O Brother

Have you seen the movie, O Brother Where Art Thou?
The film begins with the escape of three friends, Everett, Pete, and Delmar from a chain gang in rural, depression era Mississippi. Still in leg irons, they set out to retrieve the $1.2 million in treasure that Everett stole from an armored car and buried before his incarceration, and they've got to find it fast. In four days, the whole valley will be flooded to create Arkabutla Lake, and all hopes for riches will be lost.

It's a modern retelling of Homer's Odyssey, and it's hilarious and scary and has an amazing soundtrack that burrows under your skin like ringworm.
A gorgeous, soulful ringworm, but still.

We watched it again at the beach last week, and ever since we got back home, I've been singing Man of Constant Sorrow and When I Went Down to the River to Pray. I'm crazy about both of those songs, but my family is beginning to wish they could figure out how to change my channel.

Then yesterday, as I fiddled with this blog, adding photos of our French life to the French Living page, I came across this picture.

Yes, that man in the black coat is actually me. (I know it's not fashionable, but I'm a Carolina girl who gets cold in the snow, so sorry.)
It was taken during the first year of our French life, during our first visit to Notre Dame d'Orcival, a 13th century Romanesque basilica in the tiny village of Orcival, about forty minutes from where we used to live.

Here's a better photo of the church.

Photo by Francis Debaisieux
The basilica is indeed a world treasure, but the thing that struck me most about it is what hangs on an outer wall. See it in the inset there?

Here, let me blow it up for you.

Photo by Francis Debaisieux
Those are leg irons.
Leg irons, just like the ones binding Everett and Pete and Delmar.
I saw the photo of us standing in the snow beneath the leg irons and remembered that cold day as my brain started singing
I am a man of constant sorrow I've seen trouble all my day. I bid farewell to old Kentucky The place where I was born and raised.

Our Michelin Green Guide said that the chains had been hung "in thanksgiving for released prisoners." Ben wanted to know just who was released and if it was really safe to set prisoners free, and Sarah said that maybe they weren't supposed to be in jail anyway, especially if they were the kind of prisoners who care about thanking God.

But the chains got all of us thinking and talking about what it means for God to set us free.
And yesterday, as I looked at that picture and sung along with Everett, I remembered this verse:
⁷ He upholds the cause of the oppressed
and gives food to the hungry.
The LORD sets prisoners free,

⁸ the LORD gives sight to the blind,
the LORD lifts up those who are bowed down,
the LORD loves the righteous.

⁹ The LORD watches over the alien
and sustains the fatherless and the widow,
but he frustrates the ways of the wicked.

Psalm 146:7-9, New International Version

It's a lovely scripture, but at first thought, I wasn't sure that it had anything to do with me.
I'm not really oppressed (except by my laundry pile, ha ha.) I'm not hungry or in prison, blind or made to bow down. I'm not an alien anymore, nor am I fatherless or a widow.

But maybe it speaks to me too.
I might not be guilty of doing things that land me in prison, but I know I'm imprisoned in other ways.
Even though I try not to, I do things and think things that keep me from living the whole, healthy life God wants for me.

I envy other people. What they own that I don't. Their talents. What looks like the ease of their lives. I worry too much, and sometimes I let fear keep me from doing things that would please God. Fear of what other people might think. Fear of failing.

I could go on, but you get the point.
I'm just thankful that even though God knows all about my sorry failings, He refuses to shut the door on me. God lets me in anyway, unbinding me daily from the chains that hold me back, letting me try to do better, again and again.

I can see why Ben was worried. Is it really smart of God to operate this way? To set the prisoners free, with just their word and a piddly human effort to do better?
But that's how God operates.
That's how grace operates.
No wonder they call it amazing!

I'd love to hear your thoughts. Have you seen the movie?
What imprisons you?

Have a great Wednesday, y'all!
Love, Becky

Belly Up to the Bar Code

http://www.flickr.com/photos/chiaramarra/ / CC BY 2.0

Does the barcode on a can of beans look like art to you?
It might, if you live in Japan.

A few days ago, after I finished rolling on the floor laughing over engrish.com (and remembering how my own goofs kept the entire French city of Clermont-Ferrand entertained,) I moseyed over to the site's blog for a look-see.
I will never badmouth barcodes ever again. At least I won't if we start using the Japanese ones!
Look!


Aren't those great? I found them at engrish.com's page, here. These geniuses designed them.
Why not enjoy a few more?


How fun!
Of course, the folks at www.d-barcode.com aren't the only ones to make art from barcodes.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/akav/ / CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

That one was discovered on the streets of Copenhagen.

