Lift Up Your Hearts!

(photo taken shortly after birth) 

Jeremiah Patrick Daley
Born 13 February 2013, 3 a.m.
Weight: 8 pounds, 2 ounces
Length: 20.5 inches

Having given birth five times, Heather could call herself an old hand at the whole pregnancy-birth-newborn process.  It's lovely to see the calm, matter-of-fact confidence that experience brings.  Sometimes, however, we get a gentle reminder that nothing should be taken for granted when it comes to babies.

Heather "always" goes into labor late.  Isaac came two days past his due date, and he was followed by Jonathan, Noah, and Faith, every single one of whom came exactly five days late.  True, Joy was then three days early, but there was some uncertainty about her due date that led Heather to believe that she was probably late as well.

Hence the confidence with which we scheduled our flights to New Hampshire a mere six days before the due date for the next baby.  Hence Heather's comfort when plans outside of their control had Jon returning from Seattle only a week before the date.  Hence a great deal of scrambling when Heather called, a full nine days early, to announce the early signs of labor. (More)

If I'd known, I'd have mailed a package to Switzerland last week.

The cost of mailing packages overseas has gone up—a lot.  The Priority Mail Large Video Box (O-1096L), about which I raved in Great News for Those with Family Overseas, is now a whopping $23.95.  How can the government keep pretending inflation is low when the price for this governmental service has nearly doubled in two years?

It's still cheaper than a flight overseas, but not nearly so much fun.  Good thing Vivienne's birthday isn't a week later!

The bathroom itself is still under construction, but the shower was finished and functional in time for Christmas.  Porter and our neighbor did the construction, and if you have any questions about building a shower, Porter can tell you plenty that he wished he'd known before starting.

But isn't it gorgeous?  We put the seat and grab bars in with an eye to the future (and specifically for Porter's father's Christmas visit), but we find them helpful even now.  I love the handheld showerhead, and am lobbying for one in the other bathroom, too.  (Click on pictures to enlarge.)

In the midst.  Not pretty.  That worm-like thing in the second picture is a root.

The result!

Sometimes guilelessness can be cluelessness.  Sometimes it can be hurtful, too:  the art of the polite compliment is not one of my husband's strengths, and he is consititutionally unable to "throw" a game, even if his opponent is a small child.  But in a world of deception, the honesty is refreshing and reassuring.  If he says something nice to you, you know he means it; and if you beat him in a game—well, that's quite an accomplishment, much cherished by the more competitive members of our family.  At Thanksgiving, when much of his time is spent playing games with our nephews, I believe their goal is never so much to win as to "beat Uncle Porter."

And this is (one of the reasons) why I love him:  My brother came for a visit during the time our bathroom was radically torn up, with all but the necessary accoutrements removed.  We cleaned up before he arrived, but put only the minimal, essential articles back, since there was more work to be done after he left.  I noticed that Porter had included among the "necessary items" a clock that my brother had given us.  "That was thoughtful," I commended him, "remembering to put back D's clock for his visit."  Puzzled, he replied, "For his visit?  I put it out because I use it."

I often puzzle about what makes me happy.  What do I enjoy, what do I find to be fun, what conditions make me stop and think, almost with a start, "I am happy"?

It's surprisingly difficult to discern.  So what I'm going to try to do this year is make a note of those moments, and the circumstances under which they occurred.  It goes without saying that many, more fundamental factors undergird this happiness, but what I'm seeking at this point is the extras that bring the joy bubbling to the surface.

Today, for example, I felt the surge of joy for "no particular reason"  My father-in-law was reading contentedly in his recliner chair; my husband working away in his office (perhaps not so contentedly, but without obvious signs of discontent); I was unhurriedly working ("labor without perturbation") on bringing order to the house and organization to the New Year (activities I always find quietly satisfying if I am not under time pressure); there was good music playing in the background, including recently (thanks to the random selection of our music player) a selection from the soundtrack to Local Hero, which always makes me smile, because it makes me think of my brother and how blessed I am to have such a wonderful family (even though it's a bittersweet joy as I grieve once again that we are so far apart); and I smiled again at the memory of a three-way phone call with our children.

A full cup of quiet happiness is hard to beat.

