Small Scribbles

Once there was a little boy. A mischievous little boy with a wind-up car. He took that car, wound it up and drove it into his sister's hair. The little boy grew up and had a girl and he told her the story about the car and the hair. "That car turned your Aunt Ellen's hair into a rat's nest. A regular rat's nest your granny would say. I made a hell of a mess! They had to cut that car out of her hair." The girl grew up and had a little boy. A mischievous little boy with a wind-up car. He took that car, wound it up and drove it into his sister's hair...

They stand, the one born in 2000 and the one born in 2001, side by side at the kitchen counter chopping up peppers for the freezer. This is new for these young hands and the work goes slowly. To pass the time they discuss their favorite subject, science. Tonight extinct birds are on the menu. "Mom, did you know that there used to be such a thing as dodo bird?" "Yes, but now they are extinct." "Yeah and there is a kind of pigeon that is extinct too." "You're thinking of passenger pigeons." "Yeah, passenger pigeons. The last one was shot by a fourteen year old boy and now it is in a museum." Claire slices methodically. "Oh, I didn't know that." I say while corraling chopped bits of pepper in plastic wrap. "Yup. A kid the same age as John killed it. I wonder if he went to jail?" Faith wields her knife like a sword. I try not to look. "The last pigeon died a long time ago. A long, long tim...

The daffodils are so restful to look at that they got me thinking about a post my sister wrote a while back about bits of pretty in the midst of swirling activity. Today I pick up my camera and zoom in to obscure art projects, groceries and dirty dishes to bring you little oases of pretty in my living space. Nothing I like better than the clean, uncluttered look of a few flowers (albeit artificial) above the kitchen sink. I also love the Willow Tree figurines on the shelf...their peaceful, natural colors and the way emotion is communicated through gesture. The kitchen table at five thirty. We always light the oil lamps at dusk and the house settles into the slower evening pace. All day my eyes are drawn to the bright colors in the glass bowl. The coffee table has been scattered all winter with a thousand pieces of different puzzles. Our current project....American Maritime History. The kids work as I read aloud. Sometimes I join them. Cozy, all together. Another restful spot in the k...

The Brontes had a mask, one that they could hide behind when telling the truth. The brainchild of a wise father. Sometimes it is hard to tell the truth in the harsh light of day. I've found in my own life some of the best conversations take place under cover of darkness. We're currently testing this theory out on the children. "Hurry. Brush your teeth. Get in your PJs and then it's time for Candlelight Questions." The children scurry out of day clothes and into night. They rush around the house flipping off lights but leave the oil lamps burning on the kitchen table. Someone brings a candle and sets it on the hearth in the living room. The lighter flares in the darkness and ignites the candle's wick. Everyone finds a space on the sofas or the floor. "Are you ready for tonight's question? Who is someone you admire and why?" "I admire JRR Tolkien. He basically spent his whole life with one set of characters." "I admire you and Papa b...

It has been some weeks since I have been able to go to church...travel and hospital and illness detain. Today was no exception. Home with Faith and Charlie. They turned the doll house upside down and got to work arranging a cozy place for their little family. I plowed through the piles in the living room and bedrooms; made beds and washed dishes. Lit some candles to chase away the gloom and sat down with Isaiah. Quiet. A little while later Faith and Charlie joined me in front of the fireplace under a big blanket for their Bible time. Noah and the flood and a year and ten days in the ark with all those animals. I imagined the mess and the closeness. Bible time over, we picked up some stories and set about missing the rest of us and listening for car sounds. Two more stories and the car crunched gravel in the driveway. Books and blanket went flying. "They're home! They're home!" Kids and Papa and groceries tumbled into the house. Bibles scattered over clean countertops....

First Charlie had a cold. The cold is gone but a stiff and sore neck hangs on. Charlie hasn't had much experience with pain so he copes by crying. And whining. And blubbering. He crawls into our bed in the middle of the night so we can better enjoy the cacophony. We long for a good night's sleep. We are sympathetic. The girls read him armloads of books and heat a rice-filled sock for his neck. John rubs Charlie's back and shares his Gameboy. Stuart and I medicate and massage. We rub Vicks into the sore spot and gently stretch neck and shoulder while he shouts, "Don't work on me!" We bribe him with candy cane bits and get him to tentatively shake his head no. Still he lists to starboard and cries. We pray over him and are thankful that he's not really sick. Once we took our cat to the vet because she was limping and crying. Crying and crying. The vet prodded gently and the cat lept straight up off the examining table. "I'll have to put her to ...

There is one window in my dark kitchen. It is a zealous sentry, granting sunlight permission to track golden footprints across the floor only in winter. It looks out over a few bird feeders, the garbage can , and a propane tank. Not much of a view. The view inside the kitchen is exceptionally dismal at the moment. Stuart is underneath the sink disconnecting the plumbing and ripping out the countertops. The cooktop is in the walk-in closet and we have a big green bucket set up in the backyard as a makeshift sink. I feel at loose ends with my "office" torn to shreds. The kids are eating cereal for dinner in order to be dirty dish conservative. They are quite happy. Stuart is not. They ate a whole box of Raisin Bran Crunch in one sitting. He really likes Raisin Bran Crunch. There is one tiny oasis here in the kitchen. The sill to my light-stingy window is rather deep with room enough for a few pitchers of Angelonia above the place where the sink used to be. They are my favorite...