Abortion
I haven't addressed controverial issues on this blog, but this post by Dean Esmay struck a chord. Even when I was a young, budding feminist and unduly influenced by popular opionions, I had mixed emotions about abortion. I'm sure it was related to the sense of horror I felt when I learned about abortion as a young teen from reading a Life magazine article about back alley butchers. We were a family that loved babies, and we still do. As I grew older, several women confided in me their post-abortion pain. Every single one was given no choice by the father. One was taken to another state by her husband, crying the whole way. She told the doctor she did not want an abortion but she was given no choice.

I am against abortion on demand. How can any thinking rational person claim this is not a baby; but even if you remove the inflammatory "killing babies" statement from a discussion of abortion, why do we never hear about the lasting emotional damage to the mother?

Feathered Friends
Yesterday I watched a meadowlark outside the window. At first I thought it was a goldfinch because of the bright yellow, but it was much much too big for a finch. Steve also saw it recently in the same area, so perhaps it has made a nest nearby. Today we discovered that a sparrow made a nest and laid one egg on the top of the tool chest in the garage. Now what do we do? Usually we close the door unless we are working around the yard. I guess we will have to leave it open long enough for mama to feed the baby when it hatches. I thought I saw a hummingbird in the flower garden, but it turned out to be a hummingbird moth.

UPDATE: I just walked outside in time to see a male and a female redwing blackbird chase a blue heron out of the pond where their nest is.

Mom's home!
81 years old and she can still safely drive 12 hours to visit her family; she even handled a minor car repair on the way. I can't wait until she moves back. Does anyone want to buy a retirement home in the Ozarks?

So far she has watched her grandchild play her last tennis match of high school, attended her 64th class reunion, attended the confirmation of her great-grandchild, celebrated the graduation of her grandchild. Yesterday we visited while everyone else was working and today my sister, my mother and I are either going on a garden walk (if good weather) or to the Art Museum (if foul weather).

Farewell Middle School
This is the last week of middle school for my boys. They are off to the Freshman Campus of the high school next fall. When I was in school (and the earth's crust was cool not warm then) most of my classmates were given 8th grade graduation parties with nice watches or pens to commemorate the accomplishment. I can't believe I have a foot in a world that celebrated 8 years of education and the other foot in a world that expects college or even graduate school. My parents, by the way, had both of their feet in the college expectation world.

The principal and assistant principal were chatting with me the other day about my boys' middle school exploits. One said, "There are certain kids you never forget, and I will always remember these boys." But then he added, "That can be good or bad." He assured me it was good.

Show Choir
Ricky auditioned for the JV Show Choir and was selected. Given the aggressiveness of many of the stage mothers, I'm so proud of Ricky for doing this on his own.

It was a fun week of entertaining, culminating in a "tea" Sunday for my sister, her husband and another couple, except I forgot to restock my tea supplies so we had coffee spiked with Amaretto. No one complained.

Now it's time to tackle some of the jobs that have been piling up. The swimming pool needs opened, but there are numerous tree frogs clinging to the sides with thousands of tadpoles in the water. Before I dump the chemicals in the pool, I need to move as many frogs and tadpoles as I can to our pond.

Steve and the boys started the spring mowing at the Highlands (our tree farm) last weekend and yesterday Steve and I spent four hours clearing brambles between the trees. It was hot, hard, dirty work, but we were compensated by the beautiful day, the aerial antics of the birds, the companionship of quiet work with someone you love, and a large section of cleared land. I think our society is poorer for the loss of working hard together as a family to benefit the family unit.

Women Friends
I am so blessed to have close women friends. This morning I hosted the book club (9 women) and tonight my women's group is meeting here for dinner (9 women, no overlap). The house is clean, the table is set, food prep is done and I have about ten free minutes.

When I was going through a rough time after losing my job, my counselor gave me another way to think about myself. She said people are attracted to like people, so consider my friends - their intellect, humor, grace, kindness, integrity, joy in life - and then try to apply those attributes to myself and see if they stick.

