tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83696931545855651292024-02-01T20:19:38.620-08:00Ink Blot Coffee{out of the overflow}Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.comBlogger641125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-24010802759438225302021-03-01T16:12:00.006-08:002021-03-01T16:14:51.127-08:00Something NewIt's time. And I'm a little sad about that. I'm officially moving over to <a href="www.marianfrizzell.com" target="_blank">www.marianfrizzell.com</a>. I hope you'll come join me there. There's a link at the bottom of the new home page where you can sign up for my newsletter and get my blogs straight to your email. It won't be quite the same as inkblotcoffee, but hopefully it'll be better. As a teaser, there are three new blogposts ready and waiting for you.<div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_f66a_70b2_2ef4_7244" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/qM5KkCnFQF_jKNqJIYZabhg62VNBXdU5GxamSFSoQC5QSAonAuKdNx0WUzAHCkUo1Ik" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /><br /><br /><div>Thank you for joining me here for these few last years. We've had a great run.</div><div><br /></div><div>Onward and upward,</div><div>Marian</div></div>Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-7028344384961258762021-02-06T18:17:00.002-08:002021-02-06T18:17:14.697-08:00Loudsystem Soundspeaker<p>During her last visit, my sister had this beautiful moment of malapropism when she coined the phrase "loudsystem soundspeaker". I told her upfront that I was planning to steal it from her, and then she went and <a href="http://dangduting.blogspot.com/2021/01/loud-system-sound-speaker.html">used it before I did</a>--and made fun of me in the process for getting there first, which, fair...I deserved that--but now, here I am, putting my own spin on her loudsystem soundspeakerery.</p><p>To kick us off, some of you may be wondering what is going on with the book I told you about last month. Well, I'm sending out queries to literary agents right now, which means I kind of feel like the persistent widow playing a slot machine. In an effort to not feel like everything is a matter of luck, I am doing what I can on my end.</p><p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="400" id="id_63a9_72de_29e7_fc38" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/dvmnMpqedHs_6O6yYMeolr75OfqltYG_PvsBEFRZupjI-jWXiElle6o6zYtc5KQ=w400-h400" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table></p><br />First off, I took what feels like an overwhelming step (but probably isn't) and joined an online writing community. Hopefully, that effort pays off. We shall see.<div><br /></div><div>Second, I'm trying to fine tune my query and practice talking about my book so I don't sound like a complete idiot, <i>and</i> I'm sending it out to beta readers (who aren't related or married to me) to I can get feedback and make some improvements. And they are giving some pretty decent feedback--by which I mean, heart emojis and telling me that they blowing through the chapters in between basketball practice and games. </div><div><br /></div><div>Third, and this may affect you as a reader, I'm working on revamping my blog. It's been a few years, and it's time for a spruce up. Don't expect any huge changes yet, because I work like I'm swimming through molasses most days (five kids! teaching! still writing! where does all the time go!) but know that's in the works. </div><div><br /></div><div>Fourth, I'm also working on setting up a newsletter to better serve you guys. I know many of you currently get my blog in your email, which is awesome, but the way blogger has that set up, I have no idea how many of you are on that list or who you are (I kid you not--this is a legit problem). However, again, I am a turtle, swimming slowly upstream against a relentlessly punishing current. Even better, I am a slug, inching my way--no!--millimetering my way up the side of Mount Everest. I will get there when I get there. And when I do, my sanity will still be intact. Well, intact-ish.<br /><p>In the process, I'm spending a lot of time thinking about who you are, oh favorite of readers, and what you need to hear, what I'm passionate about and what I'm already writing about and where those intersect, what I'm capable of offering that you're not going to get anywhere else and how I can make that fun to read about. I'm also figuring out instagram (thank you to all who found me there--you are the best), and I actually got on goodreads, though it will take me longer than life to actually update all the books I've read. And I'm continuing to read good books that help me think and engage in good conversations that help me think and process and grow. Because that makes me happy. And because then I have good book suggestions to hand out when you guys tell me you need something new to read.</p><p>But while I am still in this (long) moment of transition, feel free to weigh in and be a part of this process. If you have something you need me to know or remember, get on your loudsystem soundspeaker (that would be the comment section or a quick email or phone call) and let me know. We don't write into a black hole of nothing, and no one exists in a vacuum, etc., etc., etc. Also, I kind of like you guys. And I like hearing what you have to say.</p><p>So that is the update for that. I'm not promising that the next post will be coming from the new blog, although that would be exciting, but I am telling you--don't go poking around in the nether regions of the internet trying to find what I'm working on. It's not done yet! And I'm hoping it'll be worth the wait!</p></div>Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-81628307767320760062021-01-26T06:49:00.005-08:002021-01-26T08:28:50.946-08:00Albatross or Ebenezer<p>Some kids like to sleep with stuffed animals, but for months, my daughter chose to sleep with a large chunk of concrete. Because that makes perfect logical sense. It's soft and fuzzy and feels good if you roll over on it in the night. Occasionally, her twin would borrow it for bedtime (nothing like shared twin insanity), which meant that you never quite knew, when you were stripping sheets, which bed was going to dislodge a projectile capable of breaking your big toe.</p><p>Then, this year, the twins lovingly gifted me with this "rock" for my birthday. Knowing how much it meant to them, naturally, I was pretty psyched. Also, I was happy to have it out of their room and relegated to a place on my nightstand where I would no longer accidentally trip over it in the dark.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_25a1_b5e8_fc78_fdcd" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="400" id="id_4d9e_bb9b_9cd_e12" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/2MxLBRvWSQzDLftGnjD2nI7vm3Gxz4S3StfRjJYOw13Bom5eE7-uflVGIn7SbdI=w400-h400" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>I see it multiple times a day, and mostly, it makes me smile a little and shake my head at how weird my children are. But lately, I've noticed that it's been a prayer trigger for me. I've been thinking of it as an Ebenezer. No, I'm not talking about Scrooge.</p><p>The idea of an Ebenezer, though you may already know this, comes from 1 Samuel 7, where, following an Israelite victory against the Philistines, the prophet Samuel sets up a large stone, calling it a "stone of help" or an "Ebenezer," not because the stone had helped them or because it was a way to force God's hand in the future, but as a sign to the Israelites to remember how God had already helped, that helping the Israelites was a part of who God was. The Philistines would be back. The battle had been won, but Samuel knew this was a short term victory, and he wanted his people to see that huge hunk of rock and remember, "Till now the Lord has helped us."</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_7fd0_4e63_d0f6_b67d" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-CS2bJyEPs7J0j5SJDyPu7P19CzJ8nY_4amlkfxuieDUs5cy0w4dVSkIdWgkclw" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><p>So these last few weeks, I've been looking at the rock chunk on my nightstand (that just screams "an interior decorator lives here!") and remembering. Maybe it's been a crap day of homeschooling or parenting--but till now the Lord has helped us. So I can trust that he will keep doing so. Maybe my heart is breaking over our broken world so desperately in need of fixing--but till now the Lord has helped us. So I can look forward with hope. Maybe I'm remembering the hundreds of prayers that seem to be left unanswered--but till now the Lord has helped us. So I can wait in faith that this is not forever.</p><p>The funny thing is that our RV has at times been an Ebenezer for me. When I looked at it, for the year and a half we lived there, I remembered how good God had been to us that we were together, that we had been able to save anything from our home, that we had such an amazing community around us, that God had provided a living situation that didn't involve cracked windows from a Cat 5 or a forty five minute commute to work for the Man. But somehow, over the last few months of waiting for it to sell, I have allowed it to become not an Ebenezer but an albatross around my neck, weighing me down. Not every day, but more often than I care to admit. But I don't have to keep that mindset.</p><p>Instead, I can choose, as I look at the rock on my nightstand...and then look out the window to where our old home sits solidly in the driveway of our new home...I can choose to remember: this far the Lord has helped us. And I can believe that he is a creative God with imaginative solutions for the things I view as problems, a creative God whose character does not change: he is helper, he is provider, he knows my own needs better than I do. In light of that, I can choose to remember the truth: it's not an albatross; it's an Ebenezer. It's not a snake; it's a fish. It's not a rock on which to break my teeth; it's bread to feed my soul.</p><p>Except, of course, for when it is a rock, a rock to help me remember. Till now the Lord has helped us.</p>Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-79070271204069396112021-01-25T08:24:00.001-08:002021-01-25T08:24:22.322-08:00 Knitting My Heart to Another's<p>My lovely friend J. Elle's new book <i>Wings of Ebony</i> comes out this week (tomorrow!). In honor of her and upcoming Black History month (and MLK Day, which I missed already), I wanted to spend some time reading books that would give me a window into African American life. This last year we have had a lot of challenging conversations about race with our kids, wanting to do what we can on our end to prepare our kids to be advocates, defenders, supporters, and friends. The Man and I have read articles and books, talked to our minority friends, and spent a lot of time in prayer and discussion together. I haven't talked about this on the blog much because there are so many other voices who are talking about these issues with much more eloquence and insight, but I did want to share a few of the books that I've read just this week in particular.</p><p>May I challenge you, if you pick up one of these books yourself, not to read looking for what you agree or disagree with, but just to listen to the voices of those who have traditionally not been heard? Let them speak, let yourself be uncomfortable...and sit with it for a little while. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_2fa1_b1f3_8009_7756" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-hiyZcEV4yzTkiENLlwotWYYNa92EYUjZzL2aj0RAnAg7zRVfkRK0Mr2QDVAOuI" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><p><i>Well-Read Black Women </i>by Glory Edim. This collection of essays gave me so much food for thought. Well written and easy to pick up whenever I got a break (not as easy to put down), I came to this book expecting to walk for a while in another's shoes (and did!) but didn't expect to see a reflection of myself in the pages as well--myself caught between cultures, uncomfortable in my own skin, simultaneously feeling both not enough and too much. Chances are that you too have at some point felt "other", and if you have not, that you have people around you who do. Worth the read.</p><p><i>Dear Martin</i> by Nic Stone. I picked this book up one morning and didn't get up again until it was finished an hour and a half later. Powerful and thought provoking, it was filled with nuance and grace. I cared deeply about the protagonist, Justyce, and his friends, and my heart broke again over the bigger issues through which they were struggling. Front end warning that this is written from the perspective of a 17 year old boy so there is language used that some may feel to be crass. My reminder to myself was that it's always the moments when I feel that I'm not being heard that I want to use the strongest words.</p><p><i>This Is My America</i> by Kim Johnson. I stayed up far too late last night to finish the last few pages of this book. Both a mystery and a powerful confrontation of how historic racism has to be pulled up by the roots instead of just brushed over and moved past, I didn't always like this book. I am still glad that I read it. If I only ever read books that make me feel happy, I am never going to receive a chance to grow. Sometimes, I need to jam my ski-shaped size eleven feet into someone else's shoes for a while before I can walk away humbled, with more compassion and a wider perspective.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_6a6c_8cd3_c048_de5" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/yknkjtEvtlSladet592FWrx6z7p3Wki4_JkyC3prssWwjB4LUq8ua5ZxbiBmPkg" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><p>I'll close with this. One of the lines in <i>Dear Martin</i> wonders about whether, when white juries acquit a white shooter, it is because they look at the white defendant and see themselves, and don't want to see a murderer in their mirror. It reminded me of a conversation I'd had with my Bible study kids where they connected Matthew 5:21-22 to Matthew 10:17, 21 with the powerful acknowledgement, "We are all murderers and traitors." Yes, that is the truth. When we look in our hearts, there hides a murderous traitor. And this is good news. In our own racism, we see our need for Jesus. He has come that we may have life and so that our brothers and sisters with different skin tones and cultures and stories may have life too. But if we don't first look in the mirror and see our own inner ugliness, we'll never understand our need for Jesus. And then we'll be missing out on so much, most of all on a relationship with him, but also on a depth of love and a closeness of knit hearts with those around us.</p>Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-53817862358416536382021-01-12T05:09:00.006-08:002021-01-26T03:55:47.113-08:00No Time Like the Present<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="400" id="id_4ce7_15c8_1644_22f9" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/D_a8-Lmx8W4P0WAdy4KMlFhGS0vp16j5e03bsifKrgBv0uyEuVJ2hiSCK3PJ_Rw=w400-h400" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">I<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;">sit down for my early morning read/pray/write. The dog immediately wants out. Then the coffee needs turning down. Then I see the power cord the kids left out and have to put it away. The cat jumps up in my lap, bringing with her a pair of kneading paws and the strong smell of cat gas. Thankfully, the stench is short lived. I remember five things I should've finished yesterday instead of what I actually did: going to bed at 8pm. I can't find it in myself to feel guilty about any of them. I get up to refill my coffee cup. Another cat comes to join me. There's a brief moment when I wait to see if WW3 will break out between the two felines. I remember something else that needs doing, just a quick something, so I think I'll knock it off my list before I get back to work. Turns out that it's not a quick something. The dog wants back in. I hear the kids stirring upstairs, the creak of the floorboards giving me fair warning that time is running out.</span></span></p><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My word for last year was "present" but still I struggle with actually being where I'm supposed to be, shepherding my time well. I'm on and off my phone and computer all day, reading a novel while I cook, juggling conversations and laundry and school books, going from one thing to the next and back again in the blink of an eye.</span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;"><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_7553_7264_3a06_e17c" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/LQCBSshLC4ATGtGCnuUK-aF9-MYINgoqXl2dtG5yPpWpF-KYvJbYlcqGHhH2p8E" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;"><br /></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Some of this is the inevitable consequence of having five kids at home with me. Some of it is a choice to not prioritize well. Some of it is knowing that the time is short and every second must be used. And it's easy for me to allow in guilt over what did or did not get done, but just as easy for me to choose instead to say thank you.</span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">To say thank you for the insane cats and the demanding dog and the sunlight seeping in over the frost and through my window. To say thank you for the cup of coffee and the husband who left me a note and a fully charged computer. To say thank you for still glowing embers in the fireplace and the ferocious sounds of a herd of children waking up and the time, however scattered, to read truth and pray encouragement and write a few words that might be what someone else needs to hear (or just that I need to hear).</span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_2547_9368_cae9_754f" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/psfV-Z3helXFOdukc-y5gVWCac9ia_rRxgN0FHyXgfV5sUSvvZRZ_QIEXvE-_wo" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And I find that, in the thanksgiving, I am present in a new way. Not in a single-minded zen state of calm, but in a way that stabilizes and softens and slows. And often, too, one that welcomes in laughter before the kids tumble down the stairs and into morning hugs.</span></div>Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-64562933540789205752021-01-10T09:14:00.001-08:002021-01-12T18:11:01.698-08:00Novel Means New <p>I did a thing this last year. </p><p>Well, really, this last year and a half. I wrote a novel, a big fat novel, that, according to my sister, is engaging enough to make you want to keep reading at night even when you're off doing water projects and flipping your car upside down on sub-Saharan roads and that, according to my husband, is great if you need something to keep yourself entertained on a six hour flight across America while you're trying to block out the fact that your then-six year old twins are behind you eating all their Christmas candy in one sitting. Naturally, my sister and my husband are experts in the field, so you can trust them explicitly.</p><p>Now, the problem with having written a novel is two fold. First, I have to find a literary agent and a publisher so that at some point I can actually fulfill my life-long dream of seeing a book that I wrote on a shelf in a bookstore...and not because I put it there to make myself feel better about life. Second, it turns out that I am really terrible (I mean, really terrible) about talking about my book. I make it sound incredibly boring. And I promise you that it's not. I'm just horrible at selling things. Which is why I never went into retail. And why our RV still hasn't sold.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDXtjii74pJ7omYJdnIWLrdJb9LR-r25obxV4KyJkn6y__kOTtwged8NZ8PKgSWsnSwUf5DdxfJw45XR6ejp97UJ7gszZQSv74-62mA7Dg_j3bR-G7waP8VWW2AiIRpbRK-eT9wSls1vcu/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDXtjii74pJ7omYJdnIWLrdJb9LR-r25obxV4KyJkn6y__kOTtwged8NZ8PKgSWsnSwUf5DdxfJw45XR6ejp97UJ7gszZQSv74-62mA7Dg_j3bR-G7waP8VWW2AiIRpbRK-eT9wSls1vcu/w400-h266/DSC_0026.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>So I'm over here doing my level best to email literary agents and try to pretend that I'm not a sad and pathetic saleswoman and they do really want to read my book, but one of the things I keep seeing encouraged on all these websites is the building of a platform (that means you!), and my platform at present is pretty small. So, I'm doing another thing. <p></p><p>I'm actually getting on Instagram. For real this time, not just to look at a book cover from an author I like and then pretend that I was never there for the next four years.</p><p>I picked Instagram because a writing group that I follow is hosting a one week writers challenge starting Monday. And I'm telling you about it because I can't do this thing called "building a platform" without people like you (which I've already mentioned). This means that, without you, my chances of getting my book into a bookstore near you are a lot slimmer.