I like this one too, found in London.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/judo10/ / CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

Thanks to artist Scott Blake, you can own your very own barcode art. And so can your dog!

Photo by Scott Blake
Click on the dog to zoom over to his etsy store, and be sure to check out his website as well. His barcode portraits are incredible.
See what I mean?

http://www.flickr.com/photos/17144770@N00/ / CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

All made from the lowly barcode!

So what do you think? Would you like to see your face in barcodes? Do you wish we could banish the barcode and return to the days of the tiny sticky price tag? Personally, I'd love to find some barcode creativity on my next stop to the Bi-Lo.

Have a wonder-full Wednesday, y'all!
Love, Becky

Speaking Engrish

Photo by engrish.com
How I love engrish.com. Have you two met? If you've ever struggled with a second language, you must bebop over there and take a look around.
I'm serious. March right over there, young lady. Hop to it, mister.
But be warned: you might want to wear a diaper. Or maybe that's just me.

Oh, how it thrills me to read things like this.

Photo by engrish.com
That's probably because the signs and posters and advertisements remind me of the millions of times during my French life when I tried to literally translate my words and they came out wonky.
You think I'm kidding? Read my book.
Or read Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris. I especially recommend the chapter in which he tries to explain Easter in his pitiful French. It makes me weep with happiness.

It's a good thing that when people hear others trying desperately to speak their language, their hearts swell with tenderness. And they look upon them in the same way that one would gaze at a newborn babe. Or a puppy.
And sometimes they see the profound sweetness in the wonky words.

Photo by engrish.com
Or maybe I'm a sentimental fool.

I'll have some Skal water to go with that apple pie, please.

Photo by engrish.com
I would so like to be transported to the cow-mooing meadow.

Have a fantastic weekend, y'all!
Love, Becky

Oh, and enjoy this favorite video of mine. You might want to get a tissue in advance.

King of the Road. Or Not.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/stevenm_61/ / CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Can you name this city?
I can do it in six notes. I mean letters. (Remember that show?)
City hint#1: a most delicious omelet.
City hint #2: the mountains.
Yes, it's Denver, the first city I fell in love with as a grown up.
I'm thinking about Denver today because my friend May recently did a fabulous post confessing she was torn between two lovers: San Francisco and New York. It made me think about all the towns I've loved before and the lessons each one taught me. Or should have.

And it made me curious about you. I'd love to know where you've lived and loved. Feel like sharing?

I'll go first. I'll try not to be long winded. Thanks to the Air Force, it's not a short list.

1. Denver, as shown above.
Lesson I should have learned? Don't be so in love with the mountains and Todd Ramsey that you neglect to ask how much the teaching job pays before you sign the contract.
(Still it was fun. Who needs money when you have love?)

2. Omaha, Nebraska

http://www.flickr.com/photos/conrad_matt/ / CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

That's not my photo, but it's exactly what I remember.
Lessons learned? If you live near a corn flake factory, you constantly thirst for milk.
And Omaha's suburb Papillion might be spelled like the French word for butterfly, but if you pronounce it that way, Nebraskans will laugh at you.

3. Greenbelt, Maryland

http://www.flickr.com/photos/thisisbossi/ / CC BY-SA 2.0

Beautiful, huh? Our apartment complex wasn't in this part. We lived in a neighborhood which my sweet mother in law once called The Projects.
Lesson: When men are always huddling together, trading things in the parking lot of your apartment complex, you ought to move.

4. Washington DC

http://www.flickr.com/photos/b-tal/ / CC BY-NC 2.0

Lesson: It's exciting to live where everything happens. But ride the metro. Don't drive.

5. Raleigh, NC

http://www.flickr.com/photos/tsmyther/ / CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Coming home can be beautiful, even while puking into the car's air conditioning vents on the way to your first day of work. Especially if it's because of morning sickness.
(But do sell the car. It will never be the same.)

6. Greenville/Greer, SC

There are cool people in every town, just waiting for new friends.
Small towns are great for kids.

7. Clermont Ferrand, France

Life is to be enjoyed. Eat! Drink! Write!

So now it's your turn!
Are you king of the road, or loyal to one knock out town?
I'd love to hear all about it.
Have a great weekend, y'all!
Love, Becky

A Montana Mancation

Today's Wonder of the World is...a Mancation on the Missouri River.

Don't you love this photo of my Ben's bony, size 14 feet? The pic was taken as my very own Lewis and Clark spent a week canoeing down the Missouri River, eating Beanie Weenies, and reliving the Corps of Discovery, as the famed explorers called their adventures.