Oh, the comfort,
the inexpressible comfort
of feeling safe with a person:
having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words,
but to pour them out,
just as they are,
chaff and grain together,
knowing that a faithful hand will take and sift them,
keep what is worth keeping,
and then, with the breath of kindness,
blow the rest away.

George Eliot

Now I remember why I will never work again for a company with an HR department.

Half Boy
The Amish in the area have a saying about having boys work for you: One boy, one boy. Two boys, half boy. Three boys, no boy. That means with twin boys, I only have half a boy. And that was their level of judgment tonight.

One twin is careful and precise; the other is impulsive. One has the privilege of using the riding mower while we are still working on the driving skills of the other.

Steve is paddling in Michigan, so I left the boys by themselves while I ran some errands and picked up a pizza. What a bucolic scene when I left: the sun just came out after the rain and the boys were playing catch. When I got home less than an hour later, that sure had changed.

While I was gone, they decided to mow the meadow even though they are not allowed to use power machines or tools without supervision and the careful twin decided he was going to teach the impulsive twin how to drive. When I pulled in the driveway, the mower was going 90 miles an hour (at least that’s what it seemed like) with the impulsive boy driving while the careful boy was hanging on the back yelling for him to stop. Well, stop they did. Stopped by the large trailer full of stone. No one was hurt, thank God. The mower has a huge dent in the front and the hood doesn’t close, but it still runs. They wanted to fix it after dinner with a hammer, but I thought enough damage was done.

Now what I don’t understand was their reaction. “Boy, are we going to be in trouble with Dad.” What about the trouble they were in with me? Somehow Dad’s discipline counts more than Mom’s.

Garden Party
The first guest arrived at 8 am, an hour early. I put her to work getting ready for 38 women, 1 man and 4 children. Most left around noon with trunks packed with new plants, but family stuck around and talked until about 1:30. At 2:30, my last guest arrived. She had a conflict in the morning but dropped by with her husband and children (not included in guest count). We caught tadpoles and I showed them the Stupid Catfish Trick.

I’m exhausted from getting ready, hosting such a large group, and the heat of the day, and I still have most of my booty to plant. My sister, who knows me well, brought me a hostess gift I’ve long wanted - a tree peony. That baby went in the garden right away, after I removed an English rose that had reverted to rootstock. During the exchange I received a toad lily, Basket of Gold, aster, white daylily, 3 pussy willows, a different type of sedum, catnip for King Kitty, ornamental pepper, white loosestrife (yes I know it will need contained somehow), bee balm plus more. As one guest put it, “I know spring has arrived.”

Another friend gave me a new book, "Passalong Plants," which I'm anxious to read. But first I must finish "The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down," an excellent book we are reading for book club next week.

Annual Perennial Garden Party
Tomorrow is my annual perennial garden party. At the break of day, about 25 women are bringing starts from their garden and sharing with each other. They are also providing a bountiful breakfast feast. All I have to do is clean my house, garden and garage (in case of rain).

My husband wonders why I entertain because I go into a frenzy (thereby throwing the household into a frenzy) getting ready. He doesn't understand that such events force me to wash the windows, clean the door sills and all those things that get overlooked in my regular housekeeping routine.

And I love this garden party. I invite friends from church, from book club, from Group (I really should share about Group), from former jobs, from family, and lifelong friends. And I encourage them to invite their friends and family. We all share a passion for plants, and it's fun watching these bright, interesting beautiful women connect with flowers as the icebreaker.

Another joy is the young women who come to get plants for their first gardens and then getting updates from them as the years pass. They are the most enthusiastic because the wonder of gardening is still fresh.

Well, off to untangle the cords under the PC (as if someone will look or even care tomorrow.)

Erotica
On the way home from the Spring Fine Arts Festival at the middle school, one son and a neighbor boy climbed to the very back of the Suburban. Son asked if he could turn on the reading light because he wanted to read the Bible to his friend. Of course, I gave permission. Glancing in the rearview mirror, though, my mother instincts went on full alert when I saw them huddled together whispering.

