Scale Saturday: Week 1

I weighed myself faithfully every day this week. Accountability. The first three days I gained three pounds. Frustratingly, while I thought I was telling myself no more often and making better food choices, I still was not journaling how many calories I consumed. It's so easy to sneak a bite of this or that all day long. Wednesday I was back on track with my calorie journal. Gulp. Accountability. Here we go again.

Panic ensued. By the end of the day Wednesday I had severe anxiety about everything, from worrying about tickets getting purchased for an event I want to attend next month to the number in the savings account that has become frighteningly low. Even realizing we were out of carrots brought on a round of weeping. Yes, really. In my irrational state of mind it never occurred to me to go out to the garden and dig more.

I know this emotional rollercoaster is part of reprogramming my ruined eating habits, having stripped away the calorie buffer I've been using to temper my emotions. I know it will get better. 

I had a 240 calorie bowl of soup for supper that first night. And a cup of tea to calm me. It's going to be alright. 

I've been eating my burritos as salads, with no shell or cheese, half a cup of meat and refried beans, and a whole lot of lettuce and salsa. Turkey wraps are a new favorite for lunch. A flour shell (190 cals) smeared with a tablespoon of cream cheese (45 cals), sprinkled with garlic pepper, then layered with about five slices of shaved turkey (50 cals) and lettuce (10 cals), then roll it up; at 305 calories for the whole wrap it's a surprisingly satisfying lunch. Grapefruit is also back in the house.

And now the results of week 1...did the number on the scale move (other than up) from my half a week of trying? The good news is that I did drop the three pounds I gained, plus another two pounds. So down a total of five pounds but only two count toward my 25 pound goal. 23 pounds to go!

Happy Birthday, Papa!

Today my Daddy turned 63 years old. Man is that hard to type. Much like the desire to freeze your children when they're in the super cute baby ages, or to freeze a moment in time you'd like to cherish forever, I wish I could freeze my parents from aging. I'd gladly age instead just to have more time with them. Sometimes the realization of how fleeting this life is is staggering. And yet we continue with our daily lives, performing the same menial tasks as the day before, seemingly oblivious that time is running out.

While I don't think I'll ever feel like I've spent enough time with loved ones, the hard work and dedication my Dad has put into everything he does is a great example that will stick with me my whole life.

As long as I can remember we had a menagerie of animals and a massive garden at home. I'd get about as excited as Dad would about the new birds he planned on ordering, what animals we were getting next summer, and what new vegetable or fruit tree we were going to try to grow. I remember multiple varieties of turkeys, chickens, quail, pheasants, pigs, sheep, cows, goats (all of them named, of course).

When I was in high school my parents bought 40 acres of woods/CRP land that they built a cabin on. It gave them more opportunity for other hobbies, and providing food for the family. Many lessons were learned working alongside Dad. He taught me how to use power tools, how to rewire a heater, all about living and growing things, the basics of carpentry, and was my main teacher of Latin and Algebra.

Dad taught me that just because I was the only girl did not mean I was going to be spoiled rotten, and taught me to pull my own weight. The phrases, "It's a long way from your heart," and "This too shall pass," in his voice still come to me this day when I need to move past things.

Often working long hours in unpleasant weather was just something that had to be done. Dad worked most of my existence as a mail carrier. He went out with a bang (or crack?) last winter when he broke his ankle on his mail route. With plans to retire less than two months from then, the broken ankle effectively had him home earlier than expected. A couple weeks before last Christmas we had a scare when Dad suffered a pulmonary embolism. Thank God he didn't also suffer a stroke, though for several months after he experienced episodes of a-fibrillation.

The second child and oldest son in a family of eleven children, my Dad (Stephen James) helped on the farm he was raised on until he joined the Army right after high school. He had not yet deployed when my Grandpa had a devastating accident involving a corn picker, crippling one of his arms, and Dad was discharged to return home to the farm to help out. Dad worked several different jobs (including carpenter) before finding the postal job in the late 1980's. He met my Mom in 1980 as blogged about here, and they had three beautiful (ahem) children..... I remember a lot of building projects growing up...the new garage he built with help from his brothers, the chicken shed, re-roofing the woodshed. He designed and helped build their new house in 2006. There are so many things I don't have room to add, that would require a book to cover in sufficient detail.