And to think that it all started from a footnote in a book!
Back in 1997, Stephen Ambrose's book Undaunted Courage turned my mild mannered husband into a raging Lewis and Clark evangelist. "I must see this for myself," he said, and showed me Ambrose's footnote on page 228.

It is today as Lewis saw it. The White Cliffs can be seen only from small boat or canoe. Put in at Fort Benton and take out three or four days later at Judith Landing. Missouri River Outfitters at Fort Benton, Montana, rents canoes or provides a guided tour by pontoon boat. Of all the historic and /or scenic sights we have visited in the world, this is number one. We (his family) have made the trip ten times.

"That's nice, honey," I said. "Maybe you can use some of those frequent flier miles and make the trip one of these days."
Little did I know that he was a man obsessed.
A few months later, he packed up his tent and vanished into the wilderness with his crazy friend Butch. I was six months pregnant with Sam at the time, but I didn't worry too much. After all, he was with Butch, the original Marlboro Man. The man who flies a World War II biplane for fun, who's flown water bombers into forest fires, who worked for years spraying coca plants in South America while people were shooting at him. Butch is there, I'd repeat to myself. Everything will be fine.

But this time Butch and Todd were taking my middle baby Ben.

And then Butch canceled!
I worried just a little.
Okay, I worried a lot.
They were going to be out of cell phone coverage, just the two of them, in complete wilderness.
Well, almost. To their surprise, park rangers had installed port-a-potties at various spots along the river route since Todd's last trip. They wouldn't have to dig holes after all. Aw, too bad, guys.

They had a fabulous time together.
Ben learned how to canoe without turning the boat over.


And how to pull over and set up camp.

They did about twenty miles a day and spent the rest of the time eating, sleeping, reading, and enjoying whatever fun presented itself. One day an extroverted bunny rabbit presented itself, and Ben got in touch with his inner four year old, hopping after it, making it his friend. A few hours later after Ben and Todd had zipped themselves in the tent for the night, Ben heard the bunny rabbit being attacked and eaten by a wolverine. Perhaps extroversion is not a good quality in a bunny rabbit.
Ah, the wonders of nature.

No hasenpfeffer for them. But they did enjoy some blueberry cheesecake, a goodbye gift from Sam.


They also enjoyed breathtaking sunrises.


And lots and lots of cows.


And even a surprise rope swing, in the middle of nowhere!



Doesn't my man look happy?

Scruffy, but very happy.
Who wouldn't be happy in such a beautiful place?

Have a wonder-full Monday, y'all!
And tell me, does the wilderness call your name, or do you prefer the wilds of the Holiday Inn?
Love, Becky

A Tribute to Bravery at Colleville-sur-Mer

Today's Wonder of the World is...A Tribute to Bravery at Colleville-sur-Mer

Photo taken for Life Magazine by Robert Capa
My family has a special connection to Omaha Beach.

That's my grandfather's grave at the American Military Cemetery in Colleville-sur-Mer. As you can see from the inscription on the cross, he was killed July 29, 1944, which happened to be my mother's first birthday.

I had forgotten that Saturday was the 65th anniversary of D-Day. I got on the treadmill, turned on the television, and there was Omaha Beach. The service had just started at the cemetery grounds. Did you see it? It was such a powerful, beautiful tribute that I've been thinking about it ever since.

President Obama's speech was profoundly touching, full of personal stories.
In case you missed it, here's the video to watch.

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

Visiting the cemetery is such a moving experience. There are 9387 servicemen and women buried there, including 307 Unknowns. So many crosses and Stars of David.

We made several trips to the cemetery during our four years in France. With each visit I remembered the first trip I ever made with my family when I was in college, when my mother knelt at her father's grave for the very first time. I'll never forget the young French woman who brought us to his cross, knelt in front of it, and wiped wet sand in the letters, so that his name would stand out from all the rest.

Here's a pic of the memorial itself, where Saturday's ceremony took place.

See the statue? It's called, "The Spirit of American Youth Rising from the Waves."
I think it's perfect.

You can read more about Saturday's service here.
Before you go, here's another video for you. You know that amazing shot at the top of this post, the one of the soldier crawling onto Omaha Beach? For years and years no one knew the identity of that soldier, but now they do. His name is Hu Riley, and Tom Brokaw had the chance to sit down and talk with him.
Have a wonder-full Monday, y'all!

Love, Becky

PS. I almost forgot! Here's something interesting for you... I mentioned that my grandfather was killed on my mother's first birthday. I always felt sad for my mom that her birthday was connected with such a tragic event in her life. But guess what? In the summer of 1992, my son Ben was born a few days late-- on July 29th! I couldn't have planned it better myself!

