Libby's enjoying a late Christmas present...a window seat to the Bird Channel! With seven inches of snow, topped off with ice, the cardinals and finches have rediscovered our feeders. It's great entertainment for a cat-- and for us.
Watching them hurry in, so hungry.
Or just nibble quietly.
I love to see them feed each other. It reminds me what my friends (like you) do for me.
Equip me to keep going. Help me puff up my feathers against the cold, with energy in reserve to enjoy--and see--the wonders around me.
The elegance of the ordinary birds
As well as the flashier ones. We all need nourishment for the journey.
You know, all these redbirds remind me of a book I haven't reread in a while. Do you know it? It's one of my favorites. Perfect to read on a snowy afternoon like this one. Libby, I'll leave you to the window.
Don't worry about the birds, folks. Libby's an inside cat for the time being, and besides, some of those fellas look like they could take her, should she make a surprise appearance. Have a great Tuesday, y'all! Love, Becky
How did you welcome in the new year? We lit a fire and stood around it in the freezing cold, watching the flames flicker, the dog snap at flying sparks, and Sam pile on the logs. Now that he is 12, he was finally allowed to fulfill his life long ambition to swing an axe, so we had a winter's worth of kindling stacked up. (Probably three bonfires worth-- remember, this is South Carolina.)
The family loved it at first. We roasted a couple marshmallows, poked at the fire, enjoyed the smell of the smoke and the quiet of the night. But eventually the grandparents got cold, Ben and Sarah got bored, and Sam got spooked by a ghostly voice from the tree house up the hill, leaving Todd and me all by our lonesome, fireside.
It was kind of nice. We were quiet at first. In some ways, it's been a really tough year. We were glad to throw our worries of 2010 into the flames. The car accident. The health scare that turned out to be nothing, but petrified us for a while. The wandering on my part, wondering what God might hold for me in the future. What to do, where to put my energy.
We talked a little but we didn't need to say much. Each of us knew what the other was thinking, doing. Tossing into the flames all the balled up, pent up worries and struggles of 2010. Sending them into the fire, to turn to ash, then settle at the bottom or let the wind lift them into the night, away from us, into the sky.
It was a good way to start 2011. Letting go of the worries and disappointments and fears of the past, freeing my hands for whatever life gives me in this new year. I'm so thankful for new beginnings. Aren't you? And I'm thankful for dear friends like you, both online and across the street, who share this crazy, wondrous life with me.
My dog picks tomatoes. I wish I were joking but I'm not. The first time we found a tomato on our bedroom floor, pocked with doggy teeth marks, we were such proud parents. Did you see what Our Smart Doggy did? He even picked a ripe one!What an amazing pooch, copying us like that!
As we gushed on about his intelligence, Tanner just ducked his head in embarrassment, the same way he does when we catch him stealing crackers off the counter, or when we discover he's spent the afternoon hiding out with a highlighter, turning his entire snout day-glo yellow. He stared at the ground and scratched a paw at the floor, as if to say, "Who, me?"
But as the summer progressed and the tomatoes grew even more delicious and fewer in number, I began to get annoyed. Tomatoes began showing up daily in random places in my house. Another tomato ruined? I began to resent all the Resolve I had to spray when Slobber Dog lost self control and mauled his homemade spaghetti sauce all over the carpet. This resentment felt faintly familiar.
I pondered it a moment and a light bulb flashed. Yes! This was just like the time he learned to open doors with his doggy paws! We were so proud, at first. That dog had watched us and copied the flick of our hands on the french doors. Wasn't that amazing? We clapped and petted and invited neighbors over to watch. We even took video and posted it on youtube. But then he started letting himself in during a dinner party, grinning at us and waiting for applause. What happened, he seemed to say as I locked him in the den. Why doesn't Mommy let me climb my 90 pound body onto the people's laps? They love me!Everyone does!
I had to feel a little sorry for Slobber Dog. He was just doing what comes naturally.
Yes, Tanner is a master copier. When anybody hugs, he'll cry and bark until we help him stand on his hind legs and join in. (Yes I know, it's a little silly looking. Don't tell anyone.) And that's not the worst of it. We have to keep him inside whenever Todd has to plant anything or else that dog will follow at his heels, digging polka dot holes all over our backyard.
We even planted our tomatoes on an old coffee table, just to keep Tanner out of the dirt. See? So how does he pick them? I am still trying to figure it out. He's a different species, obviously, with no nimble fingers to grasp the fruit, to twist it gently until it falls into his palm. I'm guessing he adapts by using what God gave him, those yards of flexible jowling made for cradling birds, the extra facial skin my middle child calls his glibber.