This afternoon the boys and I went over to my parents' and had supper with them (uninvited...yes, I am that daughter). We are so blessed to have time to spend yet with my Daddy. If my boys can learn a fraction of what I did from him, I'll be happy.

Happy Birthday, Daddy! I love you!

Dad and my uncle Tim, late 1960's

Dad's graduation picture

Dad, me, and Wanno 1982-3

 Dad and me around 1986

Dad's deer this year.

Beyond Measure

"Aidan, what are all these dents along your bed rail?"

"Oh, that! I've been measuring the gap in my teeth and seeing it close."

Of course it didn't occur to my child to look in a mirror....

Contraband Quilts

Before your imagination sets sail on a fantastic adventure of a black market quilt industry and shady back alley blanket transactions, I must set the record straight. I never really smuggled quilts...just the secret that I made them.

I can't help but mull this over in my mind each time I'm piecing together a new quilt. The nature of the craft fuels contemplation. It brings me so much joy most the time...though each quilt eventually accumulates yards of misquilted mess needing a seam-ripper and knee pads to fix. I only make baby quilts now; I have neither the time nor the space to sacrifice to a large project. Nor do I have a $10,000 long-arm quilting machine, as my hands would soon be disabled by carpal tunnel issues. Knowing a tiny, precious babe will be wrapped up and soothed in the bits of fabric I'm assembling is medicine for my soul. And as I sew my mind travels back in time to the first few quilts I made. And then to the period when I stopped pursuing what I truly enjoyed...and stopped sewing.

"I've made quilts since I was 15," is a phrase that never crossed my lips as I started to date. The introductory questions about hobbies and activities were answered briefly by me, from what I can remember. Apparently my answers were so brief it prompted one young man to declare me a mystery. If you only knew, you'd have nothing to do with me! In my mind I had enough stigma attached to me already because of the known fact that I was homeschooled. And shy. I felt everyone's eyes on me, waiting for me to say or do the one uncool thing that would seal the "weird homeschooler" stereotype for me. I couldn't help thinking are you asking me out because you lost a bet?

"Hi. My name is Julie. I like to quilt and embroider for fun. And draw book report covers. I read three books a week. I love Jane Austen, I'm so upset I can't find her 'Lady Susan.' I've read all of L.M. Montgomery's books five times over, especially 'Mistress Pat.' I really like classical and folk music. Really. Especially pieces heavy with violin and cello. I have pen-pals, they're my only friends. And sheep, my family raises them. I want to be a vet. No, no military for me, a veterinarian. Or an architect, because I can spend hours looking at blueprints and have my dream house already designed. But I'm horrible at math. I love playing football, especially "barbarian", softball, and basketball on rollerblades. Hmm? No, I don't want to be single forever."

It's always cool to be artistic, right? Well, I thought so...unless it was your grandma's brand of art. (I have fond memories of both my Grandmas spending hours quilting.) I'm pretty sure I came to this conclusion after mentioning quilting to a fellow high-school-homeschooled girl on one of our field trips. Even she gave me a weird look. Mental note taken. From then on my hobbies were described in this way: "I like to read and draw and paint," (acceptable artistic pursuits, right?) "And I love animals."

The way our lives can morph around the opinions of others is deplorable. As much as we're preached at to disregard what others think of us, that pull always seems to be lurking in the background. The formative years hold the most risk for us to become captive of the desire to be accepted by our peers. While this desire in me has faded, the realization that it isn't completely gone inspires a desire for peers that more closely mirror the person I want to be. And I can finally embrace my weirdness with joy. Thankfully for me, at the time I met my future husband I had no desire to control his opinion of me. In all honesty I didn't care what he thought, and therefore I was open and honest about what I really liked and disliked. When none of it scared him away, I knew there was something to it. I finally resumed quilting after my third son was born.