"What are you reading?"

"Proverbs."

Good. Wisdom literature. Practical life stuff. "Read it to me, please," I ask.

So he read Proverbs 5:19:

As a loving hind and a graceful doe,
Let her breasts satisfy you at all times;
Be exhilarated always with her love.

At bedtime, I explained that this passage was about remaining faithful to your wife, so it was good, wise and practical stuff for a 14 year old to ponder.

Foraging
Under the influence of my sister's friend Kathy and after reading this blog, here is the menu I planned for dinner: chicken casserole, garlic mustard greens, cattail shoots and a salad with redbud blossoms. My husband noticed the menu on the counter among my other lists and said, "Well, the chicken casserole sounds good." I did serve the cattail shoots and we all decided that it was rather tasteless.

Food Chain
As I bent to pull a weed from under my daylilies, I sensed a snake nearby that seemed to have a puffed up head like a cobra. With a scream, I leaped out of the garden bed and the males of my house came running. Looking closer, we discovered a smallish garter snake with a large toad in its mouth.

My inclination was to pick up the snake and shake the toad out. I just finished reading "A Country Year" by Sue Hubbell and she used this technique to rescue a baby phoebe, knowing that "As a human being I am a great meddler; I fiddle, alter, modify. This is neither good nor bad, merely human, in the same way that the snake who eats mice and phoebes is merely serpentish. But being human I have the kind of mind which can recognize that when I fiddle and twitch any part of the circle there are reverberations throughout the whole."

So I did not meddle this time, partly because Steve said the toad would not live anyway. We watched off and on the whole day; the neighbor boys came over to check it out. The boys were setting odds on whether the snake could swallow the toad. We never found out. The next day all evidence was gone.

Both garter snakes and toads are beneficial in the garden. I'm glad they are there, but I wish they would stay in their own 'hoods.

Big Man on Campus
Ricky went with his church group to a large gathering (hundreds) of middle schoolers at Indiana Wesleyan College Friday and Saturday. Here are the reports I got:

"Ricky knew everyone--kids, adults and even the college students."

"Ricky was introducing people to other people all night long."

"Other youth pastors were seeking me out because they wanted to meet Ricky's youth pastor."

He came home with screen names written all up and down his arms and phone numbers in his pocket.

Our greatest strength is often our greatest weakness. Ricky's social skills will serve him well (and I'm curious to see how his life turns out), as long as socialization doesn't interfere with the task at hand. "Talks too much" was written on almost every report card he received in grade school.

Burgundy leaves, pink flower spikes and fragrant!
Half of my Wayside Garden order arrived today. I planted three cimicifuga in my already crowded shade garden. I just can't resist fragrant plants, though I did not pay $20 a plant.

Does He or Doesn't He?
Rick is interested in his appearance; Ron much less so. For several years, Rick has asked to dye his hair, to which the standard parental response is, "And you want a tatoo and nose ring too?" Recently I told him that the next time I touch up my hair, I will use what's left on his hair. He has beautiful thick dark brown hair, with lots of body and a little curl. I suspect he imagined this would change to thick spiky light blonde hair. Well, we did it last night with L'Oreal dark golden blonde. After 5 minutes into the 30 minute processing stage, he complained that it itched. (I understated his histrionics.) Concerned that he may be having an allergic reaction, I rinsed his hair. The change was very subtle, almost like highlights. I like it. He is disappointed. Now he says that it didn't itch that bad and we need to let the dye stay on longer. Maybe next time. Maybe not. But there are no tatoos or body piercings in his future.

Does anyone want an update on garlic mustard?
It is in full bloom and will soon go to seed. This weed propagates fast. Only a small portion of the woods is not weeded yet. I can knock that out in two hours in the morning. When I wandered through the "clean" areas, however, instead of finding a luxuriant two-foot plant, I found scrawny 2-inch plants hiding their blooms under other foliage. These suckers are intent on setting seed. Can I out-stubborn them?

