Inner Kingdom

Is there something worth adding to my reading list? Have you heard about this hullabaloo? Bathroom renovation suggestions? j. 

Theology Thursday

Maybe this is the start of something wonderful...a way to focus my blogging energies toward topical posts, since the more I live I discover that I like the rhythm of routine.

So for this inaugural Theology Thursday post, I will simply post some quotes that have struck me this past week.  I don't know what it is about quotations that can so often capture the essence of a thought or idea, be it absurd (see any number of the latest Charlie Sheen interview quotes), or profound. Here are a few for today, hopefully they venture closer to profundity than...er...Sheenery.

"Comfort the afflicted, afflict the comfortable" - Finley Peter Dunne, as quoted by journalist (and Furman Graduate) David Gibson when asked what he hopes to accomplish in his work.

This quote challenges me because I am sorely lacking in both comforting afflicted, and being willing to disrupt the comfortable. Probably because I'm too often one of the comfortable.

"Divine Zeal is as a fire, but it does not heat the blood, it cools it and reduces it to a calm state. The zeal of the carnal mind is always accompanied by heating of the blood and by an invasion of swarms of thoughts and fancies." - St. Isaac the Syrian

I find this quote particularly poignant in light of today's reactionary society. The boiling blood of anger and self-righteousness can be particularly evident among Christians, and particularly through blogs, Facebook, Twitter etc. While I am not prone to angry outbursts in person or in print, I am prone to judging those who are, and for that, my own "Divine Zeal" need not lead me to "needless swarms of thoughts," but to contemplation of my own heart.

And to that end, I would be remiss to not point reader(s) ;-) to a blog post I found most illuminating this week, from a blogger who is a new favorite.
Read How to Write a Controversial Blog Post With No Regrets. It's a good primer for avoiding saying things with heated blood in most online contexts.

Any quotes that have struck you this week (they needn't be theological in nature)?

Signs of the Age

10 Signs that I'm Old(er).  In no particular order.

10.  We just got our "Willmaker Plus" software in the mail. Blech.
9.  I've been to bed before 9:30 twice this week.
8.  The show Parenthood makes me cry, like weekly.
7.  I thought The Hangover was pretty funny, but was NOT amused by all the baby shenanigans.
6.  When I see teenagers at our local park, I sort of grumble to myself, "hmph. crazy teenagers...go somewhere else to smoke and makeout."
5.  I *sometimes* turn it to B98.5 (easy listening)..just for nostalgia. (But if I listen too long I feel like I'm at the dentist. )
4.  I met an acquaintance for lunch this week.  We talked a lot about home improvements.
3.  When the local highschool lets out and I see kids (yes, I said "kids") walking home, I sometimes think "how did your parent let you out of the house wearing that!"
2. I always regret not bringing ear plugs to concerts.
1.  I recently spent way too much (by my meager standards) for a way-to-little container of "facial creme." Because that's what one does when one becomes an adult. I think.

Twitter

Image Courtesy: Bicoastally

I'm trying to make sense of Twitter. Whether it is a meaningless, time-sucking medium or something of an ingenious, culturally appropriate way to communicate is hard to say.  I mean, I don't think it's the latter, but what do I know.  Seriously, what do I know?  Not a lot, especially about Twitter.  I haven't figured out all the slang, what with all the RT's and @ symbols and hashtags (is there a bank of hashtags from which to call or do you make them up as you go?).   I'm also trying to understand the relational aspects of the medium.  There's this giant, growing web of interconnectedness.  But it's not like facebook where you can comment directly on posts in a personal way.  You sort of can, but as I understand it, it becomes yet another worldwidely accessible thing that happens to be directed at a single person solely because you threw an @ symbol in.

Is Twitter a marketer's dream (see: Dogfish Head / Red Cross faux pas gone good)? Will it bring peace to the Middle East (or at least democratic governments)?  Will it eclipse Facebook?  Will I succumb to the machine and 'follow' Justin Bieber?