I've hidden outside with the video camera, hoping to get the heist on tape, but no such luck. I just get hot and sweaty and attacked by bugs, while Tanner stays cool in the AC and watches me from the window. Smart dog.
I guess that's the danger inherent in our natural tendency to imitate. I see it in my kids as well. They may copy my friendliness with the grocery store clerk, but they'll also copy what I say when somebody cuts me off in traffic. And it's no different with grown ups, I'm afraid. I'll hang out with my friend Susie, and before you know it I'll have picked up the generous way she listens, making you feel like you're the most important person in the world. Suddenly I've picked up "Hugs to you," typing in her sign off as if I thought of it myself.
But then I'll spend a few moments around negativity, and I'll hear it coming out of my own mouth. What? I didn't want to copy that! Negativity has no part of the imitation I want to live. I'm a Christian, literally a "little Christ." (Now that's a daunting title, don't you think?! It makes me want to stay locked in the house with my mouth taped shut! ) I want to do what Ephesians instructs:
Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. Ephesians 5:1-2
Live a life of love. It seems impossible, too big, too ambitious in this world. God is a different species of being. God is so much bigger and greater and full of love than anything I can think of. I'm puny and small and human and weak. I can try my best, but how can I even come close to imitating God?
I can use what God gave me: God in human form, Jesus, the living example. I can study Christ's life and do my best to imitate His love. I can pray for help. And when I fail in my journey, I can cling to grace and try again.
Now, if I can just share the love with my tomato stealing dog. Maybe a short fence around the coffee table garden? As if it doesn't look ridiculous enough!
What helps you in your journey to imitate The One? And while you're at it, any ideas on tomato crime prevention?
Have a great Wednesday, y'all! Love, Becky PS. Here's the video of Tanner showing off. And just so you know, I don't usually talk like a high pitched Snow White. It's my mommy's-got-a-treat-for-you voice. Enjoy!
Isn't that a lovely hairdo? Not really, but I'm going with it because it's partly my fault. At least I allowed it. Actually I enabled it. And not just for my bald-ish boy, but for five other young men who once sported beautiful, free flowing tresses. These boys clearly enjoy their hair. (Sorry about the photo fuzziness. It's May in South Carolina and I'm already fighting the humidity condensing on my lens. Or maybe I'm just a rotten photographer.)
So why in heaven's name would they come to my house and have their handsomeness defiled? Defiled by a man whose main barbering experience comes from shearing a golden retriever? A man who once shaved a reverse Mohawk down the center of his baby's head when the baby knocked the comb off the clippers, turning it into a razor, making him appear prepped for brain surgery when he had to go to preschool the very next day?
I'll tell you why. Not only are these boys good at growing lovely hair, but they run fast. Fast enough to make it to the South Carolina championship for Track and Field tomorrow. The team decided that getting Mohawk haircuts would be a great bonding experience. And think how intimidating they'd look! I sure hope they run well, because a slow guy with a Mohawk just looks silly.
So anyway, they came, they sat, they got shaved. Todd started with our Ben, just in case he didn't really have any idea how to cut a Mohawk, which he didn't. At least if he mauled the first one, he wouldn't ruin somebody else's baby's beautiful head. And it turned out great! (See first photo.) A great time was had by all. Even sweet Mark, who was almost left with a mullet. Let me tell you, it was tempting.
Much hair was cut.
See what I mean? Ooh. They'd sort of scare me if I didn't know what sweethearts they are. Good luck, Warriors! (In case you're wondering, they run the 4 X 4. )
So, any crazy shenanigans going on at your house this week/weekend? Do tell! Have a wonder-full weekend, y'all! Love, Becky
PS. If you have younger kids and sort of fear the teenage years to come, let this weird post be a strange comfort to you. It will be tricky, with moments you want to wring their necks and kick them out the door, but it can also be the BEST TIME EVER. :)
Is this Greenville or Paris? Yesterday as we walked downtown, joining the crowds for Artisphere, I wasn't quite sure. Gone was our muggy heat, replaced with a cool crisp 69 degrees, and the Seine- I mean the Reedy River- just shone in the sun. .
And just like in France, sometimes you have to watch where you walk. Not for what the dogs might have left behind, but for the art.
There's Georges Seurat's Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte. Remember the umbrellas?
Careful! Don't fall in the hole.