Three years ago, I took a look at my reading habits and discovered to my shock that—avid bookworm though I am—my reading was disproportionately of blogs, news stories, online articles, and magazines, rather than of more substantial literature.  Therefore my first resolution of 2010 was to read more books.  Looking back at the end of that year, I pronounced the effort an unqualified success:  I had completed sixty-five books of great variety.

The next year, however, showed a different story.  Without a deliberate and conscious effort, my reading list for 2011 had shrunk to a mere thirty-three books.  I then resolved to do better in 2012, setting my goal at a moderate fifty-two, one for each week of the year.

Well, 2012 had its ups and downs, as the reading habit went.  When I realized in mid-December that I was still two months' worth of reading short, I nearly despaired.  But by searching out the shortest books on the shelves I was able to reach the goal.  I don't count it cheating, as they were genuinely on my "To Read" list, but I hope to pay more attention next year and not have to scramble at the end.

One book per week seems both reasonable and attainable, so that is my goal for 2013 as well.

Inspired by my sister-in-law (whose book total for this year is a mind-blowing 71), I've picked out my favorite books from 2012 (in alphabetical order); the following are the thirteen I gave five-star ratings.  I have no idea what the selection says about me.

• The Bone House by Stephen Lawhead
• Drive by Daniel H. Pink
• The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin
• Happier at Home by Gretchen Rubin
• How to Have a 48-Hour Day by Don Aslett
• The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot
• Leaving Microsoft to Change the World by John Wood
• Let the Baby Drive by Lu Hanessian
• Life Is So Good by George Dawson and Richard Glaubman
• Made to Stick by Chip Heath and Dan Heath
• Manalive by G. K. Chesterton
• Summer at Fairacre by Miss Read  
• Switch by Chip Heath and Dan Heath

Here's the whole list, sorted alphabetically.  A chronological listing, with links, is here.

1. The American Adventure #8: Smallpox Strikes by Norma Jean Lutz
2. The American Adventure #9: Maggie's Choice by Norma Jean Lutz
3. The American Adventure #14: Earthquake in Cincinnati by Bonnie Hinman  
4. The American Adventure #16: Escape from Slavery by Norma Jean Lutz  
5. The American Adventure #17: Cincinnati Epidemic by Veda Boyd Jones  
6. The American Adventure #37: The Flu Epidemic by JoAnn A. Grote  
7. The American Adventure #38: Women Win the Vote by JoAnn A. Grote 
8. The Bone House by Stephen Lawhead
9. A Boy's War by David Michell
10. Drive by Daniel H. Pink  
11. Earthen Vessels by Matthew Lee Anderson  
12. Everybody's Normal Till You Get to Know Them by John Ortberg  
13. Except the Dying by Maureen Jennings
14. Favorite Celtic Fairy Tales by Joseph Jacobs
15. The Five Little Peppers and How They Grew by Margaret Sidney
16. From Pearl Harbor to Calvary by Mitsuo Fuchida (audio book)  
17. The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin
18. Haiku, Origami, and More by Judith May Newton and Mayumi Tabuchi  
19. Half the Sky by Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn Rubin  
20. Happier at Home by Gretchen Rubin  
21. Hoi: Your Swiss German Survival Guide by Sergio J. Lievano and Nocole Egger
22. How to Have a 48-Hour Day by Don Aslett  
23. The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot
24. In the Name of Jesus by Henri Nouwen
25. The Introvert Advantage by Marti Olsen Laney
26. Irish Fairy Tales by Philip Smith
27. Leaving Microsoft to Change the World by John Wood 
28. The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Rip van Winkle by Washington Irving
29. Let the Baby Drive by Lu Hanessian  
30. Life Is So Good by George Dawson and Richard Glaubman  
31. Luke's Story by Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins  
32. Made to Stick by Chip Heath and Dan Heath  
33. Manalive by G. K. Chesterton
34. Mark's Story by Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins
35. A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller
36. Miracles by Tim Stafford  
37. No, We Can't by Robert Stearns  
38. Quiet by Susan Cain  
39. Scaling Down by Judi Culbertson and Marj Decker
40. Scottish Fairy Tales by Donald A. Mackenzie 
41. The Skin Map by Stephen Lawhead (audio book)  
42. Sink Reflections by Marla Cilley  
43. Spiritual Formation by Henri Nouwen  
44. Summer at Fairacre by Miss Read  
45. The Stories of Emmy by Doris Smith Naundorf  
46. Switch by Chip Heath and Dan Heath  
47. When to Speak Up and When to Shut Up by Michael D. Sedler  
48. Wonderful Fool by Shusaku Endo  
49. The Xenophobe's Guide to the Americans by Stephanie Faul  
50. The Xenophobe's Guide to the Canadians by Vaughn Roste  
51. The Xenophobe's Guide to the Japanese by Sahoko Kaji, Noriki Hama, and Jonathan Rice  
52. The Xenophobe's Guide to the Swiss by Paul Bilton