Because these questions are being asked (all but the last one, really), I feel I need to be in on it, at least enough to talk about it at the watercooler.  Sheesh, I think i just stumbled upon my life philosophy.  Be in on "it" enough to be able to talk about it, or enjoy it with friends, but not enough to pay for your college or land you an awesome job.  Hm, this self-illuminating moment brought to you by Blogger. And Twitter. #secrettobeingeasytotalktoatpartiesbutnevermakethecoverofTimemagazine

So, Twitter is interesting.  My lineup of....er...followees is intersting.  Not sure what it says about me, but I'm sure some marketing exec knows exactly what it says about me, and good for her because I don't care.  I just want to know what Ellen, Conan, Vanessa Hine, Stuart Holden, Carlos Bocanegra, Thomas Friedman (never posts), Johnny Wier, SportsNation, Kim Clijsters, my sister and a few others have to say about the world.  And gosh that @stuholden has a lot to say about the world.  And he posts cute pics! And lots of these: :-) !!!! (I've decided that his twitter persona is as 110mph as his onfield presence. And that's a good thing.

P.S.  Add me.  You won't be sorry. (but you may not be impressed).  @kwittgens

Cold & Rainy

When it's cold and rainy, I think of England.
I think of walking the streets of Covent Garden, listening to David Gray.  Of huddling into the British Museum along with the hundreds of others who take refuge in the historic monstrosity on London's rainy days.   The main hall echoes with children's shouts, umbrellas and squeaky boots.  Then you look up, and some Assyrian god is towering over you. There could be worse places to spend a rainy afternoon, navigating relics, curiosities and slick marble floors.

When it's gray outside my window, I imagine how differently rainy days feel in England than here.  In Georgia, where we go from garage, to car, to parking lot, to store, back to car.  We need only be prepared for brief interludes of getting wet.  We grumble about how the rain impedes our life and activity.  When I lived in London, you just went about your day same as before, just better prepared for the elements.  Knowing I'd have to walk from my hotel, or guest home, several blocks to the tube meant I was prepared for getting wet.  And every other Londoner on the tube was wet, too. And we all stood in silence (that odd European public transportation ritual), hundreds of us, with nary a sound but the clack and rattle of the tube car zipping through tunnels underneath a worldclass city.

I love the bright warmth of the meticulously organised shops contrasted with the damp chill of the streets.  I love that shops are accessible simply by walking down a sidewalk and ducking into the doorway, rather than, as we must stateside, precariously navigating through a parking lot filled with oversized cars on a mission for the best spot. And the pubs, by gosh the pubs with their rusty-colored warmth, meeting you with a rush of conviviality as soon as the double-doors open to the inside.  The chatter of people huddled together, the glow of the tele playing a match.  I even love the warm beer, because, after all, you're already cold.  England's pubs would not be famous were it not for England's cold and rain.  They go together beautifully, like, well, bangers and mash.

Walking through the parks on a rainy morning takes on a mystical quality.  Regent's colors and grandeur that are so alive on crisp, sunny fall weekends, shrink back into impressionistic swirls of faded hues.  Wide swaths of gray-green grass lie still, save for a few shadowy figures, traveling the park's sidewalks.  Nameless commuters in black overcoats walk with determination on these days, taking in little of the beauty for the sake of a quick arrival at their destination.  But the beauty is there.

St. Pauls windows have less glow on rainy days, but the cavernous cathedrals feels just as much, if not more, of a sacred retreat.  Candles burn brighter, and the golds are warm and brilliant.  Standing on Westminster bridge in drizzle just seems right.  The Thames is gray and milky, and nearly fades into the chalky tones of the historic buildings lining it's shores.  They are distinct, yet the same. 

It is London, and it's cold and rainy. And it is beautiful.  (now where is the nearest entrance to the Tube...I'm freezing!)

*photo note: the observant reader will notice this picture is NOT Westminster Bridge, or even London. It's Lyon, France. But it sure was cold and rainy.

Hand in the Cookie Jar

Sometimes kids are just one running sermon illustration after another. And I'm not even a preacher.  I just see Hadley do things and think, "Gosh, I KNOW I heard some pastor tell a story of their kid doing something like this." 

Right now, she is playing contentedly with a small babyfood jar and a plastic pacy clip.  She puts the pacy clip in the jar, reaches in with her little hand, but realizes she cannot release her hand from the jar whilst gripping the pacy clip.  She cries, first at the surprise that her hand now resembles a glass jar. Then at the frustration that she cannot extract the pacy clip.

Guess it's just like us and (insert worldly object of desire here).  We can't truly be free until we release our grip on it.  Only then can we be released from the...cookie jar?  Mmmm...if sin is cookies, then I want more sin.