I started small, making doll quilts for little girls I babysat, and baby quilts for newborn cousins. I sewed a winter wall hanging for a friend for Christmas. I was so proud of my applique work on it I never even thought it may have been a strange gift to give a 16 year old. I even sewed a baby quilt for my future daughter, which has sat folded in my cedar chest for 17 years now. It may have to rest for another 17 waiting for a granddaughter. Only God knows! I hoarded quilting magazines from my aunt, a talented seamstress (who also did the alterations to my wedding dress).  I would scour thrift stores for piles of fabric weeded from the stashes of fellow crafters...or from those who had passed away and no longer needed it. It always got me thinking what the story could have been behind the discarded material. Some stacks had entire quilts worth of blocks already cut out. Some where apparently used for a failed project, pieces partially cut out and abandoned. Among collections of organized fabric remnants with complementary hues I found gorgeous vintage pieces mixed with teeth-grindingly cheap polyester scraps that were probably some woman's worn out pants at some point.

Not all quilts were documented with photos, but I've found a few. A little pictorial history of my quilts:

First doll quilt ~ 1997

Very wrinkly from being folded, and the edges pucker because the backing fabric is stretchy. It also was never quilted. This is my first baby quilt, made from hankies and scraps, for my imaginary daughter. :) ~ 1997

First full-sized quilt ~ 1997 The boys still use it.

The map on the right, above my bed, was of the Unites States; it had a pushpin for where each of my 22 pen-pals lived.

Baby quilt/pillow; applique & cross-stitch ~ 1998

The one and only wall-hanging ~ 1999

The last big quilt I sewed. Queen-sized, I never even sewed the backing on ~ 1998-?

This is the baby quilt that rekindled my desire to quilt. I forgot to snap a photo after it was finished for a friend, but here it is all laid out ~ 2011

It took me 4 whole years to make another quilt. I blogged about making this baby quilt here. 

~ May 2015

This is a peek at my process of choosing a color scheme. Lots of fabric thrown all over, colors discarded, new ones added, trying to get it how I see it in my mind.

Options weeded down, is the purple too loud for this quilt? Yes, yes it is.

Finished product; this baby quilt was made completely from scrap fabric I've hoarded in totes. The pink backing fabric was what was leftover from the pink shamrock blanket (pictured above) I made back in 1998. I think this is my favorite so far.

~ October 2015

Fabric totes

Fabric stashes

Fabric piles. Oh my. 

I could stare at piles of fabric for hours. Hehe I get lost in fabric stores.

AND finally, for your viewing pleasure, these all made me laugh out loud. 

This one's for you, CMJ ;) 

Fat Genes and the Cursed Pumpkin Bars

How have I been doing keeping the weight off? So kind of you to ask...but I really don't want to go there. Really. But I know I have to. Accountability! I've been putting off writing this post because I don't want to begin again. I have such an easier time keeping on top of healthy eating though if I share my progress (or lack thereof), so here I am.

Have I fallen off the food wagon face first? No...but I have been completely off the wagon, skipping along beside it and even letting it get almost completely out of sight before catching back up to it and reluctantly dragging myself back on. But my feet have been dangling off, trailing on the seductively free ground, while I tell myself I'll do better tomorrow. Sitting safely in the center of the wagon with tape over my mouth. Fun fun.

Always tomorrow. That's the worst pitfall for me. An old country song comes to mind...if tomorrow never comes. Sometimes late at night...I lay awake thinking of all the deliciousness hanging out all alone in the kitchen... I am aware I have a problem.

The slide started in July after my brother's wedding. I was exhausted from all the projects I was trying to complete, and frankly just sick and tired of counting and telling myself no. I started allowing myself treats more than once a week. And then I'd skip weighing myself the next day so I wouldn't get too discouraged. I'll do better tomorrow! After a month of slipping and avoiding the scale I stepped back on it to discover I was only up 5 pounds. What kind of miracle was this? Was my metabolism healed? I celebrated with a bowl of ice cream that night, liberally sprinkled with Cajun trail mix. Mmm mmm good.