</p><p>So if you would like to read my book one day, may I ask you to do a couple things? One, keep reading my blog. I can't tell you how encouraging it is when I see that you guys are reading what I am writing (comments are an extra bonus). If it makes it easier for you, sign up for it to come straight to your inbox. If you've already done that and somehow the emails aren't showing up, yell at me, and I will try to fix it. But yell at me nicely. Two, if you haven't followed <a href="http://www.facebook.com/inkblotcoffee/" target="_blank">my writers page on Facebook</a>, I would love it if you would. It makes me look so pretty and popular. That's a movie reference probably only my sisters will get and the rest of you will think I am totally full of myself. Three, if you are an instagrammer, you can find me easily as @marianfrizzell. There is literally one photo on there right now (that I only posted so that I could write this blog), but this will change soon! I promise.</p><p>Now, a couple addendums. If you like me but don't like my writing, I feel you, man. Some days I am totally there with you. Do it for the love of the children. You can delete my emails unread, ignore my blogposts entirely, scroll right past whatever I post on instagram--and still feel good about yourself because you are helping support my crazy dream. On the other hand, if you neither like me or my writing, wow, I am so impressed that you read this far! Also, I won't offer to change your mind, but I can sit with you in solidarity as there are days I also neither like myself nor my writing, so: SAME. But my offer to you is to follow me anyway so that one day you can go buy my book at a bookstore (or get it at a library) and read it and laugh hysterically about how bad it is and how ridiculous the publishing industry must be to have ever published it. And then you can still feel good about yourself too. Win win.</p><p>In the meantime, I will be over here, continuing to get up at obscenely early hours (and falling asleep mid conversation with the Man around nine pm every night) so that I can do something that makes me feel like myself and that hopefully will bring others joy or give a needed truth or just a laugh at the right moment. Any of those would be a win in my book. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji2zDWhpk-iMntDumVjqMWI5sN81GG4zH7oygK8okC_KFNFzB-dXnJlZAuErL0MPAqjJJ8MmzLAiss7vtE0S2TU6baqPlSNF1wFZhdmcnjBS_Cemp8YIQ2tAFDB9ZdGuShBYs04THOt9XA/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji2zDWhpk-iMntDumVjqMWI5sN81GG4zH7oygK8okC_KFNFzB-dXnJlZAuErL0MPAqjJJ8MmzLAiss7vtE0S2TU6baqPlSNF1wFZhdmcnjBS_Cemp8YIQ2tAFDB9ZdGuShBYs04THOt9XA/w400-h266/DSC_0073.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p>On that note, may we keep making small choices together to encourage one another and to make our world (touched by our own small circle of influence) and our year (built moment by moment) a little better for all of us who live in it together.<br /></p>Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-4675830185372647092020-12-28T08:07:00.001-08:002020-12-28T08:07:56.308-08:00End of Year Reflection<p>December is my favorite month of the year. Most people assume that's because it contains my birthday (true) and that I'm self-absorbed and greedy (also true), but it's also because, at the end of the year and beginning of a new one, we find time for introspection and assessment--at least we should, if we're not too busy celebrating. </p><p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_750c_f48a_bb4e_f087" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/bMnvuGhiroayGogAUCw_DCyJNVv6iukpZDI0ALLwqb-ECGx8B7PPv7m79x4tKbA" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trees</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>Carving out space for contemplation can be a challenge, though, at this time of year and easily pushed to the side if I'm not careful. This month included two sets of house guests, a cross country trip, wrapping up a semester of school, and all the excitement of birthdays and Christmas and anniversaries and a new year. If I'm not careful, the time slips away before I know it, and it's mid-January and I have no idea how the last year really went (not the cliches of a 2020 dumpster fire, but the real struggle and progress) and no idea what I hope for from the next.</p><p>Yesterday I read this quick <a href="https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/what-is-your-aim?utm_campaign=Solid+Joys&utm_medium=email&_hsmi=104476823&_hsenc=p2ANqtz-8EzAo9wFEk_BA7WrR-fluJQxaDRXea8xOrMDq90sUOlkaF8UI4D5Iki9eAbJlCKYsSuMfZ6c9-c560pF7k5S1Aho9_jA&utm_content=104476823&utm_source=hs_email">thought from Piper</a> about thinking through what we want to accomplish in a day before we roll out of bed in the morning and not being leaves blowing aimlessly in the wind without really going anywhere. It reminded me of how I ask my weekly Bible study kids to set their intention for the week before we sign off on Zoom. I set mine too and write it down in my journal and try not to forget about it over the next six days. </p><p>Some weeks I forget about it.</p><p>Our last meeting before Christmas, I actually told the kids what my intention was because it was an area where I needed prayer. Guess what I haven't forgotten about since then? That's right. The intention. And even though I can't quite say I've gotten a check mark in that area, it has been worked on and struggled with since that afternoon meeting.</p><p>It's made me wonder how much power there was just in telling someone.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_7fef_a55c_8aaf_faaf" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-vqwXzrgDCe5f7-fj7TCBVYawdptp2LbvhYIff7OfY5h4IvPjPGi-bGEdyG3szw" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sun</td></tr></tbody></table><p>So here's my challenge for you as the year draws to a close: talk about it. Sit down with someone you trust and love (or a handful of someones) and share what went well this year, what good books you read, where you really failed, what hard things you tackled... then leave space to talk about what you'd like to continue or tweak or do completely differently in the coming year. </p><p>I'm not saying make a resolution. I am saying come up with an idea of what direction you want to head.</p><p>As a military spouse, I get to pick up and start over again every time we move. Things that weren't working are a lot easier to leave behind when you are physically in a different place. New habits that I may want to pick up are easier to build in when you're restarting your life from the ground up. Not all of us have this opportunity. But we all have the hard stop of the old year ending to act as a catalyst. Let's not waste this opportunity.</p><p>While we are still gathered with family or tucked away at home in the quiet space of winter, now that the Christmas preparation and partying is done, let's take the time to think through what has come before and what will come next--and verbalize our thoughts on what we see in hindsight and foresight. Let's do this not only for ourselves but also for someone else who may need to speak their own hopes into the void and hear them echo back into their ears.</p><p>As we end the Christmas season where we ponder the miracle of Emmanuel, God <i>with</i> us, may we take the time to be <i>with</i> ourselves and <i>with</i> others, allowing for the margin that we really need to think and grow and breathe and progress forward into the new space of the year ahead.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_9647_38e_6fb7_275" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/1jtv_q4bVGsTFWzr6J3xYNuwvoG7ctp0MoqTnq2JJjM-u4UE4QHeoiuEtvF7BZU" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mountain</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>{Helpful photo captions provided by The Man who thought I wouldn't notice. I noticed.}</div>Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-68004183011523836352020-12-22T07:46:00.003-08:002020-12-22T07:52:33.891-08:00Provision in the Unpredictable<p>It's my twenty thousandth time reading the Christmas story (give or take a few), but this year it becomes about control...and provision.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="400" id="id_4c13_bcf0_93c9_9814" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/Z5ketySCZu4f1PwAuiG6uO5sBU_zseeamWrckSUN2Gy2oK79cU0-PXbSTRTK1Mo=w300-h400" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><p>This year I see Mary and Joseph, told where to go and what to do, unable to provide the basic things we things we need (shelter, medical care, community), forced to leave their home and travel elsewhere because a king in a foreign land decided it was so. They have no power, no say, no control.</p><p>We resonate with that this year. We have been told not to leave our homes, not to meet in our churches, not to go anywhere without a mask on. Some of us have lost our jobs, our homes, our health, our friends and family. We feel like our control has been wrenched from our hands and given to the powers-that-be in Washington, and we have no other choice but to comply.</p><p>Then I see God's provision, not the provision that Mary and Joseph might have wanted (the census cancelled so they could stay home, perhaps, or even a room at the inn, which seems little enough to ask), but the provision that they were given--a stable with animals in which the Lamb of God was to be born. This was a provision that was just enough (though at the time it might've seemed far less than enough), and prepared the way for the greatest provision of all--a sacrifice that could take away the sins of the world, a provision far more than we deserve.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="300" id="id_693e_8e10_141d_1f32" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/MGUVwDMNgqcmq2-dvZamjDXsmK4-icEbtUcPVwuakWiwplFUMlUcOtE4d0TzBQA=w400-h300" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><br />I wonder: what are the ways that God has provided for us this year, ways that are just enough (though perhaps they seem far less than enough at the time), provisions that years from now may point the way back to Christ, to grace, to wholeness, though we don't realize that now? <p></p><p>For me, in a year with less control than usual, perhaps, He provided a long distance Zoom Bible study for my ten year old; He provided neighbors willing to welcome us into a new neighborhood; He provided a church and a homeschool community willing to take creative measures to keep meeting in person; He provided a yard where my children can play outdoors; He provided plane tickets and clean bills of health and masks so that we could fly to see my in-law's for Christmas (even with my husband's Achilles tendon partially torn). He provided a library with curbside pickup and groceries delivered to the trunk of my car and flexible children ready to roll with the punches. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="400" id="id_3a57_5c7d_f717_a4a3" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/rn2ydA2rPyTwOhpH46p-CnfTuMJciq285ZBRooXeJFoPW3m9hFjw1EaQ7bSPSHM=w300-h400" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>As I count the provisions, they begin to snowball, letting me see one after another after another, opening my eyes to God's goodness even as I acknowledge that I am not the one running the show...and neither is COVID-19. God prepared every detail of his son's coming, down to Caesar Augustus demanding a census so that a prophecy given 600 years before could be fulfilled with Jesus' birth in Bethlehem, a birth with the least of these for whom he came to die, a birth befitting a perfect sacrifice.</p><p>And as I count the provisions, I hear my heart quietly remembering: all this and Christ too. I may not have control of much, but I do have all this...and Christ too. And as I sit beside my husband, our youngest daughter cuddled between us and the lights of the Christmas tree mingling with firelight and the glow of computer screens as we work, I think to myself: that's worth celebrating. </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="300" id="id_e90c_1648_b8a0_199d" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/m8XNhBJR_8c1VPhd8Abu35Jmc9AwDDPYUGaq0XNFJ7i9p-ddPZT6KzFe2XR8uWk=w400-h300" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>Christ's provision may not look as we imagine, but it always turns out to be just enough, enough to help us see God more fully, enough to bring joy (if we look for it), enough to be worth treasuring up in our hearts.</p>Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-70047143091251339122020-11-25T05:31:00.001-08:002020-11-25T05:31:51.290-08:00Book Your Thanksgiving Now!<p>Looking to do a last minute pre-Thanksgiving library run so you're stocked up for your Thanksgiving break (and prepared in case everything shuts back down after Thanksgiving due to Covid)? This is your last minute list! And it's extra last minute because you've got to believe I planned to write this yesterday but I got distracted by making empanadas. Also, while the kids and the Man say the homemade empanada dough was totally worth it for them, I'm not sure it was totally worth it for me. Just saying. Also, anything that resembles pie crust is not really my friend.</p><p>Not the point! The point is: books!</p><p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_fb62_c229_4e5d_f57c" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/Nilcn2xYB6ytVlnGqHqkJQ0zCNobbqViDcPAHjqmYjZrT8mJKI_t3fhIIYSFRGY" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tis the season to sit by the fire with a book.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>First up, a few Thanksgiving themed reads. The kids really enjoyed both of these books about Sarah Hale (the woman who encouraged President Lincoln to declare Thanksgiving a national holiday): <i>Thank You, Sarah</i> by Laurie Halse Anderson and <i>Sarah Gives Thanks</i> by Mike Allegra. I personally loved that though both books had the same subject matter, the authors presented it in very different ways. Both were worth reading, and (surprisingly) the kids didn't mind reading them back to back.</p><p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_5bf3_fbf7_759c_5737" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/tbYYNgke6dWvW9p2Fc9U6PuZgLb_mZw1FRgcwK2qk0x42dAr44kKDk-_c8elB1Y" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Because Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday!<br />Other than Mersmas.</td></tr></tbody></table></p><div>Next up was <i>Thanks for Thanksgiving</i>, which Bruiser absolutely loved. Also, he's totally reading now (though he kind of sounds like a robot running out of batteries), and this has been a huge win for me as a homeschool mom and as a woman who would desperately like to decrease the noise level in her home. <i>Thanks for Thanksgiving</i> is a good one for your littler dudes; Twinkle was also a huge fan. I'd also like to give a shout out to Eve Bunting's <i>A Turkey for Thanksgiving</i> (with great illustrations by Diane de Groat and a fun twist at the end) and Oge Mora's <i>Thank You, Omu!</i> (which was a great way to show my kids the far reaching affects of generosity and let them dip their toes in another culture).</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_e3cd_af13_97c1_6984" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/eMQWdA2UYo_6lM2dMGnHsmtiSDOWBpR6SLKPJngSAMYDCkT0N13Tiumtns9n1WI" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kid was super proud of himself.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Also making the rounds at our house are the <i>Princess in Black</i> books by Shannon Hale, which have been a smash hit with Bee, who more and more has her nose stuck in a book, and the Lloyd Alexander <i>Prydain Chronicles</i>, which were fantastic read alouds (I think I mentioned them in the last book blog--sorry if I did and there's a repeat). The best part about reading a series is that when you finish one book, you know exactly what you want to read next! And sometimes what you want to read next has international princesses and a monster who needs a bath (<i>Princess in Black</i>) or an enchanted princess and a hairy sidekick who needs a bath (<i>Prydain Chronicles). </i>Never mind, it sounds like these are pretty much the same series. Kidding! They could not be more different but are both funny and engaging and full of happiness.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_efb0_8e80_900c_dcfc" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/4y6XBmVgiQS3W0TEbLedzhpdiYaojselwvJARQnyvJPNs5lNgjjIx8KFC5KiCXQ" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Car time reading--when you know she's crossed <br />into really being my daughter.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>On a personal front, I plowed through <i>Save the Cat! Writes a Novel</i> thanks to a friend telling me it would fix all my writing issues (I think she may be overly optimistic, but it <i>has</i> been helpful). If you're a writer and need a jumping off point or just somewhere that will help you think about basic structure and plotting, this may be worth your time. I'll let you know if I ever get published again. Ha!</div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_af88_1cba_6d22_78b0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/fzCaM-iRBnwxxliuipFG28DnzKjSaHHbtSR384v-lJoRfGxahAXj6drqNF2jTpA" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Please note the beautiful RV reflected in my sunglasses.<br />And then call me and offer to buy it off us...<br />preferably for an obscene amount of money.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />And then there are the books that are just good for your soul. I already mentioned Andrew Murray's <i>Abide in Christ. </i>When I finished it, I moved onto <i>The Storm-Tossed Family </i>by Russell Moore. I'm still getting little snippets of that one in the mornings before the kids get up, and so far, it's been really thought provoking. I keep sending the Man snippets of quotes. I did pause in reading it, though, to plow through Anjuli Paschall's <i>Stay</i> which had some really excellent lines about relationships and gifting. You can tell she's naturally a blogger as the chapters are short and easy to digest quickly.</div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_d80b_acd3_6bd6_814" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/UgyoWwK8-7ook6F2nUl3GNrwozu5HjrNxZgnpxCsiU99BA7WrTa1C2P5RPXzUX0" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reading good books helps my brain not turn to mush.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Then the Man read <i>Conscience</i> by Andrew David Naselli and J. D Crowley and has been trying to get me to read it too. It's going to happen--soon! He highly recommended it to both of our families, and since I trust his judgment, I'm going to highly recommend it to you. Without even reading it yet. Which shows you the extreme level of trust functioning in our marriage these days. Also, I'm a risk taker. He said it was especially timely for him to read considering our current political climate. Just throwing that out there for you.</div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_dede_2ce9_912b_9ade" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/hW-GR2cpqQbLRohPqpsQD6EYsRnnxVia5xU-U-xVgZYTu0Rewa55n9lyb5kEoqI" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">According to the Man: worth my time.<br />And ostensibly yours.</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><br /></div><div>But it's not all serious books. I also come bearing gifts of novels--but sadly without pictures since most of my novel reading happens on the kindle app of my phone (which means I can more easily read while washing dishes--I keep a towel over my shoulder so I can dry off a finger to flip the page). Ally Carter, one of my favorite young adult writers, put out a new book, <i>Winterbourne Home of Vengeance and Valor</i>, which kicks off a new series. I love Carter because she makes me laugh and keeps me guessing and is also the perfect light read when you're already 88% brain dead. Another favorite YA writer who also makes me laugh and keeps me guessing but <i>cannot</i> be read while brain dead (otherwise you'll have to reread to catch everything you missed) is Megan Whalen Turner, who just released the last book in her <i>Queen's Thief</i> series, <i>Return of the Thief</i>. It came in on my library app after a long day of teaching and could not have made my heart happier. I read the first book in the series, <i>The Thief</i>, when I was still in middle school, I think, and to get to see all the loose ends tied up made my heart happy, even though, honestly, it was not my favorite book in the series and I would quibble with Turner over a handful of the choices she made. There was no blind fan-girling, but there were a few hours of happy reading.</div><div><br /></div><div>There was, however, blind fan-girling when I read Kate Milford's <i>Greenglass House</i> duology. If you can pick only two books for cozy fireside reading this winter, these were really delightful (and I'm trying to track down the other books she wrote in this world). Although they will make you want all the steaming beverages and leave you expecting snow at any moment, even though you know that's not realistically what will happen. </div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_91a6_8ec4_88_9eff" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/RiJYS7RZxs4DPKtHbdmMJZIwCBliHZWuZ-5IXBfjCgwELEPSCdu6k2JQI3LdwSk" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Man gets photo credit for this picture.<br />Also, is this not the perfect Sunday afternoon?