Anyway, Hadley's moved on to a new game, but it was funny for a few minutes seeing her waving around her little jar-nub hand.

Snowed In = Movies!

The snow/ice amalgam that rocked Atlanta during the second week of 2011 made everyone homebound for about 4 days, and gave Jeff and I opportunity to watch some good movies, in between puzzles, making dinner from canned and frozen things and losing our minds. Fortunately, we recently got AppleTV so we can stream Netflix movies, making hundreds of films available to us, without having to check the mail (which incidentally did NOT come despite "rain, snow, sleet...").

Here are a few we watched over the holiday / in the snowdome:

The Social Network. I watched this on the big screen at our neighbor's house. Projector, surround sound, the whole deal. It was very good. I enjoyed it in the same way I enjoyed say, Good Will Hunting. Fast dialogue, quirky lead character, a fascinating band of other misfits. The added dimension of intrigue to this tale of course is that it’s real. Or well, real depending on who you ask I’m sure. It’s not only real, but it involves me, and millions of other people who have made Facebook this insanely ubiquitous thing in our culture. It had Aaron Sorkin’s fingerprints for sure: the writing was clever, the way they told the story was engaging, but was it a “best picture” type of film? Not sure about that. Not sure it deserves to beat out something akin to “The King’s Speech” or “Black Swan” which really made people agaga. Having said that, voters for such awards have tended toward lighter fare in recent years (read: Slumdog Millionaire) so who knows. It did just win a Golden Globe. Oh, did I mention Justin Timberlake is in it! He's great as the Napster founder.

Exit Through the Gift Shop. Rarely does a film I’ve never heard of get recommended by three different folks over the course of about 5 days. This having recently happened, Jeff and I gleaned that it was a movie worth watching. And our friends were right, it is worth watching. The film is clever, engaging and has a bit of a twist, which for a documentary, puts it on unique footing. The movie is about “street art” (aka graffiti), so it feels hip with its cool kids and electronica soundtrack. Yet it is very very smart. Cunningly so. And while it tells an intriguing story, it also leaves the viewer asking questions like, “what is art?”, “What makes ‘good’ art?” “Is art that is made for selling a lesser art?” To the latter, I suppose the masked creator of the film may say, “yes.”

For Your Consideration. Funny at times, overly “insider” at many times, dragging at others. While certainly not my favorite Christopher Guest film, Consideration was predictably
clever and off beat in a way that one expects a Guest film to be. The familiar cast (Fred Willard, Jane Lynch, Parker Posey...) made me chuckle at jokes that ordinarily may not be as funny, in the same way a story told by a friend is more engaging that the same tale recounted by someone you don’t know. “Home for Purim” is the Guffman-esqe “movie within a movie” that the characters are working on, looking to Oscar nominations in the same way the smalltown community theatre-ites waited for the famed “Guffman.” Consideration is an okay movie, but not recommended as an entree to the Christopher Guest collection.

An Education. I found this to be a brilliant film. While the plot unfolded rather predictably, it was still a fascinating watch. The 60’s setting was well done with neat cars, London cityscapes, glorious dresses and hairdos, and even a requisite Parisian getaway highlight reel (cue Flight of the Concords “Foux du Fa Fa.”) The premise of the film is off-putting: an older playboy (played by a simultaneously handsome and eerie Peter Sarsgaard) takes a liking to a 16 year old school girl. Jenny (portrayed marvelously by Carey Mulligan) is at once taken by this well-heeled gentleman, and soon her caution and inhibitions are brushed aside by his smooth talk, kind ways, and enjoyable lifestyle. I enjoy a movie that confuses my emotions. I was drawn into the lead characters’ exciting dynamic, despite the clear unhealthy nature of it. Yet also wished for young Jenny to not completely abandon her “boring” life for the sake of this halcyon relationship. Like other stories written by Nick Hornby, An Education was just that, both for the characters involved, and the viewer who is forced to confront questions about what really matters.

Merry Christmas & Happy New Year !

Merry Christmas & Happy New Year to your and yours.

Last year, the first few Sundays of Advent gave us a truly new appreciation for the practice of "waiting for the babe to be born."  As it so happened, our sweet girl came that second Sunday, December 6th, on the Feast of St. Nicholas.  Hadley Jane has been a gift like we could not have imagined.  We celebrated her first Christmas with family from far and near.  She was oblivious to the comings and goings of the holidays, but she sure liked looking at the sparkly Christmas lights!  This year, however, she had a little more fun with toys and new clothes waiting for her under the tree.