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

Hey Buddy, Got a Match? Box?

Today's Wonder of the World is...the Matchbox!

Flickr photo by wackystuff
Maybe it's just me, but I look at that wacky matchbox and become racked with questions.
Are those birds really inseparable? What's with the umbrella? Could bird feet really hold an umbrella? And what does any of this have to do with matches?
What's the story there? People want to know!
(At least this person does.)

Once you solve that one, would you take a look at this?

Flickr photo by wackystuff
Woo hoo! An elephant on a see saw holding matches! Pretty please with sugar on top and a cherry, won't you write a story about that and let me read it?

Hop over here and here and here for more strange/beautiful/wonderfully weird matchbox art.

Or maybe you prefer art made from a matchbox.
Little Becky would have LOVED to have this Etsy matchbox in her pocket.

Photo by sparklerama.etsy.com
So much cuter than Polly Pocket.

And my heart jolts into overdrive for this little prize. (Another Etsy masterpiece.)

Photos by paperhat.etsy.com
Don't your fingers itch to put that together? You could set up your own opera while sitting on the bleachers at yet another baseball practice.

Take a look at these pocket scenes.

Photos by halfacupoftea.etsy.com
You can find them at Etsy too. I believe I'd wear those boxes out, opening them over and over again.

Want to write a book but you don't have much to say? This one's perfect!

Flickr photo by matchboxbook
I suppose you could write a really long book in teensy tiny handwriting and give anyone who reads it old lady eyes like mine.
Seriously. I'm not ancient enough to be this blind.

But I'd wear my readers out in public if I had a chance to meet members of the International Championship League of Matchbox Stuffers.
Never heard of them?
They're quite a creative bunch. They take ordinary small matchboxes (no cheating with a family sized box, you sneaky one, you,) and fill it with as many tiny items as possible.
Collections like this.

Flickr photo by Green Wellies
Pretty cool, huh?
Your grouping can either have a theme or not. No duplicates allowed.
Here's another one.

Flickr photo by leslie.hawes
It's fun to examine each little thing.
At least it's fun for me. But I find miniatures strangely fascinating. And I probably need more excitement in my life.

I know what I'll do! I'll watch Eric Clapton (with long hair and sideburns) Johnny Cash, and Carl Perkins perform Matchbox Blues.



Have a wonder-full Friday and a super weekend, y'all!
Love, Becky

Ogblay Adnessmay

Today's Wonder of the World is...Speaking in Code!

Flickr photo by shutterberry
Oohday oohyay eakspay igpay atinlay?
You do? Ategray!
What fun it used to be to speak a secret language. Even if everybody but your little brother understood it.

Now that our kids are too smart for us to spell things out, (There's one B-R-O-W-N-I-E left. Do you want it?) Todd and I have been thinking we ought to come up with our own secret language.
Or maybe we should just learn Eggy Peggy.
Are you fluent? You could be. Just add the word egg before each vowel in a word.
So "How are you doing?" becomes "Heggow eggare yeggou deggoegging?"
I'm afraid those meddling kids would figure it out. Darn.

I found Eggy Peggy on Wikipedia with a whole slew of other crazy languages. We English speakers aren't the only nutty people in the world. Just about every common language has a wacko code for fun.
Have you heard of Louchébem?

Flickr photo by *julia
It's French butcher slang, used especially in Paris and Lyon. You take the first consonant, move it to the end, and add one of a group of suffixes.
So le boucher (butcher) becomes Louchébem, and le patron, Latronpuche.
Weird.
I don't think I need French to be any more confusing.

I'm still confused over Ubbi Dubbi.

Flickr photo by the Saint Petersburg Times
Remember it? From Zoom?

Maybe you have to learn it when you're really young and have a flexible brain, not a stiff, dusty one like mine.
Speaking of little ones, these three babes developed their own secret code when they were tiny.

Hey Cassie, Jill, and Bailey!
Or is it Bailey, Jill, and Cassie? My triplet nieces undoubtedly understood their own little language, though it took us a little longer to catch on. Now they're teenagers and talk in text messages.
And hey little Amelia, Sarah, and Stu! That's quite a load of babies you've got there.

When Sarah was a baby and had her days and nights mixed up, we'd take her to Waffle House.
They have their own diner language.

Flickr photo by That Other Guy Over There
I'll have my hash browns scattered, smothered, covered, and chunked, ease-play.

Arr, get it right landlubber, or me might have t'see ye t'Davy Jones!

Flickr photo by Doxieone
I'm a fool for pirate talk.
Ahoy, mateys! (Or does that mean hello?)

Ave-hay an onderfulway ayday!
Love, Becky