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Last up, a quick smattering of nonfiction for your reading life. First up, <i>Tribe</i> by Sebastian Junger was a fascinating read and led to some great discussion time with the Man (so much so that we accidentally let Twinkle stay up an hour past her bedtime). If you are interested in the human psyche and how community and war affect it, this will give you some good food for thought. The Man and I had fun picking apart what we liked and disliked about the book and digging into how it affected our world view. Then, in my constant quest to read more memoirs, I read both <i>Glitter and Glue</i> by Kelly Corrigan and <i>Life from Scratch</i> by Sasha Martin. Both fascinating reads that delve into complex relationship with their moms, I especially loved Martin's international food flare and had to go poke around on her blog afterward. All three books were well worth my time.<br /><br />And on that note, there are turkeys to brine and other work to do and a jug of milk left out on the counter after the kids got their own breakfast because I was ensconced in the recliner and not inclined to move. Also, the girls are now discussing making clothes for one of their dolls, and I'm terrified that scissors are involved. Happy Thanksgiving! Thank God for books and creative children and living life on the edge!</div>Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-7629301313359340502020-11-21T14:18:00.000-08:002020-11-21T14:18:24.187-08:00Forever Thankful<div>One of my favorite things about living in VA this year is getting to experience seasons again. After we left VA, nine years ago, we moved to southern Oklahoma, where you didn't have weather, you just had wind. Then we moved to the coast of California, where the weather was always perfect and never really changed--beautiful, but sometimes boring. From there we moved to southern Texas, where we pretended we were having seasons but knew we were lying to ourselves, and then to balmy Florida, where people routinely come to get away from the seasonal change and the only exciting seasonal change is a hurricane. So getting a year to really experience all the seasonal shifts, from sweltering summer to fiery fall to white winter (hopefully), has been more wonderful than I could've expected.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_e7b8_aa97_a194_b38e" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/y4Ke1F751MF1aK2h-Iv1c4uxWNbHXOYT_9tTcyfx8SooixmD2VJDNjz2BX0ukhw" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>I say that and fully realize that I didn't grow up with seasons and shouldn't be as enamored of them as I am and will most likely be whining, come February, about how cold I am and how long it takes for spring to arrive. In the meantime, though, I am snapping picture after picture, and saying thank you.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_ad55_409c_bfe1_8d4c" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/b83PTlIwjsyNjVF5RyqSNUSZsgu4EbGP3oxFbeUpDdi8E_65ErZc0AAYN37mBj0" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div>I am especially thankful that we are here with these glowing leaves and chilly days because it appears we are heading to the desert after this, the Mojave Desert, to be exact. I don't think I'm going to be getting fall leaves while we are there. And I am purposefully committing to enjoy every minute of seasonal change while we are here.</div><div><br /></div><div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_a59c_d702_c3b8_fd79" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/uZ2Mvit6lqYwwD-t8IEzopifzzjxgvPcNrls7-qRG5_q2-nbfElKBx-gz5ngrFk" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div>With that said, I'm also committing to being thankful where we are going. It's a new adventure for our family--we've never lived in a desert before (though I was born in one, not so long ago). I hope to find myself saying thank you for the cactus and the vivid sunsets and the unique wildlife I would never have experienced anywhere else, just as much as I have said thank you for the morning glories on our back porch and the hill side of flaming trees and the trio of bats who like to swoop over our back porch every night. Just as I said thank you in Florida for the deserted base beach and the occasional thrill of seeing dolphins and the excitement of imagining I might get eaten by a bear while running....and thank you in Texas for the pecan trees and the turtle pond and the breakfast tacos just down the road (oh, the breakfast tacos...still saying thank you for those).</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_8641_16b1_bda9_daa0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/7HkfihiHsYalZ1TBNyJ18BL7HLxM85QTt0qG64dh2K1Ob9szSZ1WzigVZ5i9VGU" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Still, even as I set my mind to say thank you at the next base, I wonder: is it easier for me to say do so in all circumstances because I know those circumstances are short term? You can deal with just about anything when it has an end date. Or am I merely remembering what many of us forget in our more sedentary lives: that nothing is forever?</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_a0ae_867f_9aaa_ffce" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/7pvfIC9kDcNfBG7iHDd7u8RUWLLOskdNai_Q1LdwnFQ93ooNhGGS6riJq3J3oTk" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_be10_465a_e03b_4cc8" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/TN7JkAjL6jXSGSSaqKEDNsZ_O9foJKfqfNBMSJ25qeS6eziWRjC8AeAQlLfXlko" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Because even if you aren't the type to move every two years, you have children who will grow, friends who will drift in and out of your lives, jobs that will change, phases of life that come and go. The truth is that all seasons come to an end eventually, but choosing thankfulness prepares my heart for eternity.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_b0ac_c3a6_576_dc67" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/qfIXk4lR4J6p4j3AQF4Dbq-cx8zxp82QPhGMR4LIAcfelPZw-CNu-HXSvMCXU0g" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_c786_1212_3b1_c61d" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/ztGaBjbXa_sfEHmRHwyAXLlBTdS1MmQhKNddiA-QxtzXoAiD5-R2IiyywNDIj8A" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><br /></div><div>Thankfulness reminds me that there is more to my life than what I see. The leaves change color and drift from the trees, but the One who made them is forever. When I train myself to say thank you, I'm remembering that life is not about my small concerns, but that He still cares for me and He still provides for them. When I train myself to say thank you, I'm recognizing that every good gift comes from above and that there are so very many good gifts. When I train myself to say thank you, I'm choosing not to let the struggles define my life (even when they are very real and very challenging) but rather the celebrations. One day in heaven, I'll get to celebrate the best gift of all--Christ's life given for me--and, after having practiced saying thank you for so many years, for once I will find that it is as natural as breathing because all the tears will have dried and all the brokenness been healed and there will be nothing left but the good for which I have long been grateful.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_7248_1b81_93cc_9cf8" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/TUc7FTKrcjCMo3jJ6cgopA63PaIr9QAv4TgJOraGA1-LhSCXqN10fnoAusYlds8" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_c013_159_5bed_10b4" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/ThblqJ6rGTFKEccZyjWAx3hda772TEv_eVii1_g751Lrf4Vgys4q4gFPOSBRaBs" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>But until that day, I make the choice to look around with eyes wide open and to take a picture with my mind (and often with my phone too), a picture which will be just a tiny sliver of the glory that waits in forever. And I say thank you.</div>Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-34173173150069086752020-11-19T17:59:00.003-08:002020-11-19T17:59:34.509-08:00Friendship Curry<p>When we left Florida, I made a list of things I was going to miss...and things I was not going to miss. Because sometimes, it really helps to write things out so that later when you are romanticizing the last base, you have tangible evidence that, yes, you really did live in an RV where you thought the floor was going to give way at any moment and the cat litter had to hang out under the girls' bed, but also so that if you look back and start to think that everything must've been terrible (you lived in an RV with five kids and three pets!), you have written proof that you also had a sunrise over the water to enjoy every morning and dolphins who would drop by for breakfast (okay, that part didn't actually happen).</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_1758_afb2_46a_9121" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/uV6lRoXUssSW182UZHqZ2fJIRAsB8CoH4EFF4hT5UVb_W7d5o40suOIIQ6D1kLA" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm so glad I took this picture back in FL,<br />so I can remember how wonderful that food was.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>One of the things that I didn't expect to miss as much as I have, though, was quality Thai food. I'll admit, I knew our Thai place was good. I mean, it was my comfort food: five minutes down the road from us, it was the Man's best "My wife has had a long day, let me fix this" option. But we were moving to DC...ish. Obviously, there would be good Thai food in DC.</p><p>WRONG.</p><p>We've tried five different Thai places in our neighborhood now, and with the exception of the curry puffs (which is really kind of a DC specific Thai option, and I do love them), they have all been a disappointment. Every time, I get my hopes up. Every time, my curried dreams are crushed.</p><p>So today I manned up and made Thai red curry myself. And it was...okay. At least a little better than the bland, veggie-less sauces we've been getting from the nearby restaurants. The kids liked it (well, all except for Tiny who would survive on a diet of pizza, baby carrots, and donuts if given the choice), but the Man and I agreed it needed some tweaking.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_13be_ddd1_b4bc_910" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/2KM1oVAClmcckCo4qdf89tk9AucomaA6xGJK_8q2JrbEGS3DA1QA1peMQj3IBZM" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Man took this fancy photo of dinner in the works.<br />My wok can cook enough for a small country.<br />Which means, sometimes we have leftovers.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Part of the problem is that curry done well is a many layered thing. Or at least that's how it seems to me as I've been digging through recipes in search of one that can give me the quality I want for about 10% of the effort that should be required. The recipe I tried was merely okay because if you don't put in about thirty different ingredients and then let it simmer until the flavors meld, you just don't get the rich depth of a good curry. It's fine to feed a six year old, whose tastebuds are still in the developmental stage, but for a woman who comfort-ate her way through a swimming pool of curry last year: standards were not met.</p><p>I was thinking about these things while stirring the curry and simultaneously batting texts back and forth across the country to friends in TX, FL, VA, etc., people that we've met and maintained relationships with from our varied bases (and from life before that too). Much like my Thai place, we don't get to physically take the people with us, though--thanks to modern communication--many more of my friendships do get to travel with me, at least to a certain extent. With each move, the people I meet add a depth and richness to my life that I couldn't have anticipated. There was no gap in my friend circle, necessarily, but once I get to know these new souls, I wonder how I couldn't have missed them earlier.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_cedb_8f8a_3fd1_5409" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/I7OyD3l8N_JliAuop21bpp5EX8ysdfTVEdqHv7FFaZjrtBBcM9FY2MfGb10ah7s" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the picture the Man sent me<br />while I was on an out of town trip to prove <br />that, if I die, he can probably keep the kids alive.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>For instance, our homeschool community in FL was incredible--they held me up during a season when we were all weary and worn, and let me do the same for them. It was hard to imagine that I could luck out enough to land in another great community when we got here, but we did! True, the relationships are not the same (who could expect them to be?), but the joy of getting to learn from the women I'm with now, enriches even further what I was able to gain from friends in FL, who had already added another layer to friends we'd left behind in TX, and so on.</p><p>This month, we got news about where we will be heading next. Yes, we just got here. That's how it works sometimes. We still have over half of a year left, but I am so grateful already to see the quality of the relationships that we have been able to build here. I hope I have been a blessing to those around me, but I know I have been blessed by them. They are secret ingredients in my life, helping give flavor and depth that I didn't even know I was missing. And that helps me look forward to the people I'll get to know at the next base too...no matter how exhausting building new community always is. Because when it comes to comfort: curry and community are really the best ways to go. Even if sometimes you really have to work for them.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_b5cf_17e5_6454_3b16" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/TYEhmbnand4430CoJq0XElVaLf8SWlqAPnALH5_b0zV_oBrartkt7EQP_PX69fg" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This kids don't really care about curry<br />and are pretty sure they should satisfy all<br />community needs ever. Just saying.</td></tr></tbody></table>Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-21241281014382422752020-10-29T16:40:00.001-07:002020-10-29T16:40:19.861-07:00Catching Up (Ish)<p>This morning, as I was stuck in bumper to bumper traffic waiting to get around a rainy day wreck and running progressively later and later for the class I was about to teach, I noticed that my sister had posted a <a href="https://dangduting.blogspot.com" target="_blank">new blog</a>. Since I wasn't going anywhere, I decided to read while I waited. That was totally safe. 95 was a parking lot. Also, it was a great blog, and if you haven't read it, you should just go read hers and not worry about mine.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_1b19_99ee_6621_7c6a" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/7HiY6_332oXu4TqbYoryvcQqv4zbAw1jzzoUm_qa8x4yYgubqATiVDprb7_z0RQ" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was Character Dress Up Day today for our co-op.<br />I was Sleepy. Literally as well.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>At any rate, reading her blog made me realize that November was upon us, and (behold!) there had been no blog this month. And then, when the traffic finally cleared out and we made it to the house where I was supposed to teach, I put the car in park and Bruiser decided it was a good time to blow some chunks. So, needless to say, we turned around and came home, and I found myself with a little bit of free time on my hands simply because I didn't teach today. Other than my own kids. Who still had to suffer through a shortened and probably not as fun version as what they would've gotten if we'd made it to co-op. Even Bruiser, who has been totally fine since managing to rearrange all of our plans and spent the afternoon outside happily playing football in the mud with his brothers.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_bc73_d336_225c_fa13" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/ojmgKXWA4tfKC_chXoHKHyN24jKj2Qq7Eszv8RueInqBudRUPxbsv2Ew5NKiWd8" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Man lugging our pumpkin.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_fa73_b5f8_7943_1c3e" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/yTXaAA2gMJPRXaCU2mesi2Hdr2o-MRbJOY_Y-wb_fAv9kARwItbMAyxiaOvFe1E" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The kids checking out some pigs at the farm we went to<br />with awesome friends.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>The reason it is the last week of October and I am just now trying to hammer out a blog is simply because I am lazy. And also because we moved here less than four months ago, and we have already managed to do four out of town trips (three of them out of state) as well as joining a church, jumping into a co-op, meeting our neighbors, trying to do cool sight seeing homeschool mom field trippy things, and generally running a family. But mostly because I am lazy. And have been using my writing time for other things. But it could also be the lazy thing.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_ce14_4750_df05_e538" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/3trt-ODWnqH9HjFYLXcO8SR0jQvIFhZ1txsJOC41qbD3vUwiSOdHa8AcXs9ORkM" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We got the kids over to the Marine Corps Museum<br />for some history!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_4e58_6379_699a_41c3" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/F8InIo7KpR-uf0xuvG0PSIdoV5c31_0AQZ61n-hNmGybYn9iGX14oBXUKsLVcJI" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Autumn happy.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_eb21_ac74_98c6_d8c7" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/k4Gqz09nvNoxGYB8LWP-03Oqi3k-T7TQy6FS_XIXJPtJYLCIytOdDX16hiK3OrM" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Speaking of Marines, the Man brought me home this coffee.<br />I drank it and yelled, "Come on, you sons of Frizzells,<br />do you want to live forever?" <br />Then made the kids do PE with me.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Now, however, I find myself with too much stuff to jam into one blog. Do I tell you about shark teeth fossil hunting on the Maryland side of the Potomac? Or tracking down Indonesian food in downtown Philadelphia after standing in line for an hour and a half to see the Liberty Bell? Or the gorgeous fall leaves outside my bay window and the fires that have been cheering up our fireplace as the weather has gotten colder? Or how surreal it was to actually get to go in a library (by appointment, with masks on, after our temperature had been taken and we had been warned not to touch anything EVER unless it was coming home with us)?</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_b973_cc19_b2bf_db06" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/K_ILupehPOgrkm3ah1PhMk--uRmFS6Gow_RwpVebHj6hFZ4P24GREDuA1GHaS3s" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Introducing the kids to Indonesian food.<br />It was a total win.<br />Tiny's yard long mie ayam noodle was his favorite.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_82d_62fc_211e_c33d" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/p7f_wiinRUofgHO3ckkEvwLbrNU01HPoxR6gm4JfZ0pSidGjjaqcJJ7D93zU6L4" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That bowl was licked clean before she was done.<br />Metaphorically. She wasn't raised in a trailer park.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_1d5c_93fe_3765_b58e" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/W6LPrWeJ_YgTF6z9woiwZ_sYwhI3glAfEddlZHnAup_Fax-cpSL6YMz2WGDISDc" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was in my happy place. And so was the Man.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Or maybe I won't tell you about any of those things as the couch cushion covers (say that five times fast) just finished in the dryer and I have to figure out if I shrunk them too badly to put them back on?</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_80e7_5b75_300e_9fe3" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/HS-Q3h9EUHLyS7VEqb-fcTkO-jKMxdNEZk4d4J5_ZhSTqkrY4lLIsZAYMZAhNcE" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is us at Independence Hall.<br />We opted not to wait half a life time in a socially distanced queue<br />in order to go in.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_fe8d_a0e1_31ff_71e" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/AB78EGY1i4blcEetM-4aP9-h72PN9GM9ejnnnq4HgH65FtfTpH7Qu3qGgFXnKtY" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We did wait forever to see the Liberty Bell though.<br />Kids said it was worth it.<br />Evidently they are highly motivated by history.<br />I'm highly motivated by coffee. And books.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_3ead_ff73_de66_9a73" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/k2C4WGgpDr7dqoI1TN0RnL8q1ERjLLliTX313rEooW_xT2plqor7S07P9adcIIo" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Proof Twinkle and I were there.<br />Her permanent attachment to me was due to<br />a security guard who made the critical mistake of trying<br />to befriend her. Never make that mistake.<br />She is cute but terrifying. And also easily terrified.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Now that all the couch cushions have been put back on, I will answer the burning question you all had: no, I did not wash them due to barf. They started to inextricably smell like urine, which could be because we've had those couches for nine years and they sat in storage for a year and a half after a hurricane. Or it could be the five kids and three pets. Who knows! Such excitement in our home!