 

Here are a few highlights and details from our year:

Hadley: I really enjoyed some good times with my grandparents, aunts and uncles this year.   This summer I had fun in the neighborhood pool and going on walks with Mom and Buckley in the stroller.  I started off this year with virtually no mobility and I'm about to be walking! 

 

My favorite foods are cheese and avocados.  My favorite books are Dear Zoo and the Elmo puppet book.  My favorite toys are my stacking boxes and Dad's iPhone (though he doesn't like it when I chew it).  My favorite song is ABC's and the songs Mom and Dad make up when they change my diaper.  My favorite stuffed animals are Osito, my teddy bear, and Buckley – he lets me climb all over him, and in exchange I throw him food from my highchair and let him lick my face.

 

 

Jeff and Katie:  Needless to say it's been a year of changes.  Just a few months before Hadley was born, I (Katie) lost my job as Programs Director at a small non-profit.  I had hoped to return there part time once I was settled in with Hadley, but as it is, I've been thankful to have the time with her that I enjoy.  I am fortunate to have had some freelance writing jobs, as well as some paid singing gigs. 

 

Jeff is still at Emory University.  He works in Research Informatics, an exciting field that he really enjoys.  Despite the economy, he was able to hire someone to help with his increasing workload.

 

Jeff and I both still volunteer as musicians at our church, and like to sing and play for Hadley.  We also both enjoy playing soccer:  Jeff plays in a recreational league on Thursdays, and we both try to play pickup on the weekends. We made a number of trips to North Carolina this year to stay at my parent's cabin.  We love the cooler weather and beautiful hikes up there, and Hadley does as well!  We're hoping she'll love the outdoors as much as we do. 

 

Speaking of hiking, in August Jeff joined his brother and two good friends on an expedition to summit Mt. Rainier in Washington.  They had a wonderful trip and returned with great stories and fabulous pictures from the top.  I am so proud of Jeff.  Meanwhile, I embarked on an equally daunting task – flying by myself up to Pennsylvania with an infant so Hadley could visit her Grandma and Grandpoppy. 

 

A few things other than our infant that we enjoyed this year:

 

Stieg Larsson's Millenium book trilogy.

30 Rock, Fringe and The Sing-Off.

The Suburbs by the Arcade Fire (whom we also saw in concert)

Go by Jonsi (who awed us with his live show at The Tabernacle)

Trying our hand at a vegetable garden.

Watching the World Cup.

Making pies for the holidays.

Quality time with good friends.

 

We hope you had many things to enjoy in 2010, and wish you much more goodness in the coming year.

 

Peace & Joy.

Jeff, Katie, Hadley & Buckley

 

I Can Post from My Email!

This newfangled technology (okay, it's probably not that new) may mean I actually update this thing more than 2 times a year.

Oh, and here's a pic of Hadley in her halloween costume.

Hadley's Turning 1

Elephant Talk Birthday

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View the entire collection of cards.

Ten Months In

Our baby will be 10 months old tomorrow.
In a related note, I haven't updated this blog since November of last year. Pitiful, really, but I promise it's not for lack of writing. I've actually been keeping a nice journal of these baby days. Recording things like first sounds, crawls, what types of food the little girl eats and when, frustrations with napping schedules, etc. But really, does the world wide watching web really want to know these things? I'm assuming not, so keeping said journals to myself. UNTIL NOW!

Here's what I wrote today.
Some thoughts in no particular order:
The other day I came in to get Hadley out of her crib and she was standing up, grasping the railings smiling at me like it was the most normal thing ever. Bless her.
Today was a blissfully gorgeous day. We lay together on the trampoline in the backyard and I squeezed my baby so tight I was worried I might hurt her. She is just so beautiful and glorious I feel immensely blessed to be with her as much as I am. And incredibly fortunate that it serves only to increase my love for her. Sure, sometimes it's trying, and completely cliche (like when I'm waiting for that 5-ish hour for "the husband" to come home from work and take the baby..yea, it's a total cliche / stereotype. But what's that about stereotrypes, they only become so because they are cloaked in some truth, right? )

She gets new sounds or faces about everyday. It really makes life exciting. Yesterday she had this pursed-lip look..like she was about to whistle, her mouth that can become so gargantuan when she is smiling, becomes tiny and focused on God-knows-what. It's sickeningly cute. Today she gained a new sound. A clicking noise akin to some East African language. Can you imagine the exponential growth and development of a baby. It's astounding, really.