Due to how fast the mustard was growing, I had to stop clearing the brambles as I weeded. So now I have scratches all over my arms and legs where I've plunged into the midst of raspberry, wild rose and gooseberry brambles to dig up the mustard. One son told me it was a losing battle, but I put him to work anyway.

Recessive Craft Gene
I must have a recessive craft gene because this scrapbooking thing is difficult. My friend and I were the only ones in the scrapbooking class, so I was able to ask a lot of questions. The teacher made it seem easy and fun. I sorted the Oregon pictures and memorabilia over the weekend so I have a rough idea of the layouts. Today I spent lots of money on paper and the basic supplies. Tonight I've just sorted the paper, admired the colors and textures, but was unable to cut and glue. Maybe the muse will hit tomorrow.

This morning Rick tells me in a panic that he is auditioning for show choir today and he needs music. He has not selected a song. He has no music. He has not practiced. I encouraged him to sing "Down In the River to Pray" from "O Brother Where Art Thou." He performed it a cappella in a talent contest last year. What else could I do?

Spring Fun
We spent most of the weekend outside. After cleaning the barn at the Highlands Friday night, parents challenged sons to a full court basketball game. Thanks to Steve, it was a tie game. He kept feeding me easy lay-ups (my only shot) but few went in. And yes, I did run (or walk) the full court but I'm sure it wasn't a pretty sight.

After a day of errands, soccer games and bread-making on Saturday, we cooked dinner over an open fire at The Property. I saved some dough to fry over the fire and we make an egg/potato/sausage dish. We also cooked apples in foil. While we ate, we built up the fire and watched the wind make the fire burn hot. On the way home, Ron said in a creaky old man’s voice, “Why, when I was a youngster, we used to have campfires.” He will remember these times, even though he thought he wanted to play video games instead.

The rains came, soft and gentle and constant, all day yesterday. So back to digging garlic mustard this morning before heading off to Mothers In Touch and then the funeral home to pay respect to my good friend's father and to comfort her as best I can. Tonight I start a new hobby (as if I needed something else) by attending a beginning scrapbooking class with a friend. My goal is to complete a scrapbook of our epic trip to Oregon last year. The raw materials include lots of pictures, my husband's journal and memorabilia from the trip.

Garlic Mustard
I've resisted posting on this topic again even though every spare moment for the last eight days has been spent digging out the vicious little weeds. I heard tonight that it is edible. I'll double check, but I would take great pleasure in letting them know I am on top of the food chain even though I'm not dominant in the woods.

Another Garden Vignette
Along the driveway, between the meadow and Usually Not Creek, wander to the north and this is what you see:

Grape hyacinths blanket the small strip of grass between the driveway and woods.

Daffodills start at the edge the woods and continue as far as you can see. Bright yellow with large trumpets; soft yellow, almost white, with ruffled trumpets; double whites; soft yellow with bright yellow trumpets; medium yellow with orange trumpets. Don't look too closely or you will discover they are starting to wilt. Just enjoy the splash of color.

Next to the meadow the forsythia's bright yellow blooms pick up the daffodil colors. It has been a good year for forsythia.

As you enter the woods, look down. Virginia bluebells, with reddish purple buds, burst into clear blue blooms. They are starting to spread down the slope to the creek.

Hyacinths bloom at the edge of the woodland path, reminders of past Februaries when I could not resist buying a touch of spring. Most are purple with several pink scattered throughout. Forced bulbs usually do not do well, but these provide a decent display for a woodland garden.

Now for the wildflowers. Trilliums are just starting to bloom. Trout lilies carpet the ground with their spotted leaves, but no sign of the yellow blooms. Violets galore - purple, white and yellow. The bloodroot blooms are finished but their attractive leaves are large and showy. Mayapples grow in clumps around the woods. Look close and you may find a wild ginger with its unusual brown flower. Of course, spring beauties rival the violets carpeting the woodland floor.

And the understory canopy drips shocking pink of the redbud softened by the white of the dogwood blooms. I love spring!