My false sense of security was shattered after the second month when I got on the scale before a doctor's appointment to avoid any possible shock in a public place. Oh man. I was up a total of 13 lbs. So much for a forgiving metabolism! I cannot trick my genes. I know how hard it is to lose 13 pounds. Dread and guilt began to overwhelm me. 

Since then my weight has fluctuated by 5 pounds, so I'm staying at the 45-50-pound-weight-loss level. I was at 58 pounds lost, with hopes of losing another 15 lbs. My weight today sits at 47 pounds lost from where I was at the beginning of it all in February.

I confided in a couple family members about my weight gain, who in turn reassured me that it wasn't noticeable, and I looked fine. As comforting as this was to hear, it is so dangerous for me. I look fine, so I can indulge for a little bit longer. Nachos layered with melted cheese, cheese and bread with my burgers, and bacon! Oh bacon, how I missed you! And pasta! Mounds and mounds of buttery garlic noodles, and spaghetti simmered in red sauce, not served with a measuring cup. It is my nemesis. Onion rings and fries (homemade, of course), and as much pizza as I can eat. And lately: pumpkin bars with cream cheese frosting. 'Tis the season! I've made three large baking sheets of them in the last two weeks. Ugh.

The madness stops here. I totally understand that the number on the scale has nothing to do with how good of a person I am, or what people think of me. It's a way for me to measure my self control and stay on track. There are clothes that are not as comfortable as I'd like; this should help. I also hope to increase exercise as a means to ward off depression as the cold, dark months approach. Running releases endorphins, your body's own feel-good drug, and it's much better than consuming a pound of chocolate to get the same effect. 

This will be the first of weekly weight posts, checking in to report progress. I'm considering my weight today as ground zero. My goal is to lose 25 pounds by Christmas. 

The Curious Case of Tooth Ear

There once was a curious young lad, aged 6, who was banished from the land for hoarding trains and not sharing. This young man was given the punishment of confinement to his quarters until lunch was served. He had only just begun his exile when mischief triumphed and screams burst forth from his chamber, causing mother to come running.

"There's a tooth in my ear!" he cried in anguish.

Sure enough, there was a tooth. He had contracted the rare condition known as "tooth ear", caused by not thinking before you act, and the same curiosity that killed the cat. This impetuous youth had, at the age of 3, gotten his huge head stuck in a potty chair, and just last year swallowed a penny due to the same causes.

Mother was able to fashion a hook out of some floral wire to snag the tooth out. Thankfully, no trip to the ER was needed.

Moral of the story: think before you act. And always keep some floral wire around, you never know when you'll need it!

The strange and awkward situations I find myself in because I'm a mother--more specifically, a mother to little boys--never ceases to amaze me. It is definitely not for the faint of heart.

Book It! Homeschool

I wrote this blog post about my desire to inspire the boys to read more a couple months ago now. My resolution to keep a list of books read and purged from our shelves fizzled out shortly, but we have made progress regardless making room for better-loved books. And we've discovered some great books among our collection in the process! Many of the books we parted with were well-worn board books that had seen better days. Ian exercised his love of purging by throwing several books in the trash last week. However, I only discovered this while digging through the already-taken-out trash in search of a missing shoe. Those books were, by then, beyond recovering. Ew. The shoe was discovered later stuffed down the bathroom heat vent.

A friend recently shared a link to Pizza Hut's Book It! reading program. (Click for the link to the Homeschool Enrollment form.) It's designed for students grades K-6. After filling out and submitting the form you'll be mailed a packet of information including links for free and discounted e-books and a packet of coupons for free personal pan pizzas from Pizza Hut. I set the daily reading goals for Aidan and Gavin, and if they reach them we get to take a trip to Pizza Hut. Let me tell you, the incentive to get their own personal pan pizzas has worked wonders to get these guys to pick up a book!