Jeff got a motorcycle. Were it smaller and /or did we have a King bed, he might sleep with it, like in the excited little boy sense. It's cute. I can't help but think of when my family had our red Yamaha Mo-ped. I waited for the day when I would be able to ride the mo-ped myself. When I would be grownup enough to experience the speed and wonder of the swift Yamaha. Our driveway was so bloody long, the motorized bike was the only reasonable solution for collecting mail and the paper, or going to see neighbors without jumping in the car at every turn. The Christmas before I was to be "of age" to ride the mo-ped, I got a helmet for Christmas. I'm pretty sure it was bright red (the other was metallic blue). I slept with it in my bed that Christmas night. I loved it that much. So if I mock Jeff, or disparage him in some deep place of my heart, I must always remember the moped and my red helmet. I crashed that moped a few years later. Sliced my ankle, at which point, seeing my bloody sock, I passed out from the shock and adrenaline of the moment. I still have the scar.

Black Friday

Yesterday, I, like millions of Americans, engaged in the once-yearly tradition of stuffing myself with all sorts of Americana-type foods. You know the ones.
This morning, I engaged in that second tradition of Thanksgiving season...no, not throwing up the starchy contents of my gorging the night before...but shopping.

I woke this morning at 5:15 to go to the bathroom, as one does when one is 39 weeks pregnant. But this time, I didn't go back to bed. I resolved instead to participate in that phenomenon that is shopping on Black Friday. Never one to be sucked in marketers' hype, I was surprised that for some reason I wanted to jump into the joviality. Further, I don't have a great many presents to buy this year (my family is getting a baby for Christmas!). So, my participation in Black Friday was more a social experiment, one that put me out abut $180 after all.

In the darkness of our room, while hubbie slept, I rustled myself together: yoga pants, t-shirt, hoodie, toboggan...(people don't dress up for Black Friday shopping right? I mean, I'm hoping to see people in PJ's). Dog was a bit confused about my early morning and hasty exit. Pulling out of the driveway into the still Black of the early morning, this potentially frantic ritual felt strangely calm. And then I heard it, the normally "adult alternative" radio station that was queued up on the car radio was playing Christmas music. Yes, now I was quite in the spirit...of shopping that is. I turned up the music, and enjoyed the peaceful drive to the mall, encountering only a few cars en route. However, when I reached the mall exit, I was surprised at the red-glow of rear lights already skirting along Ashford Dunwoody.

Now about 5:45, I glanced at the lights and carnival of the mall and saw a parking lot almost 1/2-full already. Across the street, Best Buy's lot hummed with activity, appearing nearly full. Busy patrons carried awkward-sized boxes of digital utopia, basking in the glow of the big yellow-lit sign. My fascination remained. Even though I had not planned on trips to Best Buy, or the mall, seeing the cars and vibrant activity made me feel like I was missing out. The strange electricity of the early-morning put a charge in my veins to jump into the fray, like you would if you saw a large gathering crowd on a city street. But despite not having coffee, my focus was regained and I continued to Target, imagining the melee that may await.

Upon arrival, I noticed that the lot was not jammed. Buy, yes. Chaotic, no. Not so far. This being my first early-morning Black Friday, I had visions of either angry mobs in cashier lines 4-deep, or that I and a few other brave souls may in fact be the only ones out and about, snatching up the deals we'd been brave enough to rise early to earn. The scene as I entered the bright-red, neon-light glow of my neighborhood behemoth was neither "Stille Nacht" nor "Party in the USA," though closer to the latter, I would say. Sadly, I missed out on one of the FREE, fashionable re-useable shopping bags given to the first 500 customers. So I had to settle for bargain-finding to make it worth my while.

