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Poetry

I woke in the pre-dawn yesterday morning with a fragment of a poem in my head. So often if a thought comes to me that time of day, I go back to sleep and lose it. This time it begged to be written down so by the light of the moon, on the back of a paper butterfly, and with a scratchy pencil, I wrote down the single line.

There.

Half an hour later my subconscious made an adjustment to the line and back up I got to scribble the change down.

I hate being woken from sleep, even for a line of poetry that won't go away.

Friday Reads: Mid Summer Summary

I have a problem.

I take the kids to the library on Tuesday's and I always end up getting books out for myself. This is in addition to all the books I ordered from my summer reading list that I wasn't yet prepared to buy. In fact, last week, I had to renew the books I had taken out because I haven't had time to read them all, but do you think that stopped me taking out a pile more?

Of course not.

So now I have the original books I decided to read this summer, plus a long list of others to get through.

I have been reading though.

I read The Art of Racing In The Rain by Garth Stein. It was one of the books I ordered from the library that was on my original summer reads list. I picked it up one morning in the kitchen to take a quick look while I made toast. Two hours later, I still stood there, finishing the book, still standing because I didn't want to take the time to go and sit down. It's crazy good, and I don't usually go for books that are a) written by dogs or b) full of heart-tugging sentiment. But this one really pulled me in.

I'm reading The Postmistress by Sarah Blake, and although it is nice and the premise is one I should like, it is not grabbing me like I had hoped it would.

I read a youth fiction two nights ago. 13 Treasures by Michelle Harrison about a girl caught in the faery world. I liked the world building and the fact that the fairies were not all cute but had malevolence written all over them, but found it a bit predictable and overblown. Probably because it is meant for a 9 year old, only we've all been spoiled with the quality of kids lit these days.

I was half way through Persuasion by Jane Austen when my Kobo gave up the ghost. Huge kudos to the kobo customer service team though who are sending me a new one with no hassles. As soon as I get it, I'll finish up with Miss Austen. Anyone seen the movie, Persuasion? Is it worth it?

Probably because of Persuasion, I picked up Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict at the library. It's by Laurie Viera Rigler, and I just started it with no expectations at all.

With the kids, I am reading Pirates! by Celia Rose and Erik's new series, The Ranger's Apprentice by John Flanagan. He loves it and knowing my book problem, I am convincing him to order them through the library rather than buying. Otherwise he will need a very, very large house. He is resistant, but it will be good for him.

Not that I can talk. I picked up a few more books at the Williamstown Fair last weekend. A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini, Suite Francais (because I liked the title) by Irene Nemirovsky, and--joy of joys--Children of the New Forest by Captain Maryat, a children's classic I have never read. I saw the mini series as a child and have vague visions that come to me every once in a while. Now I can find out what they are about.

So that's it. The summary so far. Only a few short weeks to go, so we'll see just how much ground I cover between then and now.

The beauty of books is that there are always more to read.

Farm Humour

Grace came in crying this morning. One of the cute chicks we bought the other week is dead in the coop.

It happens. Chicks have a high mortality. What made this one worse was that it didn't die, exactly, but was more murdered. By one of its flock mates.

The pecking order is so named for a reason. It's brutal and disgusting, but there you have it.

Life on a farm has its share of horrible moments. Lambs die because their mother's don't feed them, sometimes even if we find them on time. Sheep die because coyotes attack. The other week the farm dog needed a paw treated for a really gross infection that had my stomach churning. All our cats vanished one week - probably fishers, but who really knows. And chickens can be really, really mean.

But these moments are few and far between really. And I like to think Erik and Anna and Grace are growing up aware of the delicate balance of life.

The children were sad. They were upset. They were looking for solutions to stop it happening again. Erik got to dispose of the body (because, you know, Mom is a wuss).

The three of them looked at it wistfully.It's head was off. Not completely though, just sort of detached.

You know, said Anna, we never named that one. I guess its name is Nearly Headless Chick*.

I've heard that doctors and police detectives develop a rather grim sense of humour to deal with the dark side of humanity. The dark side of farming has its own grim humour.