No, not that Christmas Miracle.

It was The Christmas Without Stress.  Or at least a whole lot less.

The day before was stressful enough, if fun, with a last-minute change of plans that resulted in our spending a full day at Sea World with our guests, followed by a late-night Christmas Eve service and a going-to-bed time of well after midnight.  The last's enough to stress me out all by itself.  But the service was beautiful and relaxed, because our big Christmas choir event had been Lessons and Carols earlier in the month, and the next morning was peaceful.  The youngest child being 20, it was even quiet—and we had a leisurely day with rounds of opening presents punctuated by eating and highlighted by communications with family on two continents.  (Skype is God's gift to grandparents who can't be with their grandchildren on Christmas.)

I'm slowly learning to lower the pressure on myself.  Christmas cards are appreciated even if they arrive after December 25^th.  Guests are happy to visit even if the kitchen floor doesn't get mopped until after they arrive.  A good meal is not ruined by Pillsbury rolls instead of homemade bread.  And if some things don't get done, well, as our choir director—as calm and Christlike a man as I know—often says, "It is what it is."  Surprisingly often, that's okay.

Christmas dinner is often stressful, but I'm getting more relaxed about that, too, and this Christmas the kitchen elves pitched in at just right time with just the right help.  It didn't hurt that the roast beef came out beautifully, evenly rare.

Labor without perturbation, readiness without hurry, no haste and no hesitation (George MacDonald) is still my goal.  The miracle is that this year I came a little closer.

I don't deny that the world might end today; it's going to end sometime.  I knew one guy who would occasionally look up at an impressive looking sky and say, "That would be a good cloud for the Lord to return on!"  But he knew better than to predict a specific day.  What floors me is the number of people who scorn those who have listened to other "end of the world" predictions in the past, yet seriously think it might end today.  Oh, the power of rumor in the Internet Age!  Children have been calling NASA to ask the best way to euthanize their pets so they don't have to suffer through the end!  Where are these kids' parents, and what Kool-Aid have they been feeding their children?

Figuring the best way to counter nonsense is often to ignore it, that's what I'd planned to do, until my nephew came up with the best take on the situation, which he posted yesterday:

The end of the world is tomorrow.  I got my drivers permit today.  Does anyone else see a connection here?

Last year, my Christmas Eve post included the following comment.  It seems appropriate to offer a reprise today.

Nine Christmases ago, while the world was singing blithely of joyous birth, we were mourning the death of our first grandchild, whose last breath came but two days after his first.  The haunting Coventry Carol spoke to me then as none other.  This reminder that the First Christmas was not a facile Peace on Earth and Joy to the World, and that the first Christian martyrs were Jewish children, is for all who mourn this Christmas, especially those who have suffered the loss of a child.

Mea culpa!  It's been nearly a year since my post about Stephan's Dots book (numbers in four languages), and I never did update it with Joseph's response.  It was an immediate hit, and is still one of Joseph's very favorite books.

Here are a few videos showing Joseph and the book in action:

The book arrives!

The book has proved very durable under heavy use, and if the $70 cost seems extravagant, I'd say Joseph has definitely gotten his parents' money's worth already.

Update 10/16/19:  As has happened with several old posts containing videos, I'm pretty sure a chunck of the post between the video and the final sentence was accidentally removed in the process that switched the videos from Flash to <iframe>.  Someday I may try to recover them ... but realistically, probably not.