Hundreds of artists had set up booths along Main Street, and we darted from one to another, enjoying it all. Who's that lovely girl in Guy Stevens' booth? I think I know her. Guy is a talented Greenville artist whose work reminds me a bit of Chagall and van Gogh. Lucky for me, one of his prints followed me home. Happy Mother's Day to moi!
Really, this has to be Paris. There were street entertainers everywhere, making the crowds laugh.
But my favorite, hands down, was this eclectic group of drummers/dancers.
Yep. Paris. Now where's my Nutella and banana crèpe?
So how was your weekend? What did you do that made you happy? No artsy festivals necessary. Usually all I need to call it a good weekend is a long walk outside, a Saturday morning cup of coffee, and at least one sit down meal with my family in which nobody reads a book or hurries off to go with friends or argues over who gets the last roll. :)
Homemade commercials used to drive me nuts. You know the kind I'm talking about. The ones that make you reach for the remote. The ones with the guys in used car lots, waving their arms around and yelling at the camera.
But ever since Rhett and Link came into my life, I'm in love with the genre. Remember Rhett and Link? I've included them inseveralprevious posts. Rhett McLaughlin and Link Neal are North Carolina boys, life long best friends, and self-proclaimed "Internetainers." They're also heroes to my son Sam, who chastised me all the way to school today for putting up this blog post before he has a chance to read it over and make sure I got everything right. Can you tell he's probably their biggest fan? He checks outtheir blog every single day, and updates me on any Rhett and Link news.
But the Ramseys aren't their only fans. Now that word has gotten out about their ingenious commercials, Ellen came calling, and so did George Lopez. And no wonder! Take a look at the commercial Ellen featured on her show.
Crazy, huh? I love that they use the real people who own the businesses or work there or shop there. They capture what the community is like, and they do it in a quirky, funny way. Their commercials do more than sell a product. They tell a story. Sometimes it's a weird, slightly frightening story, but it's always funny.
Here's their first commercial to win my heart. I can't get enough of it.
That just cracks me up. George Lopez liked it so much that he got Rhett and link to make a commercial for his favorite local business, Donut Prince. You've got to watch it.
Isn't that darling? There are so many good ones, but sharing more than four is probably excessive. You can always check them out at ilovelocalcommercials.com.
So what do you think of these ads? Personally, I'd much rather watch Rhett and Link's commercials than most shows on TV!
Have a great day, y'all! Love, Becky
PS. Sam will probably tie me to a kitchen chair and lecture me for days on end if I don't give a shout out to our all time favorite documentary, Looking for Ms Locklear. It's another Rhett and Link production and we first saw it on PBS, before we became Rhett and Link crazy. It's won tons of awards. Take a look!
Poor clock. It's so dusty. Does it look sad to you? My clock (and a tree I saw on my walk recently, photo to come...) reminded me of my love of pareidolia. Are you a fan of pareidolia too? Pareidolia is the human tendency to see faces and meaningful shapes in things like clouds and clocks and pieces of toast.
Carl Sagan used to say that human beings are hard wired from birth to identify the human face. I love that. It's a cool thing to be able to see a grouping of tiny details from far off and recognize it as a person, even someone we know. But sometimes it does lead us into strange predicaments.
Like when we shuck out $28,000 on ebay for old grilled cheese sandwich. But who knows. Maybe pareidolia is a gift from God. A way to spread the love around. (Though I'd bet God would rather you give your $28,000 to people who need it than use it to buy old bread. :)
Hey. There's another example of pareidolia. Seeing a colon and a parenthesis, and noticing a smiling face turned sideways!
Pareidolia does make me happy. Like the face in this box at the florist's.
MERRY CHRISTMAS, CHARLIE BROWN! And Merry Christmas to you too!
I don't know about you, but I have such mixed up feelings about television. Some days I'd gladly chuck our sets to the curb if it weren't for the mutiny I'd cause in my household. Other days I want to wrap my arms around my television and give it a great smooch. Like on Sunday nights, after Mad Men, or on Saturday nights, after the British comedies on PBS. Or during THE ENTIRE CHRISTMAS SEASON!
Every year I can't wait to curl up in my bed with my youngest child and watch Pig Pen promise to be a very neat innkeeper, Winter Warlock cry tears of regret, and Snow Miser and Heat Miser bicker on the phone while Mrs. Claus plays peacemaker. It makes my toes curl with happiness.