*Only funny if you're a Harry Potter fan, and familiar with the ghost of Griffyndor.

Summertime

Splashing in the pool...

Lazy days at the lake...

Red wine in the sunset...

Daytrips with friends....

Picnics on the beach...

Morning stretches and coffee on the veranda...

Walks through the meadow....

Whiling away an afternoon with a book under a shady tree...

Leisurely breakfasts with the kids...

Line dried laundry and open windows...

Flowers in the garden and the aroma of ripening tomatoes...

Paddling down a winding river...

Sitting around a campfire...

Watching fireflies on a hot summer night...

Bike rides on Saturday mornings...

Steak on the barbecue...

Lounging in the hammock...

The smell of fresh cut grass wafting on the breeze...

The Wall Came Down

You know last week, when the kids were away at cub camp, and I had the week more or less to myself...the week I was going to read and swim and make gourmet meals in between edits...yeah, that week.

Something happened to it. It was hijacked by a random thought that I had on the Thursday before the kids went to camp.

Do you think, I asked my husband, if we knocked down that wall, we could turn out bedroom into two rooms for the girls while they're away?

The short answer was yes.

The long answer involved a pile of things to do. I had to sort the room they were in, tossing and packing and organizing, taking down beds and storing desks and toy boxes and shelves in their brother's room. Then I had to clean their room. There was no way I was living with a pepto-bismol pink room, so since we were moving into their room, I had to prime and paint, and then move all our furniture across the hall.

Next the wall had to come down. Enter Andrew and a crow bar. Our farmhouse was originally a stage coach inn, so his closet was once an old inn room. By taking down the closet wall, we expanded the room by 8 feet, thus allowing us to create two rooms with windows and one room without which will serve as a den/spare room. What he realised and I did not was that the wall was original, which meant lathe and plaster, which meant mess. I realised it as I cleaned up century old dust.

Then we framed. And drywalled. And mudded. And primed. And painted.

And by the time the kids were home from camp on Saturday, our three bedroomed farmhouse was a five bedroomed one and the girls had their own rooms. Small. Unfinished (they still need trim and doors; we still have half their stuff in our room; and the new den is appropriately named-it looks like something animals would live in because I haven't quite finished cleaning it out of all the debris).

But their own.

Alike

This post is part of Capital Mom's Monday Moments series. It also follows along quite nicely from my posts about Harry Potter.

In late spring, we had a Harry Potter themed dinner, rustling up recipes from the countless websites dedicated to this kind of thing. While Erik and I were out cutting stalks of rhubarb to make a lovely rhubarb apple crumble, he said to me, Mom, you're just like Mrs. Weasley.

I have to be honest, my first thought wasn't all that charitable. I mean look at the way Molly dresses! But Erik expanded on his statement: how we live in an old rambling house and there are always good smells in the kitchen and lots of food to eat. He mad especial mention of the pies (Erik really likes pies). And somehow in his 11 year old mind, he equated the homemade pies I make for him, the cobblers and crisps and the sausages and mashed potatoes, lasagne and roast chickens with the comfortable hominess of Molly Weasely, mother to (among others) Ron and Ginny and Fred and George.

I saw it for the compliment it was. And since then I've reflected on and off about how, actually, being like Molly is a good thing.

She's protective of her family, but not overbearing. She puts her foot down, but lets them go and do what needs to be done. She keeps her children on their toes and holds them accountable (We tried to shut him in a pyramid but Mum spotted us - Fred and George) without holding them back.

Molly doles out love and discipline and caution and support in good measure. Her children think she worries too much but they also respect her, and want to stay on her good side. She in turn respects each of her children and their friends and appreciates their individual gifts. Even when Fred and George drop out of school to start a joke shop, Molly gives them grief and then, having done so, stands behind them.

And when it matters most, she is not afraid to stand up for those she loves. Witness the cheering that went on in the theatres during Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows part 2 when Molly stares down Bellatrix...she is a force to be reckoned with at that moment.

So am I like Molly Weasley? To be honest, I hope so.