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_5a7d_c83d_f36_ea0f" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-m2_fppP9o5LMNE2-_g_fDzP6CjTt_wH-qAkmHofBKH6MamxjrPIOJO-WFAg2GY" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Incidentally, we didn't take the kids to a racist pub.<br />They were at Snow White Bar-B-Que.<br />Promise.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_c575_d4e_c760_e021" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/qOn4A6cebcqHK2Iu3ksbMEFbwT1ZVwkennyGXLd4KY5YqYZe___AUj3gnSHjd3g" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting to see my mother-in-law<br />is always a win in my book.<br />And worth every hour of driving,<br />even the one stuck behind a tractor going 3 mph.<br />Luckily, I had a book on me.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_bfdb_a2_c1b9_e2d1" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/T0tO0f3zj7FPOjDWhK0-wqir-VzeQgLRN5TqQaXSRgdrCYlk5WCKm4JvyM52ztI" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Also, getting to see my brother-in-law same same.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_c6f0_6d07_6074_15ff" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/wAyJeohRFGJiOB6b84OS7-vH3v0Vmh_Nse04qk5yQ_3kIbMnt8mmAaNPAxcjMyA" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And my sister-in-law. <br />Said bro-in-law got way better pictures that day,<br />but now I can't find them.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_f646_331e_14ae_dbae" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/nU1icvpwlg316SycY56XUUoziNkfYIDAR6TpZWluCt7ISL6hA7SZrjI1tsR5T3M" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's my oldest sister<br />preparing for her future as an instagram influencer.<br />#cutiewithacremepuff</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_c453_3253_6174_cf24" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/8JtSmjLhqbZj4ZJ_bG5VHTK3gytKPjiAp_pAB64TSv4BtAn242qr1aO-sJOJ-GY" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And Twinkle... because autumn...and boots.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>And now I have just fifteen minutes left before I have to start churning out tacos for my horde (this blog was written in shifts, which makes it really confusing to read), so I think I'm going to slap some pictures in this blog so you can see what we've been up to...and call it a day. Blog check mark for the win. MOVING ON. Well, after I give you three more pictures. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_f1f1_1c24_31eb_3c39" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/iTIRXVTOycSuvSNcUpIlFq7OChwELIlkDDtWNpGsjnyAderGiOEdIM6YPDavAhA" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shark tooth fossils.<br />They are small but mighty.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_6994_4944_b8bf_e286" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/sx-G3DkQFL4LLfjUN8dmKarv1zv-QsLpempF09qJzK1_mbRvdAxBEox4ju_8Vbs" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best company for shark tooth hunting.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_628_9b00_33ed_dc87" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/aKQDYNAHskx-zqs8GhtLu36esBitl209VIxJjWdovky-ZbLv6oMhoiNG-oj2h6s" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Intrepid paleontologists.<br />Also, proof this totally happened.<br />Who knew the Potomac River had shark teeth?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Are you not entertained?! Or merely overwhelmed by all the pictures... </div><div><br /></div><div>And now, since the kids have inhaled all the tacos (3 lbs of beef, 4 dozen taco shells/tortillas, and 2 cans of refried beans plus all the toppings--I kid you not), I think I'm going to go chuck their adorable selves in bed...and pray that our food budget can hold out for another few years. Here goes nothing!</div><div><br /></div><div>Never mind, the Man chucked the kids in bed. So I'm now going to sit on my clean couch cushion covers (eat that alliteration) and revel in the quiet.</div>Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-26704644024528524132020-09-22T04:24:00.001-07:002020-11-20T06:30:31.342-08:00Squashing in a Book Blog<p>There is not enough time in my days right now, but it appears that there is always enough time to read. When we first got to Virginia, our local library had not yet reopened, but I was so happy to be back with my own books, to have old favorites to reread, and I was so busy getting the house set up, that I didn't really mind. And about the time I was really ready for new reading material and considering panic as a legitimate life choice (or possibly blowing the Man's salary on books and more bookshelves), lo and behold, I met an awesome neighbor who told me that our library had just started back curbside pick up. Perfect timing!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_31fc_57d1_e64c_823c" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/D4tBtqs2jQVLrqKu7ZXVFhNeW03ewgb27k0djK_DbnTqGSE2B17ION5fnlkcm94" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My face with books is about that content.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>With that said, our library books have come trickling in so slowly that it's kind of felt like we are men dying of thirst on a desert island trying to drink dew drops off leaves in the morning. The kids and I saw a woman returning a huge stack of library books the other day while we waited for our two that had come in, and we were practically salivating as she put them in the return box one by one for a solid five minutes. From the back row, plaintively: "How come <i>she</i> gets so many library books?" </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_b110_bb9b_e14f_84ab" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/td_wgGnHV4CXyf8BS5oB_MEczfOKARjQl2ZYvHFqXnsflGeBXFOYc-HI5_aAoao" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When your ten year old leaves <i>The Goblet of Fire<br /></i>outside and it gets rained on...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_a4a5_1a5e_78d9_533e" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/Bin7ZEawmHNz3cMTJ6SvpSz53NF6cPDPrr1XlBP5mcI9_f57j5Bcwe0m4rCOmYM" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It becomes fodder for the fire pit<br />and your loving husband buys you a new copy...</td></tr></tbody></table><p>With that said, a few books that we've been reading!</p><p>First up, after many long years of hunting, I finally tracked down Julia Stuart's <i>The Tower, the Zoo, and the Tortoise</i>. This has been on my To Read list for years, but none of my libraries have had it. Finally, the Man moves us to a library system where it is available! Which just proves my point that the military is not helping me break my reading habit. Though I still prefer Stuart's <i>Pigeon Pie Mystery</i>, <i>The Tower </i>(etc) had Stuart's signature quirk that made for some fun reading. All the historical information she included about the Tower of London was utterly fascinating, and there were some truly moving moments that left me a little choked up. I can't give it a 100% recommendation as there are a couple inclusions I could've done without, but I am finally glad to have scratched an itch I've carried with me for years, and any book that can make me both laugh and nearly cry while reading about accidental pig theft feels like a win in my book. No pun intended.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_5b27_5a5d_d5f8_12ec" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/XnPKx1MHQXmHTlJCpfOOmwIH351raENxheiLYMsc-hiLihV01yD1zSTOwmv-80k" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was so excited to finally find this,<br />even if it wasn't as good as her other novel.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>On a very different note, the Man handed me a copy of Dan Crenshaw's <i>Fortitude</i> earlier in the month, and, wow, we had some great discussions from that. If you are married and don't take the time to occasionally overlap books with your spouse, you're really missing out. I found that <i>Fortitude</i> was really worth a read as we look at our current culture and ask hard questions about it. Also, when you're thinking about skipping a run and your husband looks at you and says, "Crenshaw would not approve", you know he's probably right and you get your rear in gear and go get it done. Politics aside, Crenshaw speaks to some areas we all need challenging in. It's now the Man's current favorite book to give away. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_e1b0_e1be_46c1_e32c" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/Pz2X1hBgK9qMRbBKQWnshnlKqv5ZlixIGhoZm_-xOoAQGpw5VteFZi2AY6gu51s" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the Man's picture, not mine. <br />I didn't ask his permission to use it because<br />I feel like he gave up that right when he married me.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>At the same time that I was plowing through <i>Fortitude</i>, I was savoring a gift from one of my favorite people. Opening my mailbox to find <i>Refractions</i> by Makoto Fujimara was the best "Welcome to a new home" present I could ever get. Written by a Japanese-American artist whose studio was right off Ground Zero, this book encouraged and challenged me so much as an artist, as an American, and as a Christian. Beautifully written and with so much food for thought, I was constantly texting the Man quotes from it until he finally just asked to borrow it when I was done. Then he got derailed by grad school reading, but that's another story. I will say, though, that when my friend Marianne sent it to me, I did wonder briefly if she thought I was smarter than I actually am. But pushing myself to read something that truly engaged my mind was really wonderful and made me wonder if I'm finally exiting the blurred mind years of babies and YA fiction.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_734c_48de_b4fd_8e2b" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/jiB8RXTUdFgP3aQfKCSPKoPnwgCOo23Vgc2E4HXfHXS8KtSyYtOHZfPTqO3Qm2A" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A fantastically beautiful book, and not just aesthetically.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Speaking of YA fiction (except not, because this is really Middle Grade), for yet another win by Gary D. Schmidt, <i>First Boy </i>is my new reading suggestion for your middle schooler, especially as we head into election season. With political shenanigans threaded throughout, <i>First Boy</i> asks what truly matters to us as humans as well as citizens. I told Littles this was required reading for him as I want him to learn things that the main character, Cooper, can teach him. I want him to ask what he's willing to fight for and why. And I want him to see that, while the world will not always conspire to help him fight for those things, there are good people out there who will come alongside him to encourage him...though it may not always be the people he expects.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_8954_14e3_9178_a99d" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/FGX12-dmuoUhkQMgF0NDU_BDeptMm8-x8UXf9DT4UoqGXvmHqVWPi3c1nyGWOHA" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Library propaganda--the kind I can get behind.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>While we're talking about the kids, we are currently plowing through <i>The Prydain Chronicles</i> by Lloyd Alexander together. These are books that stand the test of time. My mom read them out loud to my sisters and me when we were kids, and now I'm thoroughly enjoying reading them out loud to my own kids. There is humor; there is conflict; there are life lessons to be learned. Most importantly to me, there are characters who change and grow. Also, there are witches who lovingly threaten to turn you into toads, and Bee may have been a little too excited about that part. If you're looking for a new series to enjoy with your kids: these are a win.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_d86f_bef9_5b10_fe03" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/uUIVJLrDL8Gml6efC2bF2L6EMYQ-JNjRGtha6hyQCkMKN5PVxpH1qjbh_dZL9GI" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Including this picture because I want to know how the words<br />are reflecting onto the table. Science minds, teach me.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Another series option, though not in the continuing plot line sense, is the Trailblazers series. You know you've landed yourself in the right church when your pastor provides reading material for your ten year old. Littles has really enjoyed both of the books he was given and is asking for more. He started with <i>The Girl Who Loved Mountains</i> about Francis Ridley Havergal, but then raced through <i>A Slave Set Free</i> about John Newton, which definitely captured his adventure loving mind. He's also liked the books he's gotten to read from the Christian Heroes series, so if you're looking for historical reads for your kids that will teach them more about history and hopefully also encourage their faith, both of those series appear to be wins.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_7b3a_5357_e1d4_a6c9" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/tMu6naUZgZJaVjg5JXVqXG28c4y7TgXQmjMnaoA_ORMEKADPkHXN0Ul6nnbal-M" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reading makes for happy kids.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>But, if you're needing something on a younger level, I can help you there too. I had a friend suggest Trish Cooke's<i> </i>work, and I am so glad she did! Twinkle has enjoyed <i>Full, Full, Full of Love</i> this week, and I have too. I want her to read books where she engages with cultures that are not the same as hers and people who look differently from her. This applies to all of my children really. And Trish Cooke does a great job of presenting family from a different perspective. We read <i>So Much!</i> at our last library, and I'm looking forward to seeing what else we can find of hers.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_2819_fea0_2179_57e7" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/A9A8o0uUUyewtGo2tQkFKThSu2J05KFpzDWnAhvnEAsGhXxJC-cNHNtCJbaaDio" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Included because, come on, that is adorable.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>The last two books on my list are impactful reads for very different reasons. First, I finally got a copy of Myquillin Smith's <i>Cozy Minimalist Home </i>(new libraries that have books I've been wanting are my <i>favorite</i>). As a constant mover of homes, I fully admit that I love Myquillin Smith (otherwise known as the Nester) and pretty much anything she writes. I don't read a lot of decorating blogs/books, but hers have been worth my time. Honestly, I wish I could've read this before we moved in, but a lot of the principles she'd shared on her blog, so I was able to implement more than I realized. With that said, the book was definitely worth it. So much so that I completely moved my living room around (the living room that I just set up two months ago) last Tuesday morning--and I am so glad that I did. Even the Man has commented on how much better it feels. This also involved rehanging a set of pictures that I didn't manage to get perfectly straight this time because by the time I got around to the rehanging, I was feeling more than a smidge guilty about making my kids "homeschool" while I moved furniture around them. If you are someone who moves often (or just someone who doesn't feel comfortable in their own home and isn't sure how to fix it), this is a great book to grab. Smith breaks down the how to of setting up a room into accessible steps that made an immediate difference for me.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_517c_9caa_6ceb_b9c6" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/q86dFIlYnNikL3mtEg6kh2U8dFyorp3iFwFNBLSw9AcpvQj6opYRcACBOaY2q7g" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I meant to give you before and afters of the living room<br />after it was Cozy Minimalized. I forgot.<br />Somehow, we will all survive.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Finally, though I was making YA fiction jokes earlier, that genre will always be near and dear to my heart. One of the YA authors I keep an eye out for is Sharon Cameron who recently released <i>The Light in Hidden Places</i>, which is based on the true story of a young Polish girl who sheltered thirteen Jews in her home while simultaneously being forced to provide housing for a pair of Nazi nurses. Cameron tells in the afterward the handful of things that she tweaked to make the narrative run more smoothly, and I could not believe how little she had changed because I <i>could not believe</i> that anyone could survive what Stefania Podgorska survived. It was hands down Cameron's best book to date and well worth the read. I tell the kids often that we study history so that we can see our present with clear eyes. Without the bigger perspective of history, we miss out on understanding our now. Find a copy and let me know what you think.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_ae71_8968_82a7_7b5d" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/uYwUXtVMKvlYKS5HxDNvrOU1IJdM2UgXJ0nOQUIA96-4v7kCaNK3qemindfI_2E" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Such a good read. Highly recommend!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Honorable mention goes out to two excellent books that I'm enjoying during my morning quiet time. The only get honorable mention because I'm not quite done with them yet, not because they aren't great books. First up, Andrew Murray's <i>Abide in Christ</i>. The chapters are short and the writing simple, but the eternal truths so necessary for my soul. If you are wanting more from your relationship with Christ, this is a good place to start. My brother-in-law gave it to me when I was still in college, and I was so glad to rediscover it on my bookshelf.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_7e32_13b2_53a_2f6f" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/tDppvDbxzcBleURqOr4CoPlpHXMbJqZEaUENHMKEDlZMcr_xwdGar7Km4ycIr7Q" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Globe, white board, and squashy bean bag in the background<br />clue you in to how this room is used when the kids are up.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>I'm also only part of the way through Francis Chan's <i>Forgotten God </i>(another early morning quiet time and coffee read), but was informed by the library that it's due back tomorrow and someone else has requested it so there's no fudging by continuing to renew it endlessly. it's been so good that I may try to really plow through it today at intervals between giving spelling lists and picking up groceries. Again, along with Andrew Murray's book, this is for the Christian asking for more from their walk with Christ than just check marks in their day. It has been excellent so far.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_7c38_8646_fd3a_b25d" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/Hi2HKPSLJhC_TMPIT6HIHuEvuzOON9miFGV6o3_MQ3qnLQJp3-u7RU9QXYtYNeo" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, I took most of the pictures sitting in the recliner.<br />Sue me.<br />But they were all on different days, so be impressed by that.</td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table><p>And for now, that's it! May your reading time abound, your book choices broaden your mind and enlarge your heart, and your library allow for curbside pick up, which right now seems the biggest book blessing I can pronounce.</p>Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-69697127663114654192020-09-11T03:54:00.001-07:002020-09-11T03:57:36.500-07:00Seeds and Surprises<div>A little over two months ago, we were in the middle of our move. One of the things we couldn't bring with us was our little pallet garden (though I did manage to bring our potted lemon tree, which rode shotgun from Florida to Virginia, scraping its spiky arms against the dashboard through four states). We are only here for eleven months (ish) unless the Powers That Be decide to keep us. One of the casualties of being somewhere less than a year is that I'm not trying for another garden. I did, however, buy some indoor plants and a handful of herbs (that I'm already killing).</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_2bc7_8e2b_dc00_319" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_abb1_ef5_b5a5_343e" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/FURmZYN3Nv0_Ak_a0jp_EJOFlPw3unGjNBCfg68GOypAmMp4pflt9jBri7jhrYs" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The lemon tree has really liked VA.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>So, I've been missing playing in the dirt a little. Also, gardening is like outside the house decorating, and if you like that kind of thing (which I do), it's kind of fun. Also x2, it's more fun to eat something you grow yourself. And then my sister sent me a picture of her wall of morning glories that she planted this summer which are now a riot of blooms and leaves. I'm not saying I was jealous but I definitely wondered how it would feel to be able to plant seeds and then actually see them grow and thrive. That doesn't often happen for us simply because we move too quickly. Our pallet garden was primarily starter plants.