UPDATE: Redbuds do not drip; wisteria drips. After observing the scene again, the last paragraph should read: "And floating above are the shocking pink blooms of redbud softened by the white of the dogwood blooms."

Storms
The storms raged all around but we got very little rain. In fact, I moved a leaf this morning and the ground was dry and cracked underneath. Just several miles away, there is flooding. There is a slight chance of rain this afternoon and then clear again.

I was sitting in the parking lot of school waiting for the bus to deliver Ricky and the track team when the tornado sirens went off. It was dark to the south but the stars were twinkling to the north. We live north of the school. The kids piled out of the bus, adrenaline rushing, as if middle schoolers need more adrenaline. Parents were rushing them to the cars, or rather SUVs, creating more excitement. The air was crackling.

Pink, White and Shades of Green
When I walk out my front door, here's what I see in the roughly triangular garden edged by driveway, house and front sidewalk.

The base is green. Height is supplied by two dwarf evergreens and mass is from the blue-green succulent leaves of Autumn Joy sedum. Contrasting this height and mass are the ferny green leaves of Achillea filipendula "Coronation Gold" (yarrow), the ruffled variegated foliage of Aquilegia (Columbine), the grassy, low, blue-green foliage of Dianthus (pinks or carnations) and the spikey foiiage of Siberian iris. Other plants are emerging to provide a background of different shades and textures of foliage. The green foliage is broken up with several dwarf red barberry bushes.

Four varieties of tulips are blooming. Angelique are soft pink and white with a creamy base. The other two tall tulips are a clear medium pink and a dark pink, almost purple. The last tulip is "Persian Pearl," a small hot pink species tulip. Interspersed among the tulips are pure white hyacinths.

None of these plants are unusual. The aesthetic is from the combination and this year's unique blooming times. With a hot dry spring, the tulips are blooming with the hyacinths and the foliage has shot up. I may not see this combination again.

Grubbing
One advantage of going over every square inch of three acres looking for garlic mustard is the micro view I'm getting of the woods. Especially interesting is the changes in soil and the emerging plants. Soon I will have mayapples, solomon seal, false solomon seal. I just hope I'm not disturbing the morel mushrooms that were so abundant last year. Of course, this may not be a good year for mushrooms unless we get more of those April showers. It is so dry.

Spring Day
Sunny. Warm. Daffodils and forsythia in full color. Grass starting to green. I found a few early wildflowers in our woods - bloodroot, trout lily, violets.

I spent most of the day in the woods, grubbing out the pernicious garlic mustard and digging up any multiflora rose and other brambles that I ran into. I am scratched, my wrist is aching, I probably have poison ivy, I am tired. So why do I feel so alive?

Meme

From Sand in the Gears


"If he'd ever in his life hoped for benevolence it must have been on the queasy trot up to the locker room for the midgame pep talk, but his hopes had a hideous end."
-- Peace Like a River by Leif Enger

Now you try:
1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 23.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.

The first book I grabbed, A Country Year by Sue Hubbell, only had three sentences on page 23. My book club is discussing this book on Friday. I read it when I turned 50 and it helped me discover how I wanted to live the latter years of my mid-life.

How to Stress Teenagers
On the way to church last night, Rick stated, "Mom, you and Dad really stress my brother and me." My heart drops because I work hard to make our home a sanctuary, a safe place, a refuge from the world for my family. The only way we may put stress on them is ...

"Because we make you do your schoolwork, clean your room, do your chores?" Silence.

"Well, you do nag us."

"If you do it when we ask...or even do it without asking, the problem is solved, " I respond ever so rationally letting that word "nag" fall into the netherland even though I hate hate hate that word.

I hear the gears whirling as he figures out how to backpedal.

"No, it's not the work. I like doing the work. It's just that when I get home, you ask me in a sweet voice, 'How was school today?' and I'm almost 15 and that's my business."

"OK. From now on I will ask you 'How was school today?' in a mean voice."