Like a good shopper (and one who can easily lose focus), I had a list, a goal and I went for it. A highly-marked-down digital gift for my parents. Ah...HERE were the crowds I'd envisioned, all in the electronics department! Carts, families, short ladies with stacks of merchandise and tired-looking adventure-seekers jammed aisles. I zoned in, asking a friendly staff to direct me to the item I was seeking. Ah, THAT'S what that queue by the digital cameras is all about, I have to buy said item at the electronics checkout counter. I joined the line, one of the herd, wondering if this would be my last chance to capitalize on the $10 gift card with every $100 spent. I begged the help of another friendly attendant who told me yes, all purchases must be made together.

She must have seen my puffy, sleep-eyes, or my pregnant belly and had mercy, allowing me to travel around the store holding my electronic purchase without having to immediately check out. Another tactic for the easily-distracted shopper: carry no basket or cart. If you want it, you have to be able to hold it using only the leverage of your two arms and big belly. Ten minutes, and about 5 items later, I returned to the electronics department. It felt strangely less hectic than minutes before. I think they'd already run out of something. Wow, I guess my early action did in fact save me about $150 I may not have a few hours later.

I checked out, then racked my brain if there was anything else I needed. Well, of course, but anything else that was on drastic sale? No, no...just get back to the car and go home, Katie. See, the fever was catching. I was gaining wisdom into what marketers must already know. These strange shopping phenomena are tremendously worthwhile, the buzz opens minds and wallets to things people never knew they needed. "But it's on sale"..they reason, infected by the dark, chilly morning and bustling crowds.

I climbed in my car, feeling happy for the bargains, but a little empty. Was it over already? The bedlam of Black Friday had only been my companion for a few mere minutes, now I would return home on traffic-less streets, arriving back less than an hour after I left. As drove out past the mall, my hands twitched on the wheel, wanting the strange experience to continue, wanting to hunt for things I don't need amid the melee of other bargain-buyers. Or are half the folks out this time of morning just voyeurs like me? (Voyeurs who still spend about $180). I resisted the temptation and headed home, deciding to be satisfied with what I had gained, both in bargains and life experience. I just wish I would have been earlier to get the free bag, and see if there was actually a line-up at the door. Oh well, I guess my passion for free stuff and social observation isn't THAT keen.

Babies, Blueberries, 'Ballers, Oh My!

Life seems to go in fits and starts. A few months will seem to hold nothing significant at best, or at worst, a host of significance, each one of which makes you want to cry. Then those seasons come along that seem fraught with, well, good news. I'm no expert in handling, or explaining, either of those seasons, but suffice it to say that God is wise in his conception of seasons, wherein spring indeed follows winter. And as if not enough, the summer brings the bounty that spring has only hinted at.

So there is my weak attempt at Sunday morning philosophizing as a preamble to what season we, Weavers, are amidst. We are seeing the lights of spring, and the bounty of summer after a cold, dry fall and winter where bad news seemed to lurk around most corners, where even in the good, we waited cynically for the proverbial "other shoe" to drop. An unsold house lurked next door, sapping up our monetary and emotional resources throughout the winter. It's 4-walls lurked in our periphery, a reminder of happier days past when our prior tenants, some of our best friends, lived in community with us. But last summer and fall saw the end of that dream, as their lives took one dramatic turn after another ultimately leading them out of our humble rental home, and leaving us with the whiplash of all those fits and starts we'd endured with them. The most traumatic perhaps being their seperation and divorce. How had our perceived communal bliss turned so wintry dead in just a few short months? And to that backdrop of sadness and confusion, we endured death within our walls. I had a miscarriage in the fall, dampening our hopes that things may be turning around, firming our growing hardness toward life and God, and God-knows-what-else.

But life ebbs and flows, we didn't see it then, perhaps only had dim hope that it would turn around. And by-God, it has. All is not perfect in 2009, fallout from the pain of 08's harsh seasons still lingers, and new disappointments arise, but we have renewed hope...a baby girl in my belly for one. At 21 weeks, my tummy is growing, as is our confidence that maybe this one is for real. We love her already and are immensely thankful for life, after so much dying last year.

Perhaps very soon (as in...not in another 3 months as my blogging cycle tends to be), I will touch on the bluberries and ballers alluded to in this post heading. For now, I'll just leave some pics of our baby. The first is a profile...the 2nd, she's looking at you.