When I think back to what fueled my joy of reading, it was first the praise I received in school for reading well after my teachers thought I was a poor reader. In kindergarten I was sat next to slow readers to help them read the words I already knew well. By 1st grade I had become so incredibly shy that I was terrified to read in front of my classmates. I was put in a delayed reading program so I could "catch up". As I became familiar with the small group my timidness melted away and I was shortly after put back in the regular class. By 3rd grade I was in an accelerated spelling class.

My Mom was instrumental in engendering a love of stories for me. Some of my earliest memories are of my brothers and I piling into Mom and Dad's bed at night while Dad was gone working so that Mom could read to us from the Tarzan book. When it turned bitterly cold, lacing the upstairs windows with frost and ice and freezing bedside bottles of water solid, we would camp out in the warmth of the living room for the night. It was then that Mom would tell us stories of Oscar the adventurous mouse, a character she had developed just for us. Oftentimes poor Mom would be dozing off while we continued listening with rapt amusement as Oscar morphed into a turtle who just wanted to find a horn to play in the school parade, or some other such nonsense. As she would trail off one of us would nudge her or whiper "Mom!" to prolong the tale. What relentlessness...and what vultures we were!

My real love of reading began around the age of  9 or 10 when the neighbors loaned me their old "Baby-Sitters Club" books. The characters became my friends, and I begged Mom for more books. Reading became mine. We began frequenting the library where I was able to feed my newly found obsession. I had devoured the whole series (at least what had been so far published then) by the time my Mom happened to pick up a book, and discovered the characters had boyfriends and crushes and all manner of things I probably should not have been filling my head with at such a young age. I moved on to the "Adventures of the Northwoods" series by Lois Walfrid Johnson, and then to "An American Adventure" series by Lee Roddy. I was hooked. The best was when I found a series I enjoyed; the longer the better. It was a hard blow when stories ended. I'd mope around the house for a couple days in apathy, the thought of ripping myself from the world of one story to begin another felt like betrayal. I began writing to authors, gleaning addresses from the fine print of the copyright page at front of books. I started a collection of the letters I received in return from authors.

This passion and enjoyment of reading is what I hope to pass on to my boys. (Not the apathetic book hangover phase, of course.) I tried illustrating a point for them one day by saying each book holds an adventure, a trip to unknown lands by simply turning a page, without stepping a foot out of the house. I even made them sniff an old book. Oh yes I did. Books smell exciting. They are still their father's children though. Occasionally when they see I'm reading they'll ask how my book is. Before I can answer they'll quip, "Let me guess, it smells like adventure!" and walk away giggling. It'll get you, my pretties! Just you wait.

How do you inspire a love for reading in your children? What inspired you to read?

The List

I was angry. Red hot, spitting mad. My heart raced and there were white spots at the corners of my vision. It was all I could do to bite my tongue from lashing out.

How dare he? Of all the selfish.... I'm so done here! 

I yanked a notebook paper out of the nearest book and sat down with a pen. I intended to write a list of every little thing he did that irritated me, everything that hurt. Every perceived wrong, every unkind word, every selfish act.

And then I'm going to show it to him.

Writing has always been a release valve for me when emotions threaten to overwhelm me. But this...this was revenge. This list was secretly a weapon to hurt in my own way, though I camouflaged it for myself by calling it communication.

I'll ask him to write his own list about me.

Adults should recognize this as a dangerous need to keep score. As children, keeping score was making sure you got a treat for every time your siblings got one. Or, having hurt a sibling, you gave them a "free pass" to hurt you so they wouldn't run and tell mom. I was giving him a free pass to hurt me as I intended to hurt him.

I wonder what his list will look like?

I knew he'd never write the list. It wasn't who he was. I started imagining what things I did that hurt, that offended. The things I took for granted. The times I didn't consider his feelings.

The boys need me now, I'll do this later.

I was mercifully interrupted by my duties as a mother. I never did write that list...and never have, though I've been tempted to on many occasions. As I went about my day, I thought more and more about what his list would look like about me, and I began to feel remorseful. No one is perfect, and the humbling effect of having the mirror angled instead at myself made me retrieve the notebook paper once again.

