A Running Collection

We started packing. Just a little. We've packed the books and some papers. In the pile of papers in the corner of a cabinet I've not opened in 4 years, I found three three ring binders. It is all my writing from college. Writing, I thought I had lost! I thought it was on discs that no longer existed. It is a miracle -- really. It is the writing of  youth, but a lot of writing I've wanted to share and work through and piece together. There are pieces I want to go ahead and share here. Poem, short stories, lots of nonfiction . . . Can't wait to share!

George is away for the weekend experiencing the finest bluegrass music out there at Merlefest. Then camping by a creek. He is in heaven. I told him I could handle the kids by myself no problem. I wanted him to go and enjoy himself and have the best time ever. He has wanted to go for years on years and before we move further south, while he has the time . . .  He left Friday morning only after making me promise that I would not have any crisis. By noon, someone had hit our car in a parking lot and failed to leave a note. By three, it was quite clear I was not as sure of myself as a mother alone with three children as I thought I was.  At 5:30, George Wilder fell and bashed his face against a brick. Faces and bashes equal a lot of blood. It was a crisis. Our sweet neighbor Bill came quickly and was very helpful. After I nearly passed out because of the over abundance of blood, we called hero Beka to come clean the wound. After a good bit of debate, we knew there w...

Tess died. She was a beautiful beautiful Rhode Island Red. She might be one of the only chickens ever to be a little girl's best friend. I'd ask Amelia, when we were returning from about anywhere, what she would do when we arrived home. She would always say, "Go see Tess." She did. She made cages for Tess, carried Tess like a baby doll. Loved Tess. Nursed Tess through the winter when she got sick. And Tess gave us eggs for the longest time. She lived through some serious hot summers and some snowy winters. And today, of all days, a friend came and shot some pictures of our family. She got some sweetness of Amelia loving up on Tess.I ca't wait to see thrm! We love you Ms. Tess!

The quiet early morning. Birds chirping. Everyone still sleeping. Nothing undone or created yet. Steinbeck calls it the "hour of pearl". I'm cuddled up with a blanket and the computer and a book. Where will the day take us? It is already packed with appointments and learning and this and that. For now, there isn't pressure to be mom, wife, cook, maid, creator, thinker, disciplinarian. It is this that recharges even more than sleep. How will we handle each moment today? How can we laugh and hug and discover? What will we build or draw? Yesterday Amelia drew bird houses and George Wilder, fire trucks. George sat at the table with them and showed them how to use squares and rectangles to draw with depth. I couldn't believe that George Wilder pressed on until he could manage some depth in his fire truck and Amelia giggled a bit when she saw the beauty of it. She painted a picture that was "artistic" with a flower and a bat and a butterfly. Then she paint...

Saturday started slowly. Then flinging head first into activity, We changed the spark plugs Let the ram eat the grass. Untangled the ram from his lead. Finished the spark plug project. Put the ram back. Loaded up banjos, seeds, and a stroller. Ate peanut butter sandwiches in the car. Arrived at the seed swap at a nearby farm. Plowed a garden with a mule team. Rode in a carriage. Danced to the music. Swapped some seeds. Visited with friends. Listened to good blue grass. Melted into a nap on the way home. Music followed us home. Back porch pickin' until dusk. Good baths and bed. Sun kissed goodnight.

Wal-Mart is less than three miles from our house, but it isn't on the way to anything and I'm glad for that. Wal-Mart is definitely a place I can do without, but then there are toothbrushes, razors, diapers, wipes, pony tail holders and mouth wash that are hard to get all at the same time for a bargain price and fairly necessary items. However, the more trips to the oversized box on the side of the road, I grow frustrated, mad, and even angry at the thing I am doing. Buying cheap because it is good for me. Big plastic containers filled my cart. Cheap sunglasses, plastic razors, large plastic bottle with green stuff for nice breath. All disposable stuff. All of it will be thrown away within a month or two! It is like garbage before it is garbage. I guess everything is that, but not at such a fast pace I guess. Off to produce. I get mango and kiwi and bananas and carrots. This is good. These are nutritious elements of our diet, but not local and not seasonal and they only take u...

The grand procrastinating monster attacked. She held me down with her mighty manipulative perfectionistic claws. The inability to capture all of it kept me from capturing any of it, so here is the fighting back against the perfect story and just telling it like it is today and then perhaps I'll back up and fill in the gaps of the last two weeks. At 6:30 a.m., William wants to nurse again. He goes back to sleep and I stumble to the office. I didn't wake up in time to run, so I grab the ten minutes to read some wise sayings and some Word, and I stretch out all the kinks of a night sitting in bed nursing before little ones feet pitter patter across the floor. George Wilder appears ready to read. We pick a book and begin. Amelia comes running with wild hair. We start the book back at the beginning and read and read and read. This happens after visiting the library, which we did yesterday. I think I get seasick reading book after book but the mighty pile lures the children and they...

Today was the day. It was the day that George sat at a table with his committee to defend his work. Four dedicated, intelligent, loving, thoughtful, insightful cheerleaders held copies of George's dissertation and started asking questions. It had never occurred to me that George would want me to be a part of this process, but late in the day yesterday, he asked me to be there and with some miraculous babysitter alignment, I was able to go. I sat there with just my water bottle. No child to bounce, no book to read, just Nalgene. There in that room, four years flashed before me. George' s four years of collecting, studying, reading, writing, working, playing a lot of banjo, planting a lot of garden, cooking a lot of ethnic foods, brewing a lot of beer (he thinks best when he is doing something productive), raising children and chickens and sheep, staying up all night and then staying up all night again. All of this was there at the table along with the trips to far away places to...