A Music Poem

I read this poem today while catching up on a weekend's worth of emails. It arrived in a newsletter from Friday, May Day. Reading it tonight, in the quiet dark of my living room, lit only by the glow from my laptop, made me re-long for the connection that I have always had with music, for the very reasons this poet espouses. But I have lacked such connection of late. I just haven't been listening to music as much. I have no commute, so no consistent car time to soak in music. I like tunes while I work, but as background, not as distractions that may transfix me. So, here is, in print, my renewed committment to music, my goal to spend those unspent iTunes giftcards this next week, and maybe find something transcendent.


Music

by Anne Porter

When I was a child
I once sat sobbing on the floor
Beside my mother's piano
As she played and sang
For there was in her singing
A shy yet solemn glory
My smallness could not hold

And when I was asked
Why I was crying
I had no words for it
I only shook my head
And went on crying

Why is it that music
At its most beautiful
Opens a wound in us
An ache a desolation
Deep as a homesickness
For some far-off
And half-forgotten country

I've never understood
Why this is so

Bur there's an ancient legend
From the other side of the world
That gives away the secret
Of this mysterious sorrow

For centuries on centuries
We have been wandering
But we were made for Paradise
As deer for the forest

And when music comes to us
With its heavenly beauty
It brings us desolation
For when we hear it
We half remember
That lost native country

We dimly remember the fields
Their fragrant windswept clover
The birdsongs in the orchards
The wild white violets in the moss
By the transparent streams

And shining at the heart of it
Is the longed-for beauty
Of the One who waits for us
Who will always wait for us
In those radiant meadows

Yet also came to live with us
And wanders where we wander.

"Music" by Anne Porter from Living Things: Collected Poems. © Steerforth Press, 2006.
Reprinted from "The Writer's Almanac" produced by Prairie Home Productions and presented by American Public Media.

Holy Week

It's hard to believe that the Lenten season is almost over. We gave up some food-related stuff for the season, and for this Holy Week, the days as we journey toward Easter, I raised the stakes and signed off Facebook. Now, lest you think this was purely as ascetical exercise, it also had to to with knowing my week was rather full with work, church and some social obligations. To not have the temptation of putzing around on FB when instead I should be clocking paid hours, is a good thing.

But there are "holy" reasons too. On this Maundy Thursday, I've reflected on much, now here are a few of my observations from being Facebook free:

• My propensity to meddle in everybody else's news is quelled and that's probably a good thing.


• I'm glad to not have to consolidate my life into 150 character snippets. The pressure to somehow say something humorous, clever, profound or provocative every 13 or so hours can be a mounting burden.


• My imagined connectedness with people has been cut off for a few days, whereby to find out how they are doing, and what is going on, I must CALL them. I've made many more phone calls and e-mails this week.


• I wrote a letter today. A real-live letter. In part inspired because I received one a few days ago, and in part ABLE because I'm not frittering away precious minutes that turn to hours in an imagined community of 350 or so of my closest friends.

Lest you readers feel the heavy-handed weight of judgment if you're an avid FB-er. Because let's face it, after all this illumination, I'll likely be back in the game once Christ has risen.

Oh, and did I mention that my laying aside of the Facebook burden ALSO happens to coincide with Jeff's and my purchase of a brand new HDTV! :-) So, those hours that would have been wasted on Facebook have been instead spent watching anything and everything I can in High Definition. woohoo!

Peace to you this Holy Week. Joy to you this Easter morning.

My Blog Personality

While you may think I'm shy or introverted due to the infrequency with which I update this dang thing, Typealizer thinks otherwise. In a mere few nanoseconds, this nifty little program scanned the contents of my blog and labeled me ESFP - The Performers.

(my favorite part of this exercise is the saucy little cartoon character the Typealizer used to emulate me. Mini-skirt, sexy boots, plunging neckline and drink in hand. Woohoo. Never knew my musings were such a party.) Anyway, here's what this analysis said of me.

ESFP - The Performers

The entertaining and friendly type. They are especially attuned to pleasure and beauty and like to fill their surroundings with soft fabrics, bright colors and sweet smells. They live in the present moment and don´t like to plan ahead - they are always in risk of exhausting themselves.

The enjoy work that makes them able to help other people in a concrete and visible way. They tend to avoid conflicts and rarely initiate confrontation - qualities that can make it hard for them in management positions.

So, in past personality tests, this isn't far from where I've landed (ENFP is the only one I remember, from ages ago.). Yay for soft fabrics! And here's the handy graph that represents my thought patters when writing.



Tip of the hat to Andrew H