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_1dc2_5204_d34_6813" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_40c7_e54f_b17a_f9b0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/EQj-fVsQxkTSBqvY6Uwjyu0_Sp4LBWbKnIstbfBi1p7JDadNr_ZahmILqwwrNA8" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>With those thoughts in my mind, I was astounded to look outside early one day and see a vine tapping its way onto our back deck. We haven't purchased a weed eater yet, so I went out to investigate, wondering what I would need to pull up by hand, only to find that it wasn't a weed--it was morning glories! Someone must have planted them at the house before we even rented it, and here we get to enjoy the blooms for which we didn't even work.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_b7b9_b918_ed3e_ec3a" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_815e_61d2_a26e_aba8" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/Di8bF3Ji_JLKo0q2NYnb80cur5toBqop82TgM1DaJtjynHtoC9DhiznEsGcz9X8" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I benefit from someone else's planting.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div>This felt incredibly significant to me in light of all plants that couldn't come with us. Their roots were too deep. They stayed behind to be enjoyed by someone else. The strawberries and lavender and bell peppers we left behind are hopefully being harvested and enjoyed by someone else in the RV park we called home for the last 18 months. And that is good, but seeing bare garden patches at our new home (bare patches that I am resisting the urge to fill in) can be disheartening. But I am realizing that, while it feels like we move and have to start all the way over each time, I see more and more that this is not completely true. Though certainly the seeds I may have planted can't necessarily come with us, there are some left behind by others that we can then tend into full growth. <div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_6372_f92e_d075_2994" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/FdcEw55iPG2Z5hbOkAdZPIrIfzjAM4hWTXYny2XIn5rqCPlZQKCDfhBN38XpZzA" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy surprises<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Naturally, this applies to more than just gardening. I see this in our homeschool community, where I benefit from a community that is already set up and structured, which allows them to let in our transient family and enjoy us while we are here. I see this in our church, where we can be blessed by people who are already growing in the Lord and seeking to support and encourage other believers. I see this in our neighborhood where we can benefit from programs that are already in place, using the library, going to stores, picking up food at restaurants. These are things that someone else has worked for, and we get to step in and be a part of them for a little while. Just like I get to enjoy the morning glories I haven't planted. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_e8d7_1a51_b527_2ab8" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/Y7keItzQd_66dsehKiFqMWZaTAH1asU9BTfpi9AeJC6gH7J0gybcKctW4Hbi7-M" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit for this one goes to my sister.<br />Genetic credit goes to my mother-in-law.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_b1d6_e21_cac_d25c" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><div>So as I watch morning glory blooms opening their trumpets to soak in the early morning sunlight, I find myself praying:</div><div><br /></div><div>May I be brave enough to keep planting (whether flower seeds or seeds of truth and encouragement) what I may not see bloom, knowing that someone else might be blessed weeks, months, or years later because of it. May I keep my eyes open to see beautiful surprises for which I can take no credit. And may I not be afraid to let my roots sink deep, even knowing that some may not come up the next time we move, knowing that there is the possibility of a painful uprooting or a severing of one part of myself from the other, because what I leave behind may be just what someone else needs. And may you be encouraged to keep planting the seeds God has called you to plant, not knowing how they may benefit someone else along the way.</div></div>Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-43707713130499760172020-08-19T04:42:00.003-07:002020-08-19T14:50:47.691-07:00Kicking Off the School Year<div>Ah, August, that wonderful time of year when we force ourselves to stop being lazy bums and instead embrace, once again, the idea that our brains can actually function. In other words, the kids and I have started school. Technically, we started two weeks ago, but this is somehow our first full week. Full disclosure, I never plan a full week for our first week back, mostly out of a sense of self preservation. We start on a Wednesday, and by Friday, I'm convinced we're never going to make it through a full week alive. Kidding. Mostly. But it does seem to help if we start a little slower and focus on just getting our feet wet and having fun. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_3140_d549_3be5_8857" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/g8CN-8joTwH_ipdxsKllm55q-tZLqhDaxsISUIKEyUtyOhJo20eKZmr2aV-59VQ" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Littles' First Day<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_882e_d23e_a4b9_8e8a" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/0Oj_hMZTdn1Sk-1K6-B_EeXh7imH8QyqpqFnBvc1PGvRNT5igPQtTon6Fv-tXgE" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiny's First Day<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_832f_5275_3cbf_b628" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/UlEm7VWE4RWl6MY8DWoOMdBwFrTd2i1OFhs8al9Hl0-GgOOtA-4LE3cmJgZnWZo" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bee's First Day<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_2403_f56b_2ecc_a7c0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/26NQhAgibZ1sQKJbkicq-KgOgRNicNbfgwp2g5BDVd7nMqS2tvqSxFZK4Q-zi18" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bruiser's First Day<br />This is his self-portrait.<br />It looks just like him.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Then I happily allowed our second week of school to get hijacked by taking a fun trip out of state to see friends. The kids got to learn geography by driving through Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, and Ohio. And then back again. We made note of the Allegheny Mountains as we drove through them (one kid cheerfully barfing as we went around the many curves in the road, and then another kid sympathy barfing because that's what siblings are for). We took swim lessons in a friend's pool. And we even really pulled out the educational stops by taking them on a nature walk and then letting them wander around the National Museum of the Air Force for several hours. Because we'd been so diligent in pursuing their education (fine: because the friends we were with are beyond awesome), we decided to stay an extra day in Ohio and only do school that Friday once we got home.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_ff48_f41d_8090_a690" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/CcJ_jztWq8GsfHUFulCO7jQi_Q0Enj6zpRvW92RlJ6O9OYAfzvzwLZHEkyDOKVA" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I briefly considered taking this home with me.<br />I can get behind this kind of propaganda.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="300" id="id_6cbc_eafc_5b35_16b1" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/5cd4--9U7GKZX7JnzldgLM02p7L5odCxIzihCwTaNOMXgJpOzy9pMqPM4QrhC4w=w400-h300" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" tooltip="" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The family with the Memphis Belle.<br />Masks were taken off before we took the picture.<br />Bruiser was much happier than this picture shows.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>So now we find ourselves neck deep in our first full week of school. And of course it's also the first week our homeschool community meets. So really, all my attempts to ease us into the school year gradually, were a total waste. Now we go big or go home. Also, now I self medicate with chocolate covered espresso beans.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_f476_4472_b3de_ed4d" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/yoBExYXkiNYmMiCkFyHcabhwsSYbr_AjtopHTtHFqO7Cu2TxdaH-a-87zyfsyxU" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what planning looks like.<br />Blythe tries hard to get in the way.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="400" id="id_3db9_d9ff_f4_937c" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/OUvvvRqVZrnZcSrwPVT5AEARg6khjJ1idmLRiUJIFFSp3XxB8fAPq0BJ-GyGAEA=w300-h400" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" tooltip="" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's a miracle anything get done.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Naturally, this school year is different, much like every school year is. The twins are doing more but still requiring a lot of hands on help. Twinkle cut out her nap completely months ago, so she's with us for pretty much everything (unless the Man succeeds in luring her out of the sitting room where we've been doing school). Littles and Tiny continue to be paragons of scholarly virtue, which helps me maintain my sanity. And I continue to center most of our school work around me reading out loud because that's what makes me happy and no one can tell me what to do.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_10d2_4a11_96ce_6fc" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/ERYrgSCvtkUIAnJ9VWRh95VV3I269cUO-6qxgX6_un2DBzu0Va3I2RrA8J2sbRY" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I promise she's not choking the cat.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div>Books are read, walks are taken, attitudes are dealt with, piano lessons are given, and before I know it, May will be here and I'll be looking back, wondering where the time has gone. Hopefully, the kids will learn what they need to during that time. Hopefully, I will grow as a teacher and a parent and a human being too. And hopefully, by the end of it, we will still want to keep doing life together and not have driven ourselves crazy.<div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="300" id="id_130d_4dc8_dec7_d232" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/I43qBeny3Y9bJEfTi7X7TcLcTEloL8kySo86Q8rqANPMXTIYyz4VqCKQQxysRcE=w400-h300" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" tooltip="" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This pretty much defines our family.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="300" id="id_813a_fc55_6cbb_1577" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/PNk1ATEWHelDiHTebmvy79j_c0zbF4qW6uhdRd1hglWm-kskIAhV6qXV0NH8WDE=w400-h300" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" tooltip="" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy First Day of School, wherever you are.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Many of you are just getting started. Some of you beat me to the punch because you never really stopped to take a break. And some are still hanging on to the last dog days of summer. Wherever you are in the process, and whether you're homeschooling or not (though it seems like more of us are than ever this year), my prayer for all of us is that this school year could help us see truth more clearly, love others more deeply, and every now and then, just enjoy a good book that lets us see how good God is and how full of joy life can be even when things are hard. Maybe I'll have to come back with a book post to help us out on that last one. And since there are rumors that our library here is doing curb side pick up, I'm hoping that will be sooner rather than later.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the meantime, happy schooling!<br /> </div></div>Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-64315401702710669112020-07-27T06:08:00.000-07:002020-07-27T06:08:05.333-07:00TimelineEvery time we move, there are new ropes to learn, but it's almost always the same timeline (at least for me). I find that in general, for about two weeks prior to the move and then two weeks following the move, I'm possessed with an almost manic energy. Sleep is hard to come by because my mind won't turn off; food is optional; coffee is sometimes even forgotten as I plow through my To Do list (and sometimes try to take on everyone else's) like a juggernaut. The Man and the children have gotten to the point where they mostly just get out of my way, although the Man does occasionally put his foot down and make me quit to do fun things or just go to bed. During this time, I also try to implement my new cleaning, writing, and exercise schedules because this makes total logical sense to someone who is borderline insane with sleep deprivation.<div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSVDZkd53PyOVQoew2GBroflmIf_8vl1NAMUngsFLexZXTZeI8jQNnfRclDWzzxwzqzDnLWWE3N6fayNlEwVv2eaUcCdTvtgoSb85D80Bcl0DqoOP1__HVUALmngZZUIsO-OJplBiIrqZm/s2048/IMG-0426.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSVDZkd53PyOVQoew2GBroflmIf_8vl1NAMUngsFLexZXTZeI8jQNnfRclDWzzxwzqzDnLWWE3N6fayNlEwVv2eaUcCdTvtgoSb85D80Bcl0DqoOP1__HVUALmngZZUIsO-OJplBiIrqZm/w300-h400/IMG-0426.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><div><br /></div><div>After the two week post move mark though, I crash. Hard. There are naps. There are long hours sitting in the recliner re-reading comfort books. There are early bed times and over slept alarms. There is utilizing persistently meowing cats to get myself out of bed in the morning (and once they've been fed, there's no going back upstairs to get back in bed so I might as well curl up in the recliner and stare off into space while pretending to write). There is no energy to go run, so I take the dog for a walk, and since he thinks he's still a puppy, he might drag me behind him for a mile or so while I ask plaintively every few steps, "Are we done yet? Can we go home now? Is it time to stop?"</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbdOOp4oXlXuzbSQSdmPGuCjxzXbFsNCSEGLgUAocKWMGk_D7NiW6FC1wuxZ7l5NlffJR6dyQ2GhIlKIMRp3BEZirdFQstKv2dyNbrcHt3Ae7ThA36agMF3soThbSYM-_4sQ0ZVzoIxDow/s2048/IMG-0425.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbdOOp4oXlXuzbSQSdmPGuCjxzXbFsNCSEGLgUAocKWMGk_D7NiW6FC1wuxZ7l5NlffJR6dyQ2GhIlKIMRp3BEZirdFQstKv2dyNbrcHt3Ae7ThA36agMF3soThbSYM-_4sQ0ZVzoIxDow/w300-h400/IMG-0425.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm seeing empty spaces on the boys' bookshelf,<br />which means it's time to find a used bookstore.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Meanwhile the actual settling in continues. The girls' bed doesn't arrive, and I find myself glued to the window watching the UPS guy like a hawk. I put in groceries at the nearest grocery store and instead of giving me four bananas (which I thought I ordered), they give me four bunches of bananas. I make banana bread and take it to a meeting I have for our homeschool co-op, building relationships over shared facepalms. I find a chunk of dried rice on the base of our farmhouse table that has been sitting there since before the hurricane (I think I've pin-pointed it to the cilantro lime rice we ate before we evacuated). I find a piece of elbow pasta sitting in the middle of our kitchen counter after nearly three weeks in the house during which time I have not once cooked elbow pasta. I manage to get bleach spots on the knee of my one pair of nice pants while doing an emergency clean of the refrigerator because we'd run out of ziplock bags and the meat I'd wrapped in saran wrap had leaked everywhere.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYTmJ9VbPjkI1ePLecfa_JDpOv-qoXt98gSzwEtJJJ44NycK19i8bapH0tNcoUGitH2NXppQi3IOvQWNTGkME-8AKpg7omV6BjraJadrXGOIfHlbbvxdmM7pqEk0xT4LXqqDkIe_0NamF1/s2048/IMG-0402.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYTmJ9VbPjkI1ePLecfa_JDpOv-qoXt98gSzwEtJJJ44NycK19i8bapH0tNcoUGitH2NXppQi3IOvQWNTGkME-8AKpg7omV6BjraJadrXGOIfHlbbvxdmM7pqEk0xT4LXqqDkIe_0NamF1/w400-h300/IMG-0402.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So many bananas...<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>We learn to navigate our new neighborhood, which in these times means spending a lot of time rubbing antibacterial hand sanitizer into hands that are covered with tiny cuts from moving boxes and setting up furniture. The stinging sensation helps keep me awake on days I don't get naps. I also spend a lot of time wondering if masks are going to be the death of the spoken word as I pick up pizza and talk to hardware guys and ask questions in the plant section and repeat myself often.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzu15bR0uPmJyhflb05y5oPUTPRYwhJW379VNW4TjAy9F-yE66rfPI5r7yiaVpP578u6m6HD0ElLyFvk087z9Kduse2jdHad2H2Srz7Fbdebz9loghzD7EeIdL86dxzQoXndZZ-3N4lLVT/s2048/IMG-0423.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzu15bR0uPmJyhflb05y5oPUTPRYwhJW379VNW4TjAy9F-yE66rfPI5r7yiaVpP578u6m6HD0ElLyFvk087z9Kduse2jdHad2H2Srz7Fbdebz9loghzD7EeIdL86dxzQoXndZZ-3N4lLVT/w400-h300/IMG-0423.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Comfort books for all.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>This tired phase where I sit in the car in the driveway because I don't have the energy to walk into the house will last until the six week mark, and then there will be a return to some semblance of normalcy. I will be normal adult tired instead of moving adult tired. New relationships will have been kicked off, and there will be the now familiar sensation of having settled in somewhat. It helps to have done this before so that there's less freaking out that I'm going to feel like this forever. It also helps to know that this is normal. Other military wives tell me that they have the six week to two months timeline too.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0KPJfjs10gsYOT59MnmAez3N9cqjqkBfCdD2SWvuJ4P6OL6jMLwiBz6JBVQflaMsyP8VRcigbPkAxA2cT4LmyZ8iZL2CyWStZdzTlH785-o8I6TAONvN91yIRZqjzBT7An-gkUYudkrM8/s2048/IMG-0376.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0KPJfjs10gsYOT59MnmAez3N9cqjqkBfCdD2SWvuJ4P6OL6jMLwiBz6JBVQflaMsyP8VRcigbPkAxA2cT4LmyZ8iZL2CyWStZdzTlH785-o8I6TAONvN91yIRZqjzBT7An-gkUYudkrM8/w300-h400/IMG-0376.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blythe is my recliner nap buddy.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>And then it passes. And we'll be doing school and meeting new friends for playdates and putting in what has become a regular grocery order and feeling the comforting structure of routine settling around us...while waiting on news for our next move. Because this is how the world turns. And honestly, in a world where you can go from one place to the next and meet interesting people and try new things and move furniture around to make a snug home and learn and grow and stretch (and sometimes take naps)...even with masks and missing bunk beds and mystery pasta...it's a pretty great life.</div></div>Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-70085375686840669752020-07-22T05:02:00.000-07:002020-11-20T06:30:43.719-08:00TogethernessSome of you may be wondering how our transition into a house from the RV might be going. We've been asked few times if we're losing each other now that we're not stacked like sardines into a 35 foot trailer or if we're so used to all that togetherness that we're following each other from room to room as we go throughout the day. The answer is: yes.<div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiotI_8UY9LK_hBB1p04PcKVTgyWy-pBSpER3eDs9rmeEg-v8qsGJFxixcLWgc9egDlXGBwtK2ek0CHVE9GAMUUL-RpBFzmFQCMuNXyQJNNtD-pjRc0pHNL7VGZTYObxZvSbW8YqWegl5rx/s2048/IMG-0379.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiotI_8UY9LK_hBB1p04PcKVTgyWy-pBSpER3eDs9rmeEg-v8qsGJFxixcLWgc9egDlXGBwtK2ek0CHVE9GAMUUL-RpBFzmFQCMuNXyQJNNtD-pjRc0pHNL7VGZTYObxZvSbW8YqWegl5rx/w300-h400/IMG-0379.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This cat loves the togetherness,<br />but also hid in the garage for two nights<br />and scared the mess out of us.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>It is wonderful to be able to get up in the morning and come downstairs and sit in a chair in an empty room and have a quiet time without worrying that the sounds of my coffee being made are going to wake up the whole family. But it was also wonderful last night curled up on the couch with Twinkle while the twins stretched out on the floor in front of me playing some joint twin version of solitaire (they call it "solitary") and the Man and the Bigs played rummy and UNO at the other end of the couch. I like the togetherness because I like them. With that said, I didn't <i>love</i> when the kids turned the house into a giant nerf war zone as it was just as loud as when they would do it in the RV, and I kept waiting for someone to come falling through the ceiling. Although I will say, I get caught in the cross fire way less now that we're in a house. Still, there's a front yard--and a back one!--and they aren't small. Take your warlike ways to the great outdoors.