To the Window!

October 10th marked two months since Eli was laid-off, his second lay-off this year from the same company. His decision to go back after the first lay-off illustrates how difficult these decisions can be. The company paid so well, and had such great hours and benefits that we felt it deserved another try. I guess if you never take risks in life you could spend years wondering what if? And you most likely wouldn't stumble upon the surprising successes that come from them.

Eli made the difficult decision to contact an old machining employer about a job last week. Going back to a job he had left in hopes of a better opportunity was a last resort. However, as soon as he set up a meeting with them he was contacted by a guy from the molding job he had found during his first lay-off in January, asking if he still wanted to come back. They were getting busy and needed an extra hand. Eli decided to give the molding job preference if they wanted him. He waited to hear if he had the position before he told the machining company whether he would return or not. Early this week, the molding company called to say they filled the position with someone who had more experience. Within a day of that let down, the local ethanol plant contacted Eli asking if he'd like to interview there. A couple days later they offered Eli a job. He starts work Tuesday next week! He'll have only a ten minute commute to work! Strangely enough, Eli had not applied there since January, and hadn't considered them a possibility this time.

The way this has all played out has almost been like watching an expert game of chess...pieces that don't seem to be moving into the right places at first end up being in the right places at the right times. And while it's too early to know if this is an opened window or a hallway leading to a different window of opportunity, it's at least a step forward. Our house hunting probably won't be resumed for a while now...though we may have to invest in a larger set of bunk beds as the boys' room is currently at its maximum occupancy. At every turn, when we tried to step forward, the Hand of God redirected us. Some lessons are hard to learn, but God always provides. It just may not be in the way we expect.

I can't thank you all enough for your prayers and every single way you've helped us during this time. We have been blessed with the most generous family and friends, and a lifetime of "paying it forward" will not cover what we owe. You all have my prayers, and if there's ever a way we can help, please ask!

The Thankful Tree

This is our Thankful Tree. It has graced our dining room table since mid-September.

Yes, I realize that it's not yet November, which has become popular as the month of counting your blessings. (Up until Black Friday, that is, when the spirit of greed, selfishness, and materialism seems to mostly take over.) Remembering to be thankful for what you have should be for every season, every day.

The first few weeks of school were rough here, and morale was low. We needed something as a reminder to look at all the lovely things we've been blessed with. When someone is down in the dumps and frustrated they're sent to the thankful tree to write a blessing on a leaf.

The tree is made from a volunteer chestnut tree which the squirrels planted in my flower bed and I snipped off. I stripped the branches of leaves and wrapped the "trunk" in copper craft wire. I put the tree in a pitcher and filled it with stones (agates, actually, from my collection) to support it. The leaves are made of scrapbook card stock and hung with hemp twine.

Our Thankful Tree has worked wonders to redirect moods and remind us how good we really have it.

Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance

This morning during my morning prayers I included all the mamas who have lost babies. Babies they may have never got to meet, or babies they had to say good-bye to far too soon. The pain never fully goes away. It forever changes you.

One in four pregnancies end in miscarriage or infant loss. Many women stay silent about their loss because it's uncomfortable to talk about; some may feel guilt, thinking it was caused by something they did wrong. Others know they'll be showered with sympathy, which just puts more emphasis on the pain they're trying to swim through. Its an awkward position feeling that pain and having to tell others, then feeling guilty about making them feel bad, and knowing they want so much to give you words of comfort but they really don't know what to say. Its just easier keeping quiet.

Life begins at conception. And all life has value, no matter how brief. We can't always know why some were given to us for such a short time, but have to trust in the plan that God has.

Whenever you think of it, be it today, tomorrow, next week, please say a Hail Mary for the mama's missing their babies. God's own Mother mourned the loss of her Son, and will obtain strength for those who grieve.