So what about you? What's your favorite Christmas show on TV? Do share! Have a wonder-full Wednesday, y'all! Love, Becky
Did you trim your tree this weekend? My tannenbaum has been crouching naked in my living room since Thanksgiving, and I had such lovely visions of circling the tree with my family on Saturday, hot cocoa in hand, warm in the glow of the Christmas lights and the memories. Unfortunately, it didn't happen. Yet. (I still have hope.) But something glorious did happen, something completely selfish, though my family didn't seem to notice or mind (except at dinner time.) The something made me feel rested and satisfied and ready for Christmas: a book took over Decorating Day.
The book is Cold Mountain. Yes, the one that came out way back before Sam was even born, the book that sent Todd over the moon. He begged me to read it and promised that I'd love it so much that I'd want to name the child in my womb Ava or Inman. I was unmoved. I have this problem that whenever books get lots of hype, I can't make myself read them, no matter how glowing the reviews. I always give in after the hoopla has died down, once nobody wants to gush about them anymore. I don't know why I'm like that.
Anyway, I noticed it on a bookshelf on Friday afternoon, and finished reading the last page around 11 pm Saturday night. The tree was still naked, the laundry piles had grown, and my family was in serious need of vitamins, but I felt completely elevated, improved, just by reading the words, by knowing the characters and their story.
Maybe I'm just basking in the afterglow, but Cold Mountain gave me all that great writing can offer: an opportunity to deepen my experience with courage and honor, hope and pride, compassion and pity and sacrifice. (William Faulkner's words, not mine. :) ) After loving the book so much, I'm not sure I want to see the movie. Did you see it? What did you think? The trailer is beautiful, but it makes the story out to be all about the Civil War, which it's really not. Thoughthis clip has got to be the most romantic scene of all time. (Have a cold washcloth handy if you dare to watch it. It will make you swoon.)
Cold Mountain made me think of two other novels that recently moved me deeply, that also depict broken people trying to survive, to make the best of life that they can, to find beauty and truth and love. You probably read them long ago but I'll share them just the same, along with a few non fiction books I've enjoyed this year. Won't you tell me your latest faves? Now that I'm all rested, I'm ready to go shopping. Books make the perfect gift! First, the two novels: You must read this beautiful book. It's set in Crosby, Maine, and the thirteen short stories are linked together through the character of Olive Kitteridge. If I didn't know she was a fictional character, I'd swear she must be a distant cousin to grumpy Madame Mallet, from the pages of my French life. I've already read this book twice and have started on a third time. Hopefully I can hold off until after Christmas, or I may never get my cards sent out!
This is a horrifying, amazing book. It will stun and disgust you, but I don't know that I've ever any depiction more beautiful of the love a father has for his son.
So those are my three favorite works of fiction I've read this year. But there are works of non fiction that I've loved as well, all memoir. (Surprise, surprise. My favorite genre.)
When Timothy Tyson was ten years old, a young black man was murdered in Timothy's hometown of Oxford, North Carolina. This is the story of his quest to understand what happened. I'll never be able to forget this book, nor would I want to.
I found this book in my church library, took it home and promptly fell in love with it. It's #1 on my Christmas list. (Listening, Santa?) It's all about finding the sacred in everyday life, my favorite topic in the whole wide world.
I finished this book a few weeks ago, one woman's collection of stories of grace, discovered all over the world.
And lastly, this sweet one. The cover and title are PERFECT! It's the memoir of a Southern Baptist preacher's kid, and it's hilarious and touching and I loved every minute.
Won't you share your favorite books of the year with me? Have a wonder-full Monday, y'all! Love, Becky PS. If you've got a teen girl on your list or just enjoy young adult fiction, you've got to look at the Miracle Girl series. I LOVED Anne and May's chic lit books, so I knew they'd be good. I've only read the first one so far, but I found it smart, witty, and true to life. (And having teens in my house, I should know.) Plus they're friends of mine and lovely people. Go Anne and May! And go Cold Mountain! Better late than never!
In the craziness of the Christmas season, I keep trying to call forth the peace and stillness that the shepherds might have shared on the silent grazing fields. But then I remember that the angels came and kind of blew that away with heavenly Joy. Now, if I could just focus on the joy part, and not so much on the nutty run-around-like-a-chicken-with-my-head-cut-off part.
So in the spirit of Christmas JOY, enjoy dancing with Santa's helpers. Maybe when they're done with their fun, they can attack our To Do lists! Have a fabulous Wednesday, y'all! Love, Becky
Maybe a little explanation is in order. We had a remarkably peaceful Thanksgiving holiday thanks to our pesky winter companion Strep Throat. It attacked Sammy's tonsils on Turkey-Day Eve, stomping all over our travel plans to climb both sides of our family tree. What could we do? We stayed home.