</div><div><br /></div><div>I did think that the noise level would decrease upon being in a house. I was wrong. I was on a phone call with a friend the other day, and she commented on how quiet it was (you know, as opposed to the normal background chatter of "Mom! I need a snack!", "Mom! I stubbed my toe and my foot now needs to be amputated!", "Mom! So-and-so keeps putting the body bind curse on me!", "Mom! The twins are trying to sell me to gypsies again!"). I informed her it was quiet because I was hiding in a closet. Please note that I now have a closet large enough for me to sit in. When I got off the phone, though, I realized it wasn't just the closet buffering the noise: the Man had let the kids watch a movie. Screen time: the only way you can lull your children into silence until all five of them are capable of reading to themselves. That and sleep.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxQyabU4AIC2bRfPOoj4BY5Ih3ljavN2dauWxEcXWqAEPPuGUGdiz4SjGtbSJL6LRETX6D3fkK6uHTEjHp6lwdkbu7dK4-OlyRy6t0dGUEVjMqg6fYb_oe5teAFNukk4mH9KA5V8rcb4h0/s2048/IMG-0358.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxQyabU4AIC2bRfPOoj4BY5Ih3ljavN2dauWxEcXWqAEPPuGUGdiz4SjGtbSJL6LRETX6D3fkK6uHTEjHp6lwdkbu7dK4-OlyRy6t0dGUEVjMqg6fYb_oe5teAFNukk4mH9KA5V8rcb4h0/w400-h300/IMG-0358.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All that space: still sitting together on the window seat.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>There are things that we are loving about being in a house, and things that we are missing about the RV. I miss the water view, but we have a hillside of beautiful trees right out our window. I miss how quickly I could be done with vacuuming, but this just means the kids are being put to good use for manual labor more often. I miss knowing our neighbors, but hopefully we will get to know these too (though COVID makes that a bit more challenging). I miss my little pallet garden, but we have house plants now. I miss all our Florida friends, of course, but there is texting and FaceTime and zoom calls and hopefully one day a guest room that's actually got furniture (instead of just boxes of books and empty mattresses) where they can stay when they come see us.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCN0FcrzJges7Av3c4zQlenrQA_Z0cfdq6mGmp6JcaG6weG-oYOkCbLXr9yXteWwMLWtVb9drr7_EccX65Tr8f1wOsksRmdmS6qlIkiV2l3qLv-c86F2fSHg1ZLrjP8nyXwTqVWHQs26-j/s2048/IMG-0386.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img alt="Happiness is green glasses, napkin rings, and a real table." border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCN0FcrzJges7Av3c4zQlenrQA_Z0cfdq6mGmp6JcaG6weG-oYOkCbLXr9yXteWwMLWtVb9drr7_EccX65Tr8f1wOsksRmdmS6qlIkiV2l3qLv-c86F2fSHg1ZLrjP8nyXwTqVWHQs26-j/w300-h400/IMG-0386.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happiness is green glasses,<br />napkin rings, and a real table.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>I'm loving having everything in one place although I keep not finding things that I thought had made it through the move/hurricane (waffle iron, waffle iron, where did you go?). I'm loving having bookshelves again, even though it makes me want to buy more books, especially since the libraries here aren't open yet. I am loving (more than I can say) having a washer/dryer in the house so that I can do as much laundry as I want whenever I want--and not have to pay for anything other than the water bill. I am loving having a piano again--and it even got tuned yesterday!--and a place to play my flute without feeling like all of Fam Camp might be listening in. I am loving being able to put an entire meal's worth of food in the oven<i> at one time</i> (see last post about the pizza). I'm loving (for real) not having the cat litter underneath my daughter's bed (even if technically my daughter doesn't have a bed yet since it's taking five years to get here). I am loving having dinner at a table where we can look at each other (and not straight at a TV), where all the food fits on the table, where the water glasses don't spill if you accidentally bump the table by crossing your legs. I am loving that half of my kids can sleep in if they want to because the other half come downstairs to harass me into making breakfast instead of causing a racket pretty much on top of the sleeping children.</div><div><br /></div><div>And speaking of, said children are now downstairs harassing me into making breakfast. So on that note: happy Wednesday!</div>Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-1737744564753268422020-07-12T05:48:00.002-07:002020-07-12T05:48:40.274-07:00Moving BlurbsIt was our last official day in the RV when I started this blog post (so if you were waiting until the last moment to buy this thing, you're now going to have to purchase from a different state), and I was sitting with a cat in my lap watching the dawn light stretch the tree shadows long and slim while using my cell phone hotspot to access blogger because our internet decided our last week in the RV was the most appropriate time to crap out on us. Really, it wasn't wrong. <div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5kScqc7HkPhntDH5SQKv0obgtW34DfraJiVa8UuSL1wm0nozcvOgLmevzdvssdxqgYKhR_KkSnbl3ld2ld20v9ta66sBd8qc9UZ4oMTCha2hk9UshguYhhuk09PpVyWaslFxSdpL7tQRv/w300-h400/IMG-9840.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Change of Command: ignore the kids' faces<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFp5rMGsinC_WzEYeNBH4wBYLFrHdPfdjGSmenIlEpTDI1vOuGzcJ9zL41AUDiswjusmtqKDRZ-nabEMbBVAvvmiq2LJGyJsUoqFgeuQiuy6pveAJrFoY8EVjjwJVpRjTkUyj9tKXOL-Bq/w400-h300/IMG-9831.jpg" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 238); color: #0000ee; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Had to take the dog for one last morning walk on the shore<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>Now, however, I'm sitting in our very comfortable, very well used recliner that has been rescued from the storage unit in which it has been languishing for almost two years, and I'm watching the sunlight creep up the hill covered in tall unbroken trees that I can see out of the huge bay window in our sitting room in the new house. That's right: there's a sitting room <i>and</i> a living room because we're fancy now. Also, we've officially moved.<br /><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLUZEHNK6c9eCdjIXi7SjrIMbeYKkUhwq96cphFMRdOx93R4ISAdwcyuLtSImfdF2ePXaMfIPb6WTqxaYXJjKdav9oMslzqMeDDE3fi-XbPRFSLLCPicVkufeprEcnBE_m91ea_VB9mftX/w300-h400/IMG-9857.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Road trip buddy<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>It's been several weeks since I wrote last and a lot of big stuff has been happening in the world. Those two things are related. So, yes, while part of the reason I haven't written this month is just that it's been incredibly busy and I have been incredibly tired, the other reason is that I prefer to process slowly and quietly in my own head and not feel like I have to comment in public on something I'm still thinking about in private. With that said, this blog is not going to be about big things, but just about little things. But if you'd like to talk to me about big things, you missed my window while I was on the road driving. Kidding: you can still call and I will take a much needed break from putting together new furniture--and I will love getting to hear a familiar voice on the phone.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA-SlfR6EbqC8em6BiLcy-Y2GLIraMySktktu3IoNlPFstvFm0scIbr4CwXaL6Vv5K7arsnK-BEklWNqccVUmQnkMMdO8Hgigaj1VnJDJFEH1oS3PuOLmYKPcgb_egqXcZnnVmz6iC7iB4/w400-h300/IMG-0064.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So much space!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>With that said, some blurbs for the move:</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>This has been an interesting move as it's happened in shifts, so when I got asked how the move prep going, I told them that it was going something like this: workworkwork...wait... wait... wait... workworkwork.... wait... wait... wait... workworkwork. But in between there's a lot of SOCIALIZE!!! and then a few rounds of recovery.</li><li>Speaking of, self isolating did not prepare me for these last few weeks of intense pre-move socialization. My badly exercised peopling muscle got a real workout those last few days in Florida.</li></ul><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYkxbLu0iIj2bE3NiG6aXZ4kPfNjAZME7zNvWQID-S3dUxTyxrC3XPP4fERQEkym2Ne7v3-OYbnLpH69Cg6NG9sbxYGNhwzlTW0WXkwaYT7yfjBaVNCj_Qi67T3uiuk6WQ9huMdnnMyXxe/w300-h400/IMG-0009.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span> <span> </span></span>My fellow introvert enjoying his quiet. <br />He asked me to schedule in down time those last couple weeks...<br /> and it was much needed. </span><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></td></tr></tbody></table><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>The last week before the move, the Man took a trailer up to the new house with mattresses in it and a few boxes of things I no longer needed in the RV. I packed nonessentials like extra clothes (don't need all those sweaters right now in FL) and lamps and school books. Guess what was left on my nightstand: a stack of around a dozen books. I know what I cannot do without. The coffee pot was also still in residence and doing double time.</li><li>It was the curse of the last week in the RV: three wet beds (all different children--moving is stressful) and a cat barf in the middle of our bed. Every time I hoped that it would be the last time dragging our laundry to the lodge, behold, there was more laundry. What I am really enjoying in the new house: yes! the washer and dryer!</li></ul><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ZojVx4ldN1p51WwNLQchv7GUkf7vhUAz5CWsYwqmIb6kjad_6yWXWRVgqGcoYIi7VosfpdJJhG_ijCjDTU-ajN_IBSyIjzr9TKEsa0hyphenhyphenQS2hEvtznWqbLX1r5eYzWYBUPRxEPuRzUjKD/w300-h400/IMG-0055.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reunited with my ginormous wok!</td></tr></tbody></table><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>I put three pizzas in the oven at the same time Friday night. I was drunk with power.</li><li>When you can't get a massive dresser up the twisty stairs, you turn it into a hutch for the kitchen...which really needed more cabinet space anyway. But then you laugh about how you needed more cabinet space when you've spent the last year and a half in an RV.</li></ul><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXHmjrybLf8Mkar69HmvsgnGAWlQs2UNjkiUH6AmBdvCvSHlF6zLf1NcwYTohIZPAk5Glis53OnXjTOpxonFJlg2ErHOd70Z7EX18CdfPLHBNyTKruy5oVXNBN2aSJpTV9xvD3j68YZ1fV/w400-h300/IMG-9930.JPG" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 238); color: #0000ee; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have since fixed that drawer...<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><ul style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><font color="#0000ee"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><u><br /></u></span></font></div><li>Unpacking a storage unit that you didn't really pack leads to lots of excitement and surprises. There were things that I had totally forgotten about, and then things missing the I expected to see (vacuum cleaner and waffle iron, I'm looking at you...except not).</li><li>It's the little joys: like finding out that the bunk beds you ordered for the boys come with the drawers already assembled, so you don't have to do that part, and having kids who don't mind helping you screw in hidden cams, and taking the kids for a short walk in the woods without having to leave the neighborhood, and Littles and Tiny agreeing to skip the majority of the Frodo/Sam parts when rewatching <i>Return of the King </i>late at night in bed with popcorn<i>.</i></li></ul><div><i><br /></i></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB5IeWAuRlcT3PrDZ8rZSfamtaLd8Lrfxh8aR4wSf57UkP7wsH9pTYMETZQHSR7gWESASSb7mmJShgas5OBSC37dhqGPNxuAiqWSbbYUV-12tlGbCQkSUiUclfQE0VWl4h71bLv4nmDHZg/w300-h400/IMG-0059.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We emerged with only one tick, <br />so we'll take that as a win.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><ul style="text-align: left;"><br /><li>The best thing about this move has been moving with a couple of our favorite families and moving to one of our all-time favorites (even if they're leaving us at the end of the month). It's made it so much less emotionally draining, knowing that I didn't leave behind our entire support system like we normally do. When I say that's the best thing, I mean that it's even better than moving into a house from the RV, and so that tells you something.</li><li>Some things are worth time and effort. It's good to figure out what those things are on the front end.</li></ul><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNbzhxPahxwRaQZJtF5xNL-JBXuT-cDh8GTP5ZAPlaL1tpsHdFrdU4Us8109_MUCpY8Nxnt5bkx2xpNb5G4l54A3aJmBV3_eJjUggiujC35HpFEvnX-BwRYJ_8mJFge4Qtkr7UTiGftoMn/w400-h300/IMG-0032.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hanging all those pictures in a grid pattern is somehow worth it.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><ul style="text-align: left;"><br /><li>Sometimes Amazon sends you the wrong item and you unpack 80% of the box before you realize that it's definitely a twin and trundle and not a twin over twin bunk bed. This can ruin your day, or you can take a deep breath, resist the urge to slam your head against the wall repeatedly, and do your best to Tetris the pieces back in the box so it can be returned. You will then spend the rest of the next 48 hours trying to explain to the three year old why her bed isn't set up yet. Dark chocolate will help. And this is still only a blip in the radar.</li><li>Setting up a house with the guy you've been married to for a dozen years is way easier than setting up a house with the guy you've been married to for only a handful of months. Even if said guy has to do a quick run up to Boston the week you move in. This is just a fact. However, he still doesn't appreciate when I offer to race him to see who can get a nightstand put together first.</li><li>Want to be a real adult: go buy blinds. I have now reached new levels.</li></ul><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqzeTK91xL_BQjYMs6DBj-voIrEzfVa_yW07BbnQxRRo0e_RAWO9Kov4fBz0vM6ATWg9eqmEASwogpHq1Vc2vI_7J-ykC80n1QaGFZ2XxbCgpr-57fAI42i_6nm7h2AN5KJ1ct4oW28DKB/w300-h400/61598262262--E140B14F-4857-4422-B89B-A4C71109B31B.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Behold our fancy sitting room.<br />Also, behold those blinds I bought. <br />If you can see them because I pull them up the second<br />I get out of bed.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Real excitement means a water leak through the ceiling your first night in a new house. </li><li>When you've lost both wheels on the front of your piano, you can prop it on your husband's International Law book and your Norton's Short Fiction.</li><li>This is not move related but Rosie told me the other day that when she turns into a baby, she will <i>not</i> like bananas. Just thought you should know.</li></ul><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfRwL28EF8S7P-9L3i0EAJ1u1x0hnSo4wHTIf7HNjB7Cmwz1k9Y0kT5LLQ9jDShf2aF7EL2Inl3xNeRv8V-MLIdOLSkHOn1sUhlC4mgQRQw9wJvm-tjj9y8qfzM0ysmMs6RLcM5Nt5lAQK/w300-h400/IMG-9984.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pets make moving better.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>There is something really satisfying about drinking a cold glass bottled coke out of a wine glass after a hard day of work. There is something less satisfying about lying in bed with your eyes glued open because you can't sleep from the caffeine because YOU ARE OLD.</li><li>Necessity is the mother of invention. I learn this every move. Also, just because you assure your husband that there is a printer in the storage unit (and you are right) doesn't mean that the printer actually still works (so in the long term, he is also right). Not sure how those two things are related.</li></ul><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSwZAS9fkiwRbSQowrhDVgJ34otfy4dUYqY4i4xI1rwV-PLDgDXdIxoAZVeZqKWHFsvNyJUgrpl5B7sOik2I9INxiKEdshLMhpFzorhlobdyB7rFUFLGwjrFZTbRBrK2OyrVxVc6TG8Bh-/w400-h300/IMG-0034.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's amazing: I can walk around this bed without stubbing my toes!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>And now, having gotten myself back on the blogging bandwagon, I'm going to throw some pictures in this thing, and be done. The kids are up and needing breakfast, and today is Sunday, my last day to secure house plants while the Man is still out of town and can't stop me, and also a day to rest and say thank you and not put together any furniture or unpack any boxes or clean away any dust or cobwebs. Also, I realize that this post is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to our move and the last two months, but this is about all the emotional energy I have left to write so...for now, it is enough.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI72-pS94-RY0X_uiR-SM_ajb8YAJFogAgqDd7xUiZcCli3o7Pnkc2AeTR2fMPNi2a_C-LOmNkjDJSjmyXL6UoyiV4cpKDMFnC9CiyfC1w8IiUsJoNaUIAsihCzankWuoh7HVCFqREseAH/w400-h300/IMG-9985.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We are happy to be home.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div></div></div>Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-33633860592359224172020-05-23T19:00:00.000-07:002020-05-23T19:00:19.266-07:00We Like to Move ItIt's that time of year: the time when my favorite neighbors have already packed up and moved out and I proceed to start freaking out about our own move. The time when the Man goes into planning hyperdrive, and I start purging everything in sight. The time when the kids decide to immediately trash whatever it is that I've just cleaned and I proceed to lose my ever-loving-mind. The time when I realize that somehow, even though we live in an RV, we have amassed a ridiculous amount of stuff (most of it hiding in Bee's bed) including but not limited to four (count them: four) coolers, dozens of books, a slab of marble (why?), at least ten pairs of shoes that no longer fit anyone (at least right now), an outdoor table with four mismatched chairs (one of them missing an arm), a self-made paver patio, and a garden (no clue how we're getting rid of that).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFieTt54NDHhRS9IGaGzzdDT980tQ4QAujchjeA7P0_tYUKjylYJQFFb7TGYtjubzgrhnWsZYSWqKFqK79rPVoVt1EDyToMRg7I_rGWWnIPw_iVkpr_kLJ9SToW7mQi1lqa4ca2VM4L23q/s1600/IMG_8501.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFieTt54NDHhRS9IGaGzzdDT980tQ4QAujchjeA7P0_tYUKjylYJQFFb7TGYtjubzgrhnWsZYSWqKFqK79rPVoVt1EDyToMRg7I_rGWWnIPw_iVkpr_kLJ9SToW7mQi1lqa4ca2VM4L23q/s400/IMG_8501.HEIC" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These are the children I'm driving crazy.<br />Or they're driving me crazy.<br />One of those things.</td></tr>
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<br />These days people like to ask me questions about how our move plans are going, and I laugh and I laugh and I laugh...until they start to back away slowly while surreptitiously calling 911 so that the cops can come get me and hand me over to someone capable of putting me in a straight jacket and a room with white padded walls. I thought we couldn't top the logistical challenges of moving during Christmas and birthday week--I was wrong. I thought doing a move while the Man finished out his last TDY was upping my game sufficiently--it was merely preparing me for this. I thought many things that were probably wrong, but I will say this (and pray I'm not jinxing us): at least I'm not pregnant this time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZKQgwH6kBI10cNC8gAKC3eHYqiC6XeCd-vdVfmUSHDZRnR3bO-eDgO6gnGxZqiI2kD9qNeABFIF7clOW2edNn5DcAIjRjZStPcn4TIj5nMBGVMFqp_nItmwRtlVjUgwqrKyYpJGddtUJ9/s1600/IMG_8513.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZKQgwH6kBI10cNC8gAKC3eHYqiC6XeCd-vdVfmUSHDZRnR3bO-eDgO6gnGxZqiI2kD9qNeABFIF7clOW2edNn5DcAIjRjZStPcn4TIj5nMBGVMFqp_nItmwRtlVjUgwqrKyYpJGddtUJ9/s400/IMG_8513.HEIC" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Potentially enough children already this move.</td></tr>
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Why, you ask (or don't--if you've already talked to me lately), is this move so logistically complicated? One: Corona. Moving on. Two: we don't have a house lined up yet because pet policies no longer work in our favor evidently (someone call PETA) and finding housing so near DC during a pandemic is a pain in the tush. Three: we're still trying to off load the RV on some unsuspecting adventurer (again, this is harder to do during "these uncertain times"). Four: we have a storage unit will 75% of our crap (it was 90% of our crap before we started accumulating the aforementioned items) that is two hours away from us, a storage unit that my husband can't take stuff to because it's out of county and coughCOVID-19travelbancoughcough.<br />
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I'm sensing a theme.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqG-hsRaq6EF5dq7kFRCXK4Gw8MwBbb5pnvzvuRkYnb133SV6HhlAdW4RoG9csDRLEN7evMRaYluQAQ9MnpL_EwV5QRNzPVR9b10REtDxdIjNJKCffXAaU7KbjTNrbW3lQ7SYurQBO4xb5/s1600/IMG_8541.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqG-hsRaq6EF5dq7kFRCXK4Gw8MwBbb5pnvzvuRkYnb133SV6HhlAdW4RoG9csDRLEN7evMRaYluQAQ9MnpL_EwV5QRNzPVR9b10REtDxdIjNJKCffXAaU7KbjTNrbW3lQ7SYurQBO4xb5/s400/IMG_8541.HEIC" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guess who's not bothered by coronavirus or moving?<br />That's right: the bears.</td></tr>