Remembering my lost babies today.
❤ March 8, 2008
❤ April 4, 2013

Dust if You Must

I recently ran across this poem, as unfolded laundry cascaded in a graceful mountain from tabletop, down chairs, to the floor, and dishes piled high, and dust went undusted for yet another week. I sat down to read instead, because despite the mess, my mind was uncharacteristically clear. I've had a hard time reading this past year...there's just too much on my mind, and while I read and read I find I can't remember a word my eyes just skimmed across. My Goodreads account remains barren of new books read, and the books I've started sit with only a few chapters digested. Guilt about so much to do left undone feeds a mental apathy about losing myself in a good book; and while I try to take time to write I feel like I'm playing hide and seek in the fog just to find a word.

Dust if You Must

Dust if you must, but wouldn't it be better
To paint a picture or write a letter,
Bake a cake or plant a seed,
Ponder the difference between want and need?

Dust if you must, but there's not much time,
With rivers to swim and mountains to climb,
Music to hear and books to read,
Friends to cherish and life to lead.

Dust if you must, but the world's out there,
With the sun in your eyes, the wind in your hair,
A flutter of snow, a shower of rain.
This day will not come around again.

Dust if you must, but bear in mind,
Old age will come and it's not kind.
And when you go -- and go you must --
You, yourself, will make more dust. 

Nature Therapy

These beautiful fall days are flying by and will all too soon come to an end. I can feel it in my bones. I've been experiencing small flickers of anxiety when it becomes overcast and I can feel the downward pull of the ever-shortening days. Being outside as much as possible is the best therapy, but I need constant reminders of this. It's especially hard to pull myself out when there are never-ending chores that need tending to indoors. The key word here: never-ending. If I only did things once the chores were done I'd never do anything but chores. Such is reality.

We stood outside for several minutes a couple weeks ago watching the Lunar Eclipse. We had an impromptu science class about what an eclipse is and how often they happen. The excitement expressed by the boys in learning these things is really quite contagious.

Gavin went with Eli and my brother Joe grape hunting for Joe's wine-making around the same time. They came home with yards of grapevine for me. The little things that warm my heart! Time to start making Christmas gifts! Eli helped me wind all the vine into a rain barrel to soak and make it pliable enough to form into a wreath.

Piles of chestnuts or buckeyes have been falling from the tree in our yard. I collected a pail of them and hope to make a large rosary out of them again. Joe and I made one as a gift for our parents when I was in high school, and it hangs on their dining room wall to this day. They come pre-polished and with gorgeous color.

The boys and I also got the garden mostly cleared out. The composter, if it could, would surely be groaning with a full belly. It's funny how big of a change a month makes here. I left the carrots in for now. The first frost helps to sweeten them. I also left the bell peppers as long as they can hang on, though they're looking pretty tough, and some spinach and onions reseeded themselves. Our cherry tomato bush is also still producing tomatoes. They are missed the most in the cold months, and if I had the room I would definitely try to grow them indoors through the winter.

I still need to clear the flower bed on the street-facing side of the house, but the porch-flanking sunflowers have been dug up and seeds collected for planting next spring. I also saved seeds from the gorgeous red poppies that mysteriously sprang up in the garden mid-summer. The boys "helped" with the seed collecting as part of science class.

I hope to preserve the geraniums and fuchsia by bringing them inside before the frost. I transplanted the geraniums from the whiskey barrel planter into pots and have been studying the weather forecast each evening to make sure they don't get nipped by frost.

The boy's new favorite play things outside are the thousands of leaves accumulating on the lawn. They drag out all the rakes and spend hours making piles and destroying them. Over and over and over. It's cheap entertainment, let me tell you.

Aidan found this little guy, who was not shy at all, depositing nuts all over our yard. Aidan got within three feet of him before I warned him to back off. I had a vivid vision of the flying squirrel attaching itself to Aidan's face. Rabies ensued.

The crisp fall air is refreshing and invigorating. I wish I could bottle it somehow. It's a perfect time of the year for long walks. Each season comes with it's own special beauty and purpose. Such beauty can only give us an infinitesimal glimpse of the glory and wonder of God. Remembering to be thankful for that is a blessing.