We missed seeing our family, but it wasn't all bad. We found a turkey last minute and spent the break eating until we were sleepy and sleeping until we were hungry, all from the comfort of our warm little nest. And we watched movies. Can you guess which movie I fell in love with all over again?
If you need a good dose of innocence and Christmas cheer, allow me to prescribe a trip through the seven levels of the Candy Cane forest, through the sea of swirly twirly gum drops, and out the Lincoln Tunnel. It's perfect Christmas fun.
You get to see old friends... And meet new ones. Not to mention make snow angels, ice skate, eat plenty of snacks from the four basic groups (candy, candy canes, candy corns and syrup,) and chug it all down it with a big mug of the World's Best Coffee. And then snuggle.
You might even see You Know Who!
Just be sure he's the real deal. (Hint: Impostors smell like beef and cheese.)
So, are you as Elf crazy as I am? Don't be a cotton-headed ninny-muggins. Tell me your favorite part. And don't forget, the best way to spread Christmas Cheer is singing loud for all to hear!
Have a wonder-full Monday. Love, Becky PS. You have such a pretty face. You should be on a Christmas card!
Do you ever wish you could live inside a book? Or bring bits of that world into yours? You're not alone. The shops at Etsy are full of bookish souvenirs, and people are buying. And why not? Photo by OrderedChaos.etsy.com A wand on your coffee table might bring back the magic of first discovering Ollivander's.
I've been thinking about bookish souvenirs ever since two things happened: 1. We took Ben for a college trip to Duke and found out it has a Quidditch team. (Yes, they really do. Though I'm not sure that's worth the price of a Duke education.) 2. I started recreating the outhouse door from this favorite book of my husband's. You read correctly: an outhouse door. My husband and his friend Butch LOVE Lonesome Dove and quote it to each other whenever they get together. The door is important in the book because it keeps showing up in different forms: first as an actual outhouse door, then as a sign for the ranch the two main characters run together, then as the casket door when Gus dies. Finally, Call takes it apart and uses it as a cross for Gus's grave. So when it came time to give Butch a housewarming present for the apartment/airplane hangar he just built, (Butch is sort of a cowboy of the skies, and the building was a dream of his and his wife Alice before she died) Todd came up with the outhouse door idea. Luckily he found a photo of the prop used for the TV miniseries.
It was a really fun project to work on. I know it's kind of a weird gift, but Butch is crazy about that book. (I love that Butch's silhouette shows up in that photo.)
Maybe when people invest themselves fully into a book they love, they can't bear for it to end. Having something tangible to hold helps them keep the story alive. When we travel to far off lands, we bring home souvenirs. Aren't props from books the same sort of thing? What do you think?
Would this treasure from The Da Vinci Code be too geeky for you? You can buy it at Sky Mall, you know. Along with all sorts of strange things. I might not put a shiny new cryptex on my Santa list, but I will admit to touring Saint Sulpice the last time I was in Paris. (If you read/saw The Da Vinci Code, you know why.)
Now here's a souvenir I'd love to have. Photo by www.Brookish.etsy.com Does that quote sound familiar to you? It's Mr. Darcy's proposal line to Elizabeth Bennet in Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice.
If your Christmas is just not complete without Dickens' A Christmas Carol, then you need this ornament. Inside are quotes from the story. Great idea, huh? Photo by www.Brookish.etsy.com
If Catcher in the Rye is one of your favorites, you might enjoy this painting. Photo by www.AQuartzyLife.etsy.com
Can you guess which book inspired this necklace? Photo by www.MadameTeasley.etsy.com It's To Kill a Mockingbird. The artist writes: This necklace depicts Boo with a pair of scissors, a red crystal for a drop of blood, and a clear crystal because it seemed that he could tell the future-- he was there when Scout and Jem needed him.
This is such fun that I just might do book presents for my whole family this year. Here's my only problem: Todd is hinting for an outhouse door to match Butch's. Call me crazy, but I'm not hanging an outhouse door in our living room. I would let Todd pick out another book gift, but I'm afraid I know what he'd choose. Around this time of year he likes to quote from this book. Can you guess what souvenir he'd pick?
I like an eclectic style, but be assured that it doesn't include that lamp.
If you could have any keepsake from a book you love, what would it be? I'd love to hear about it! Have a wonder-full weekend, y'all! Love, Becky
PS. If any of these souvenirs interest you, a click on the photo should zap you over to its Etsy shop. Or maybe you'd prefer Edward's Volvo instead.
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