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Anyway, as I've pointed out to those who have asked, yes, logistically, this move has not been my favorite, BUT, all joking aside, we are doing alright. One of the good things about this being our seventh(ish) move is that I know from previous experience a few things.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicn9nFaFgqBNa32PG99T5nOkn9OgL5XYYkjuoCY8gOn1KOtRfwlsO2bI8RVBK1CBkQ4BCO6XsbDi-H4OGTH8Znso72XoIFA7FjiC1rMJ_ot9195hO9XgKtHW603m6RpCbeyxnrXIrgSVx8/s1600/IMG_9053.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicn9nFaFgqBNa32PG99T5nOkn9OgL5XYYkjuoCY8gOn1KOtRfwlsO2bI8RVBK1CBkQ4BCO6XsbDi-H4OGTH8Znso72XoIFA7FjiC1rMJ_ot9195hO9XgKtHW603m6RpCbeyxnrXIrgSVx8/s400/IMG_9053.HEIC" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I look at Trigger's happy face, and it makes me happy too.<br />He's not happy right now though because<br />the Man is forcing pills down him for an upset stomach.<br />I've cleaned up enough dog barf this week.</td></tr>
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The first thing I know is that God has always provided a home for us. Sometimes it is a very nice house with a lovely view. Sometimes it is a well worn older house with permanent spider webs between the storm windows. This last time it was an RV. Still a roof over our heads, beds to sleep in, and more than enough for which to say thank you.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyrdlxivDKlkczeIODZqXQueTYAzijOp1kShLmzoJHQ5dnWEXlyPhWpfpU3nCbLeM7YTkPHb9yjL2Th0CXBmkv5uu08zqz7I7GsZ3867fQ-5IOb-9Sq1wDrBzaAZUORRIHJ4-dQvT7q0oA/s1600/IMG_8534.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyrdlxivDKlkczeIODZqXQueTYAzijOp1kShLmzoJHQ5dnWEXlyPhWpfpU3nCbLeM7YTkPHb9yjL2Th0CXBmkv5uu08zqz7I7GsZ3867fQ-5IOb-9Sq1wDrBzaAZUORRIHJ4-dQvT7q0oA/s400/IMG_8534.HEIC" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This child is never bothered by anything.<br />Except by me throwing away any paper she has ever touched<br />with a pen or pencil. Ever. Even as a scribble.</td></tr>
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The second thing I know is that all the move details will come together and everything will get done. It may not get done my way, and it may not get done on my time line, but it will (emphasis: WILL) get done. So I can stress out about it or I can do what I can do, take deep breaths where I need to take breaths, drink the coffee, eat the chocolate, and wait it out.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih79WAfJygWXeC1mo7tt7xnrB5Rusatnu5v_3d_Q09IXgAESBXpqgKmyP9xPqmU10RxTnTszjdG9D1D22vhzz7CWB2UX2jOhOIJlUY2EEVY6qDU4IFOEnw1jkh6-zZEcrcM7ZRyTJgJZRl/s1600/61038007011__F8DDD0C9-FBB2-4F3F-847A-54F2CC12C992.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih79WAfJygWXeC1mo7tt7xnrB5Rusatnu5v_3d_Q09IXgAESBXpqgKmyP9xPqmU10RxTnTszjdG9D1D22vhzz7CWB2UX2jOhOIJlUY2EEVY6qDU4IFOEnw1jkh6-zZEcrcM7ZRyTJgJZRl/s400/61038007011__F8DDD0C9-FBB2-4F3F-847A-54F2CC12C992.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Did I mention we were also given a porch for the RV?<br />Which I love, but definitely one more thing that will have to vacate the premises.</td></tr>
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Third, these last few weeks are precious time to make those last memories, enjoy friends who have blessed us, and make sure we say goodbye well--and if I let the freak out run the show, I miss out on that. And that hurts more people than just myself.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWXAZ_8EtKvqzzf-mnkv2HoLR1_qnuktXG5qxn6lTd8Ffr7h7bU2qG3nHCid8Rpza-lcuiZmufHVZr827tGsERZfFfOC0gq3D3UUolhh70x6_5Ij41PCJNnwS5EZzor48Ca8Oe9TM8hEmL/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1f33.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWXAZ_8EtKvqzzf-mnkv2HoLR1_qnuktXG5qxn6lTd8Ffr7h7bU2qG3nHCid8Rpza-lcuiZmufHVZr827tGsERZfFfOC0gq3D3UUolhh70x6_5Ij41PCJNnwS5EZzor48Ca8Oe9TM8hEmL/s400/fullsizeoutput_1f33.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This, right here, I'm going to miss.</td></tr>
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So, with those three things in mind, I'm sleeping just fine at night. And trying not to spend the next five and a half weeks driving everyone around me nuts. And continuing to enjoy where we are now for as long as we are here. But if anyone needs a well-loved fifth wheel, I know someone who's selling. And the sooner you buy it from us, the saner I'll be.Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-47947386486221387332020-05-13T05:34:00.004-07:002020-05-13T05:34:41.772-07:00Books on QuarantineThis week, finally succumbing to the insanity that is social isolation, I accidentally lit my hair on fire.<br />
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First off, I'm fine, the kids are fine, the RV didn't burn to the ground (which, unfortunately, now means that we actually have to sell it), and I'm not bald. Yet. It took me a couple days of hysterical laughter before I realized that those options were all things I should've been legitimately worried about.<br />
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Second, yes, I am now in rather desperate need of a hair cut, so if you know any rule breaking, bandit hair stylists willing to wield a pair of scissors and risk their lives to COVID-19, let me know.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIEYa_oIAAldMIDS8ZDX_BjXC3lD7_a7VxinHVL2bvBqdw8UjemqBemf14Sv4kWQMgqRhz8Biv57_3qR9VHZqEJR_EIotn7DN1v7TbCWZ9CpS5Z2gfaSxqM89uz3kqsiZ8CeTb1hWThPZr/s1600/ba932360-daef-425e-b439-45f0243673fa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIEYa_oIAAldMIDS8ZDX_BjXC3lD7_a7VxinHVL2bvBqdw8UjemqBemf14Sv4kWQMgqRhz8Biv57_3qR9VHZqEJR_EIotn7DN1v7TbCWZ9CpS5Z2gfaSxqM89uz3kqsiZ8CeTb1hWThPZr/s400/ba932360-daef-425e-b439-45f0243673fa.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Obviously, I still have some hair and many children attached.</td></tr>
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I also accidentally ate cat food, but that's another story, and completely unnecessary at this time (and at all times). But speaking of stories, let's talk books! (Bonus points for that segue.)<br />
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I have--naturally--been doing a lot of reading during this time, thanks, in large part, to our online library (whoever came up with the idea of online libraries has my eternal gratitude) and the fact that I stocked up on books the literal day that our library closed for the pandemic. Our library has currently reopened for at the door pick ups of hold items, which has brought additional joy and reading material (that was redundant) into our home.<br />
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One of the great things about not being able to browse through the library is that I get to be more purposeful in what books I bring home for the kids. I am systematically working through lists of "greatest picture books for kids" or "what books should you read before twelve" and ensuring that there are no huge gaps of classic literature that the kids haven't been exposed to. The other great thing about not being able to browse through the library is that my kids come home with fewer junk books. Hurray for that.<br />
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At any rate, (drum roll, please), some books that you too can request from your library, if you are lucky enough to have a library that still lets you pick up happiness in the form of a book! (If not, online book stores would love your business, and your book shelves will thank you even if your bank account does not. Your therapist may thank you too because reading makes people happy and reading children are less likely to drive you insane.)<br />
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First up, the kids and I just finished the audiobooks of the <i>Gregor the Overlander</i> series by Suzanne Collins read by Paul Boehmer. I'll be honest and say that I didn't think I was going to love them as much as I did. But, oh, I did. There was laughter, yelling at the car stereo, and even tears as we drove and listened. My husband thinks I'm insane. The kids love me forever for picking this series. My eldest son got banned from the internet after googling the ending halfway through book five. All these things are true. The story begins when a young boy falls through a grate in his laundry room and discovers an entire underground world full of strange people, huge animals, and imminent death. Mad props to Paul Boehmer for his reading. It's up there with my favorite audiobooks of all time, <i>Bud, Not Buddy</i> (read by James Avery) and <i>The Saturdays</i> (read by Pamela Dillman). Any time I think that I couldn't have read it out loud better myself, it's a win for us.<br />
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Speaking of books that I read out loud, the kids and I just finished the six book series <i>The Incorrigible Children of Ashton Place</i>. When a book can combine literature, geography, and Latin references (and even more) with a handful of snark, a good dash of quirk, and a mixed bag of ridiculous characters, my children are all on board. Now to get them to stop howling like wolves. I loved these books on their own, but they were fantastic for how often they underscored what we were learning in school. I cannot count the number of times the kids or I would say, "That's just like what we learned today!" And they also got the kids to sit and listen to me read aloud "Rime of the Ancient Mariner", "The Wreck of the Hesperus", and several other epic poems. If you'd like to read about children raised by wolves, ancient family curses, and a governess just as plucky but definitely funnier than Jane Eyre, pick these up. If you read them with your kids, they may start bellowing "DO SVIDANIYA" at opportune times, and strangers will think you are awesome for teaching your kids Russian.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-0xMvlOxQUbscODT_6qcNftkjTz9ekytwk2-No2oNL7ILzBEtdpyW25500RoSIo_Cb0dLkvTiInqlNetsoYdi0L4Xosz_1QptXgmScpsSCj6TLSMO-uz23mzAzs5P3qRyyfdgUUuXZeuh/s1600/PsGFuj8aSAOaices8LftWw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-0xMvlOxQUbscODT_6qcNftkjTz9ekytwk2-No2oNL7ILzBEtdpyW25500RoSIo_Cb0dLkvTiInqlNetsoYdi0L4Xosz_1QptXgmScpsSCj6TLSMO-uz23mzAzs5P3qRyyfdgUUuXZeuh/s400/PsGFuj8aSAOaices8LftWw.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carpet burn bindis happen when you trip on your sister.</td></tr>
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On the "teaching the twins to read" front, Bruiser and Bee are making some real progress tackling books of their own. <i>Millions of Cats</i> was a huge hit with Bee--she loved the repeated refrain of "hundreds of cats, thousands of cats, millions and billions and trillions of cats"--and Bruiser had a great time reading about his literary doppelgänger in <i>No, David</i> (which I think may have visited the blog back when Littles was, well, little). I regretted reading <i>No, David</i> with Bruiser as he quite emphatically informed me that the mom sounded just like me, but if the shoe fits, let us, by all means, wear it. Especially as some of us have large feet and can't fit in just any shoe.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGRDuR3VIb0chfl8BiarvBkwSuvlGj5esukYoYMsChSx6qpM5Go-KUbc0HLQG-lvOCTwOmqsYw_yCVT4sKW7-UVpbG4TW6BTCJSC8rEWUow7775ABzP15-AVGUBjDMWskgmerKYKk4rGI5/s1600/RUnwlEeiTeGXA8QUtq%252BcPg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGRDuR3VIb0chfl8BiarvBkwSuvlGj5esukYoYMsChSx6qpM5Go-KUbc0HLQG-lvOCTwOmqsYw_yCVT4sKW7-UVpbG4TW6BTCJSC8rEWUow7775ABzP15-AVGUBjDMWskgmerKYKk4rGI5/s400/RUnwlEeiTeGXA8QUtq%252BcPg.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The resemblance is only marred by all Bruiser's Corona-hair.</td></tr>
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Twinkle, meanwhile, is determined that she too is reading and will pick books at random and make up whatever she wants them to say while forming the words <i>very</i> slowly so as to imitate the twins. Yesterday she read the acknowledgements page in <i>The Jesus Storybook Bible</i> which evidently says, "The people are going to sleep where they are going to say something." I finally kicked her out of the living room as her "reading" was distracting Bruiser, who was actually trying to read for real, and she returned twenty minutes later, informing me that she had read "every word" in her <i>Storybook Bible</i>. Child has no limits.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOmPwWwuLbogvErictEnC5-dFm7Y4RWvlWV6R_QArnKg_hfZiGp3esqHkijtqpG8jkwbk0Rwzm40tg6FYQ7FNy_QouIk-FtTrk1TKRC0u-5BU5V_B0ig9hRUBolp6wjDGEuYQgN9egYwcA/s1600/%2525V%2525pb4n9RESbika9JU3UdQ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOmPwWwuLbogvErictEnC5-dFm7Y4RWvlWV6R_QArnKg_hfZiGp3esqHkijtqpG8jkwbk0Rwzm40tg6FYQ7FNy_QouIk-FtTrk1TKRC0u-5BU5V_B0ig9hRUBolp6wjDGEuYQgN9egYwcA/s400/%2525V%2525pb4n9RESbika9JU3UdQ.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reading is for everyone. Reading is for everywhere.</td></tr>
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As to the Bigs, Tiny has finally admitted that I choose good books for him (took him eight years before he realized that I pick better than he does). He plowed through <i>The Hobbit</i> at the end of the school year and is now tackling <i>The Lord of the Rings</i> and talking me into movie nights on week days. Since we are done with school (other than the twins who are destined to do math and reading with me until I die or they are reading fluently) and since his freckles are the most beautiful thing in my world, last night we watched the first half of <i>The Two Towers</i>, and I didn't even feel guilty about it. He also blew through <i>Alice's Adventures in Wonderland</i> in two hours and is begging me to get <i>Through the Looking Glass</i> for him next.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4BKACoju0yBNRheS86LDNYR5jP9D-dfJ4G8XeYF6MquPNE1hcolmkMfjaWWwtOUdpdVs7cXI3cjnpFGdTIaGsxFICR0IxG1iI8OUoPHjBThB9mNIOhqPiMp2V2TMdQ794a9BtNPD4BSCm/s1600/abe33a6e-173d-4513-9979-b0eb5a482f45.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4BKACoju0yBNRheS86LDNYR5jP9D-dfJ4G8XeYF6MquPNE1hcolmkMfjaWWwtOUdpdVs7cXI3cjnpFGdTIaGsxFICR0IxG1iI8OUoPHjBThB9mNIOhqPiMp2V2TMdQ794a9BtNPD4BSCm/s400/abe33a6e-173d-4513-9979-b0eb5a482f45.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm sorry for two pictures of Twinkle, but she's so darn cute.<br />Also, the Bigs don't like me to take pictures of them any more.</td></tr>
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Littles, meanwhile, has reached the apex of nerdiness and is reading <i>The Silmarillion</i>--something I have never even done (don't revoke my nerd card, please, I need it or I'll have an identity crisis). My favorite book he's read lately though has to be <i>The Faithful Spy</i> by John Hendrix, a graphic novel about Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Beautifully done, there is so much to learn and so much to challenge thinking, I'd strongly suggest it for any history or theology lovers. I'm so glad Littles read it--and glad I did too.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuyKUEvrgTHXeW6o8NmR2QUkraqUOli82NdPTw5JstFLlpuurMr2AqF4FUPYz6irhRxYtoROXA7JsNBA2bFU68z3_L_eDu9y4A4uOqE9Qc8gq69Tkj7BVobQy2yXKam4Hm_X7t3Ibdqtrh/s1600/LeWoMY%2525qRfqKhFO%252BDgsGmA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuyKUEvrgTHXeW6o8NmR2QUkraqUOli82NdPTw5JstFLlpuurMr2AqF4FUPYz6irhRxYtoROXA7JsNBA2bFU68z3_L_eDu9y4A4uOqE9Qc8gq69Tkj7BVobQy2yXKam4Hm_X7t3Ibdqtrh/s400/LeWoMY%2525qRfqKhFO%252BDgsGmA.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reading makes you smart, creative, AND strong.</td></tr>
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Other than <i>The Faithful Spy</i>--and a bunch of fluff novels that I won't recommend but that keep me entertained while the kids are doing things I don't want to know about--my favorite novel from the last month or so was <i>What the Night Sings</i> by Vesper Stamper. Also set during WWII, it is beautiful, poignant, and full of hope. It might have also made me want to adopt certain Jewish traditions in our home like the lighting of Shabbat candles--but candles and I haven't been on good terms lately, so I may wait on that one.<br />
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I also really appreciated Nancy DeMoss Wolgemuth's<i> Adorned</i>. If you're looking for a nonfiction read that will challenge you to think through the little choices you are making in your day-to-day as well as how you can encourage and learn from other women, this might be it for you. I wrote down so many quotes, and I'm still pondering what I learned.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0_NX14OspAb_848R3_uKiMRd72MnTvEE1pd8vyI0RuAWXVwxE3TdK8qu9AWSG3Sc54-xrDP68eHn_KlB0eI3P44HaCgCGsay2y8e5sOjpK2KggA5c9MAYoBsoCuiHcSWtpEwEn5c9rYB4/s1600/IMG_8923.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0_NX14OspAb_848R3_uKiMRd72MnTvEE1pd8vyI0RuAWXVwxE3TdK8qu9AWSG3Sc54-xrDP68eHn_KlB0eI3P44HaCgCGsay2y8e5sOjpK2KggA5c9MAYoBsoCuiHcSWtpEwEn5c9rYB4/s400/IMG_8923.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Keep an eye out for Twinkle who likes to steal the very<br />expensive bookmark you were using (your phone) and<br />replace it with a leaky water bottle.</td></tr>
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One more, my favorite fantasy novel from the last few weeks would have to be <i>The Forgotten Beasts of Eld</i> by Patricia A. McKillip. I feel like I should've read this one a long time ago, but didn't, but I loved reading it as an adult. The language is so rich, and McKillip doesn't take short cuts or weaken the power of the story but taking easy outs. I'd put it on my list of classic fantasy books that every fantasy lover should read.<br />
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There are so many wonderful books out there, so I hope you are getting to enjoy at least a few of them while you're home a little bit more. One of the best ways to enjoy our current season of social isolation is to surround ourselves with fictional (and sometimes historical) characters who get to live lives that we could never experience for ourselves (especially while we're staying home). Often, this helps us see our own life circumstances in completely new ways or just helps us to use our time wisely to learn and grow so that when we go back into the world, we come with something new to share. And picking up a book is always a better choice than, say, lighting one's hair on fire or eating cat food...so there's that.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTO7VSl4pkC7RFtdfgXWHl2I_UBM4xYK0LfiD56IKjc9HGzci8myA8EG67VM6eVjlSaISH7PWMvIi8ezHm2_7m1crcWJlWe08nOLkTk0csTv7O0122Dv4jU-N1yZp0GK5K4MNXdgbuMfBm/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1eaf.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1162" data-original-width="1548" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTO7VSl4pkC7RFtdfgXWHl2I_UBM4xYK0LfiD56IKjc9HGzci8myA8EG67VM6eVjlSaISH7PWMvIi8ezHm2_7m1crcWJlWe08nOLkTk0csTv7O0122Dv4jU-N1yZp0GK5K4MNXdgbuMfBm/s400/fullsizeoutput_1eaf.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If our family isn't reading, this is a perfectly acceptable reality.</td></tr>
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Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-10984099752450142592020-04-30T19:04:00.000-07:002020-04-30T19:04:14.444-07:00Pier Pilings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The beach has been such a wonderful haven for us this year as we have occasionally needed to escape the confines of the RV to find beauty and breathing room, and never more so than these last few weeks of social isolation. I have always loved the ocean--really, any form of water, even when it's falling out of the sky--and it has always helped me keep my sanity and perspective. Well, as much as that's possible.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiydNNXqAhJAGZUQQm_XvBzf7zWapL4nckMNZpF-sGRoLzD4qMi-Rv1dhtvWv4hVrV9y5fl8Z3ZGSWPa6JmuI_vORK_5dq1hRvHCxG0df0bYCRM292msxMMmi_XcSg8Nno1Ea49s-KNKvD4/s1600/IMG_8466.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1201" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiydNNXqAhJAGZUQQm_XvBzf7zWapL4nckMNZpF-sGRoLzD4qMi-Rv1dhtvWv4hVrV9y5fl8Z3ZGSWPa6JmuI_vORK_5dq1hRvHCxG0df0bYCRM292msxMMmi_XcSg8Nno1Ea49s-KNKvD4/s400/IMG_8466.HEIC" width="400" /></a></div>
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This last week, we've been parking ourselves down along the shoreline where an old pier juts out. I used to take the kids to this pier before the hurricane. It was about half a mile from our neighborhood beach, so we'd walk along the shore and then out along its creaking beams until the kids could sit at the end with their legs hanging free over the water while I tried not to have a heart attack that one of them was going to fall off or be eaten by a shark that decided to unexpectedly lunge out of the water. Sometimes while we were there (in between the heart palpitations and panic), I would read out loud to them from whatever book we were enjoying at the time, mostly <i>Prince Caspian</i> and <i>The Just So Stories</i>, if I'm remembering right.</div>
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Now, there is no way to walk out on the pier as all the boards were torn loose and flung to kingdom come in a Cat 5 storm. But the bones of the structure still stand and have turned a beautiful sea green that I'm noticing for the first time, now that I'm not so busy walking on it (and trying to keep the kids from falling off of it). The pilings weathered the storm, and it softened and strengthened and stained them a deep and vibrant hue. And they are beautiful, if I can slow down long enough to look at them, and the truth of what they show me is beautiful.</div>
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We go to the sea because it is bigger than us. It reminds us that we are small and insignificant and a good storm sweeping down off its surface can do away with us in a moment. And we go to the sea because it is beautiful, and we need the beauty to give us hope and perspective and joy when the struggle threatens to hold us below the surface until we drown. And we go to the sea for air, for deep breaths that fill our lungs and rush out of them full of the tang of salt and water and <i>life</i>.<br />
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But now I also ask myself, are my pilings sunk deep into what is solid so that, no matter the storms that come, I can be softened and strengthened and stained with vivid shades of light and water? I want my foundation to be sturdy enough that I'm not blown off by the slightest breeze or even by a category five hurricane, by a cough and a cold or by a global pandemic, by a change in my schedule or a cross country move. And only then do I have the opportunity to be changed for the better by the wind and the waves that wash over me.Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-44815512987208878052020-04-15T12:17:00.000-07:002020-04-15T12:17:33.748-07:00Easter MeditationEaster morning I went for a prayer walk/jog, just trying to catch the sunrise. The half moon held court, fully visible high above my head, but the sun persistently hid behind a thick fleece of clouds that hovered low on the horizon. I pointed my face resolutely towards the east and waited, taking in the slow splash of the surf on the shore, thinking and praying.<br />
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Many times we go through life feeling as if the face of Jesus is shrouded in clouds. He feels distant and obscured, and sometimes we despair of seeing his face and begin to doubt his presence. So as I waited for the sunrise, I thought about the obvious similarities, especially with the significance of the day.<br />
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As I waited on the sun to rise into my line of sight, I was reminded that the Son has risen even though sometimes it seems the clouds are hiding his face from me. In those moments, what do I choose? To give up and go home? I hope not. I want to choose to wait, pointing my face in the right direction even when all I see are smudges of light that filter through thick clouds. I want to wait and not give up.<br />
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And when, while in the fog, I feel discouragement, I look at those of you who, much like the moon, are still reflecting his light. That encourages me. It helps me to keep going. You are a reminder that though my present circumstantial atmosphere may block my view of Christ, his reality is no more dependent on my blue skies than the sun's. And while I wait for the clouds to clear, I can see his presence in your faces. I can hear his truth in your words. I can sense his warmth in your actions. This is one of the reasons we need the church, because while Jesus never leaves or forsakes, there are seasons when it is harder to see his face than others, and if we surround ourselves with others who are looking to him, often we get glimpses of his radiance reflected in their lives, glimpses that we so desperately need.<br />
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Easter morning, the clouds cleared for a moment and the sun peaked through. I said thank you for the clouds that made the sun's rays even more brilliant and breath taking, but I also tried to remind myself that, while sometimes the clouds seem to last forever, they will always--eventually--be burned away by the heat of the sun. And while we wait for that day, we point ourselves in the right direction, remind ourselves of what is true, look around at the lovely moons that reflect his radiance, and wait for a break in the clouds.<br />
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<br />Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-81836807936461343262020-04-13T14:44:00.000-07:002020-04-13T14:44:41.085-07:00Love in the Time of CoronaLove is patient; love is kind... but all the togetherness of social isolation has some of us losing our minds. So let me give you a picture of what love can look like when you're trapped with your spouse in a small space for weeks on end:<br />
<ul>
<li>Love tracks the shipping on your spouse's coffee order to make sure she doesn't run out at an inopportune moment when she really needs said coffee to get through those last few weeks of homeschooling.</li>
<li>Love brings home Clorox wipes.</li>
<li>Alternately, love shares what's left of the bleach with the squadron in an attempt to keep germs from decimating base security, so it's really lucky that he was able to bring Clorox wipes home.</li>
<li>Love washes hands, washes hands, and washes hands again. And then puts lotion on them because those suckers are dry now.</li>
<li>Love prioritizes a last minute slap-dash dinner and fitting in a family walk before bed over sticking to the original plan that involved actual adult cooking. This is how sanity is maintained.</li>
<li>Love uncomplainingly helps you drain the kiddie pool for the fifth day in a row even though said kiddie pool really put the nail in your new identity as trailer trash.</li>
<li>Love fully supports the purchase of a pair of noise cancelling headphones for telework days because five kids socially isolated in an RV are <i>loud</i> and ain't nobody you're conference calling want to hear that.</li>
<li>Love trades off who goes grocery shopping so that we both get to take the risk of infection in addition to the reward of getting out of the RV and away from the kids.</li>
<li>Love orders a surprise lunch for your trapped at home wife so she at least gets to see the delivery driver and eat her feelings in Massaman curry.</li>
<li>Love brings home Cadbury caramel eggs and a pair of clippers so that military hair can stay in regs even while certain seasonal cravings are being indulged.</li>
<li>Love takes the whole family on long drives looking for deer so everyone gets a break from the RV for a while and the dog reaches maximum fulfillment.</li>
<li>Love doesn't mind texting each other from the next room so that whoever is currently getting a break from the kids can enjoy that break to the best of their ability.</li>
<li>Love celebrates with you when you finally find a bag of Jasmine rice at the grocery store and your inner Asian can stop panicking about running out of rice.</li>
<li>Love brings home Ben&Jerry's and doesn't even ask to share.</li>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love shaved off that mustache so I didn't have to look at it all the time.</td></tr>
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Right now, love is not extravagant date nights (or even fitting in a quick date lunch). Love is not encouraging girls' nights out or time at the gym. Love is not even long conversations about how your day went (since most days are being spent together). At present, you may feel like your love for each other could use a little space to breathe, but the truth is that what it may need is actually a little creativity. So, while we're all trapped in a glass cage of emotion and the enclosed spaces of our homes, may we think outside the box a little when it comes to our love life and consider how we can creatively show love for each other as well as being on the lookout for the small ways our spouses are already showing love to us that we may not have noticed.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-47346395889934294372020-03-02T18:57:00.002-08:002020-03-02T18:57:45.812-08:00Here's to SahabatsDo you ever read a book and find yourself saying, "Yes, exactly!" as you read? And then it feels like every conversation you find yourself in opens right up to discussing it? And it's not that you agree with everything the author is saying, but that you read it at just the right moment when it resonated with you in just the right way?<br />
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This week's book was that for me. Kayleen Schaefer's <i>Text Me When You Get Home</i> is an homage to female friendship, and I picked it up at just the right time. We are at the beginning of our final few months in Florida, a place where God has blessed me with the friendship of some incredible women, and preparing to move on to a place where I will start over and make new friends (ideally). Meanwhile, I continue to have the chance to touch base with other women who have hung in there with me during the long years of many moves through occasional phone calls, the rare face to face meeting, emails, FaceTime, and sporadic texting all while continuing to take care of all the other things we have on our plates.<br />
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As I read, I couldn't help but be grateful for the amazing friendships I've been a part of. And I also found myself encouraged to keep pursuing these friendships and not let them diminish. It is easy as a military spouse to let old friendships slip through your fingers like sand. We say, "It's not goodbye; it's only see you later!" but what we often mean is "If I see you again, that will be fantastic, but I don't really expect either of us to stay in contact." I told a friend several years ago that I never have expectations about who will maintain long distance relationships with me after we move. I always just wait and see how things pan out after a couple months. This helps me to keep from getting my heart hurt when I find the time stretching longer and longer between phone calls and text messages. It is the way the world turns--we are grown women who are busy, and in some seasons of life, we need friends who are physically with us, and I understand that.<br />
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But how grateful I am for the friend who texts out of the blue to say they were thinking of me. Or the friend from college who couldn't wait to tell me a piece of good news on the phone. Or the friend who makes plans to visit me before I've even left for the next base. How grateful I am for girl's weekends away (and for a husband and parents who make things like that happen). For sisters and moms (mine and the Man's) who choose not to take our relationship for granted but to pursue a consistent friendship with me that stays stable no matter how many others drift in and out of my life (or rather how many people's lives I drift in and out of). For a husband who understands that he is not supposed to meet my every emotional need and encourages me to get out of my introvert shell and spend time with people who will nourish my soul. For friends who are different from each other and different from me so that we all have the opportunity to learn and grow. For friends who purposefully choose to walk life with me even though it is at times inconvenient and uncomfortable (and overly full of rambunctious children). For friends who understand that when I tell them they are my sahabat I mean that they are a friend of my heart.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm only including this one really fantastic picture with my sisters<br />so that the rest of you guys don't start a war over who I love most<br />based on whose photo made it and whose didn't.<br />Also, because this picture is fabulous.</td></tr>
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<br />I'll admit that as we head to this next assignment, knowing that it will be shorter than usual, part of me has wanted to coast on old friendships and not put forth the effort to build new ones when we will be there for only a few months. Schaefer reminded me of something that I already knew but needed to hear again: you never know when you're going to meet a person who could be your new best friend. This doesn't mean the old ones are getting replaced, just that there are so many wonderful people out there in the world, and I don't want to miss out on the blessing of getting to know them just because there's another goodbye right around the corner.<br />
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As I finished the book yesterday morning, I found myself thinking about the friends I wanted to check in on, but I also found myself wondering if there were friends who didn't realize how much they meant to me<br />
and what I could do to fix that. It doesn't take long. A phone call or a text message, a quick email when I have a moment or taking the time to go talk face to face if I can. There is not one of us who doesn't need to hear that we are loved, treasured, worth someone else's time and energy. And there is not one of us incapable of passing that message along to the people we love.<br />
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And it might be a message that arrives at just the right time.<br />
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Almost like a book showing up in my online library account just when I needed to read it.Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8369693154585565129.post-77374213494271905612020-02-24T04:43:00.001-08:002020-02-24T04:43:05.513-08:00On a PufferfishDeep beneath the surface of the ocean, a small Japanese pufferfish toils away creating a temporal piece of art that, to our eyes, looks like an underwater alien crop circle. It's actually a masterpiece of love. This five inch long fish works relentlessly to create a circle seven feet across in order to attract its mate with a breathtaking display of precision and beauty. As I read about the pufferfish this week (after being introduced to it by one of Littles' classmates), I resonated with this insignificant creature. I saw in the pufferfish lessons about life and lessons about art that I didn't anticipate.<br />
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First, the pufferfish reminds me that we affect more than we realize. With its persistent work, the pufferfish creates a work of art 16 times as big as it is. Sixteen times. Sometimes we don't believe that we matter. But if the pufferfish's circle is over a dozen times bigger than itself, who knows how many people we are affecting by just continuing to do our own small jobs. The ripples that bounce off our obedience may be the blessing someone else needs--and we don't even realize it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">Sometimes the art we create is a clean dog...</td></tr>
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Second, the pufferfish's work of art doesn't last, but that doesn't mean it's lacking in worth. It takes seven to nine days for the pufferfish to disrupt enough sediment to create the pattern. But how long do you think it would take for the ocean to wash it all away? And yet the pufferfish continues with its purpose. Sometimes we want to give up because the beauty we create in the world (whether a cleaned off counter or a smile on someone else's face) seems so transient. But imagine how much bleaker the sea floor would be without the pufferfish's creation? Surely it is worth it, at least to the female pufferfish, no matter how long it lasts.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">Sometimes it's letting your eight year old paint your toenails...</td></tr>
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Third, we see that in order to create art, the pufferfish has to be willing to sift through disrupted sediment until it has unearthed the soft sand beneath. Similarly, for the artist, there is no art without first sifting through the grit that has hidden our souls. We must be willing to face the things that are hard, jarring, painful. This is not fun, but it is necessary, or the art we produce only ever occurs at a surface level which ultimately keeps it from being effective.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">Sometimes it's making alligator cupcakes<br />for your now three year old...<br />that smile is a work of art too...</td></tr>
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Interestingly enough, it is while sifting through the gritty sand that the pufferfish excavates shells which he saves to add to his design. We often think that filtering through the uncomfortable stuff is needlessly hard or only something that we ever do because we have to. We forget that it is when we choose to make those difficult choices that we discover incredible beauty that's been hidden all this time just below the surface.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">Sometime's it's a big pot of vegetable curry...</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGps4_qrZMY5jqaZZFM5Oo4NgUM-3Ul7YiW-Q7WJlj4aVoKc5URwWvQb3uSd2HbSLgacCsssKhUegDpLLwIPSNcryItZPiJBPQG29fSIpIpBThtc_cujLaHNNtQiYLn_8uV1JUw0gFsEBd/s1600/xAmIiEYoTV2OLVDYxRjtaw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGps4_qrZMY5jqaZZFM5Oo4NgUM-3Ul7YiW-Q7WJlj4aVoKc5URwWvQb3uSd2HbSLgacCsssKhUegDpLLwIPSNcryItZPiJBPQG29fSIpIpBThtc_cujLaHNNtQiYLn_8uV1JUw0gFsEBd/s400/xAmIiEYoTV2OLVDYxRjtaw.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">Or a row of hot cocoa mugs on a cold morning...</td></tr>
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Fourth, once the pufferfish begins, he can't stop or the ocean will immediately begin dispersing the sand back to its usual smooth, shifting flatness, at which point the pufferfish either has to give up or start all over again from scratch. I remember this as an encouragement for myself...to keep going, to persevere, to not make my own work harder by giving up. It's also a reminder to me that if a 5 inch long fish can swim for seven to nine days in a row without a break, then I can get out of bed and do the work God has called me to do.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWSn8TDLFsk8ft58FbOxJdxSXSrc_2D6KECUW9gotWAoGW733UBGLAWGWb98bL-eIMhttzOm17lyO4K3FSNUHbQ0FED5LxjvOpL0sdTD6BqsQ7jAvJYpCkiGrSCwjlcZ2Wp-Zr0szxO5-8/s1600/IMG_6314.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWSn8TDLFsk8ft58FbOxJdxSXSrc_2D6KECUW9gotWAoGW733UBGLAWGWb98bL-eIMhttzOm17lyO4K3FSNUHbQ0FED5LxjvOpL0sdTD6BqsQ7jAvJYpCkiGrSCwjlcZ2Wp-Zr0szxO5-8/s400/IMG_6314.HEIC" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">Sometimes it is the first bloom on your strawberry plants<br />that you faithfully tended to for the long barren months...</td></tr>
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Finally, once the pufferfish is done, he shows it off to his hopeful partner. If she accepts his work of art and they mate, she then uses this labor of love as a nest for their eggs. The disrupted sand patterns protect the eggs by decreasing the speed of water flow to the center of the nest where they nestle in safety. The pufferfish's hard work is not only beautiful but also useful, not only attractive but also a resting place. How many of us can say this about the art we create (whether we create on a small scale with a smile or a large scale with a completed projected)? Are we looking long term to how the beauty that we create can nourish and nurture?<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGB0eLdDJvbxjRba0MblIJfcrbySv-xpul9LxVXL8O3tLr3nbRdvdtT5Ue04iCMXk7jfwX3FBqFMAsNW-nTKuiGLTyJ6fem1t0-JkPYqBuAC-043O4DK4bXqOUYN1HlyLKIUjEHNwgZFsa/s1600/XMJAfRnKTYW10MTvLIG4ug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGB0eLdDJvbxjRba0MblIJfcrbySv-xpul9LxVXL8O3tLr3nbRdvdtT5Ue04iCMXk7jfwX3FBqFMAsNW-nTKuiGLTyJ6fem1t0-JkPYqBuAC-043O4DK4bXqOUYN1HlyLKIUjEHNwgZFsa/s400/XMJAfRnKTYW10MTvLIG4ug.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">Sometimes it's creative gift wrapping<br />and making the cat look up at just the right moment...</td></tr>
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All around us God's creation points us towards him and shows us who we are more fully...if we are willing to open our souls and look and listen and learn. The pufferfish is one example of how God speaks to us in the small things. No detail is too insignificant--He has written us messages of hope and courage even on the sea floor.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT6GYkpHaq-LZ-KRbKQY9Ls1lKrLETI_U_nJIY32F-6wCpR98Lta6h1WfGEEZlnWHlLfo7ZR8zDVVIxm0IZdtz6PqRDs26H31c1Uyzj_-qsi6ZAauJr32BpCNP6v2Kld1zOtN02cwhLxNQ/s1600/bf4f4037-08c5-4c24-bf5b-8fad08302ddb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT6GYkpHaq-LZ-KRbKQY9Ls1lKrLETI_U_nJIY32F-6wCpR98Lta6h1WfGEEZlnWHlLfo7ZR8zDVVIxm0IZdtz6PqRDs26H31c1Uyzj_-qsi6ZAauJr32BpCNP6v2Kld1zOtN02cwhLxNQ/s400/bf4f4037-08c5-4c24-bf5b-8fad08302ddb.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">And often it is the choice to keep going,<br />day in and day out,<br />with spelling lists and dishes and hugging your small children.</td></tr>
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Marian Frizzellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141518297981143562noreply@blogger.com1