It's easy to request books from the library, but if others are in line before me, I never know when they will become available.  Three books, requested at different times and with different numbers of people ahead of me, suddenly became available at the same time—just before my trip to New Hampshire.  (Yes, I realize I haven't written about that yet....)  No problem, I thought.  I have two long plane rides, with intermediate stops, and I'm sleeping all by myself in the new house, so I'll have plenty of time to read.

I always think that, and it's never true.

The short version of the story is that I found myself with three books to read and four days before they were due back at the library.  And all of them so popular they couldn't be renewed, because you can't renew a book that has a hold on it.  The fine assessed for overdue books isn't large, but when people are waiting, I feel an obligation to be on time.

Four days, 750 pages, three reviews.  What is this, college?

Actually, the third review is only half done.  Last night I hurriedly typed in the quotations I had marked for the last book (I hope they're legible; I realized at one point that I'd typed a sentence with my fingers skewed on the keyboard), then jumped in the car and made it to the library five minutes before closing.  But when you get an extension on a paper deadline, the first thing you do isn't sit down and finish the paper.  (Wait.  Maybe that's why I didn't do better in college.)

On Sunday we went to a picnic that we attend annually.  The food's great, and the people pleasant, but even though the friends are mostly Porter's, I always feel that I should, as my father put it, "be more sociable." Thus I rarely do what i'd prefer to do on a sunny day in the park:  read a book.  But I was under the gun this time, so I brought one with me to read on the car ride.  I chatted happily during the meal, but when we were finished eating and the others at my table had drifted off to other activities and conversations, I once again pulled out my book.

One of my favorite truisms about the difference between introverts and extroverts is this:  An extrovert believes it's okay to interrupt someone sitting and reading, on the grounds that that person is surely only reading because he has no one to talk to.

Sure enough, I had read not one page when someone came and sat down with me, wanting to know what I was reading, and why.  I didn't really mind the interruption, as she was a pleasant person, so I explained the situation.  She was sympathetic, and soon left me to my book, but not without shaking her head incredulously at the idea that I would write a book review when no one was paying me for it.

Sometimes I wonder myself.

Photo credit Grammy (probably)

I keep writing about our new church while the main post of introduction is still rambling about in my head.  But so it goes sometimes.

Today we celebrated Feast of Saint Francis with the Blessing of the Animals.  Although we've been in several churches that observe this practice, this is the first in which the blessing was done during the service, and thus the first we've experienced.  (It's technically not true that we have no pets, but I declined to bring our uncountable number of worms—well over 2000, I believe, and they don't stay still enough to count; plus, they keep hatching.)

For the occasion, we combined our two services into one, and held it outdoors in the warm (but not too hot) Florida sunshine.  The rest of the service was a normal, Episcopal, mostly Rite II worship service.  The Blessing of the Animals occurred after the Passing of the Peace and before the Eucharist.  (And in case you were wondering, after touching all those animals, the priests did wash their hands before serving Communion.)

By far the majority of the beasts were dogs, but I also saw cats and rats (but no elephants) and birds, including an owl (barn owl, I think, but I didn't ask), which came with someone who works at a birds of prey rescue center.  And, there was ... a snake.  A sweet little corn snake, and not only did both priests handle it, one let it climb around over his neck.  So yes, we are now attending a church of snake handlers. 

Through the magic of YouTube I can also include a record, for myself if no one else, of the two anthems we sang.  Not of us singing them, however.

First,  Praise His Holy Name by Keith Hampton.

[Update 10/11/2019.  I'm pretty sure there was orginally more post between this and the final paragraph, but it seems to have disappeared.]

And those who know me well will get an inkling of why I love this church when I say that I happened to be standing right in front of the speaker (this being an outdoor service, we relied on an electronic keyboard for accompaniment), and while I would rather have not been so close, it was bearable, even without earplugs, unlike many of my previous experiences.

It's been the required eight weeks since I last gave blood, so I made an appointment to do so.  It's pretty convenient now; you can do it online, and there's a Big Red Bus scheduled to be nearby at frequent intervals.

I have been tempted to ask if they handle the blood better than other aspects of the donation process.  Tempted, but I haven't given in, there being no point in unnecessarily angering the person who's about to plunge a needle into my arm.  But I do wonder sometimes.

My appointment was for Friday, at our local Best Buy parking lot.  When I received my appointment confirmation, I was confused, because the address they gave me was not the Best Buy address.  Nevertheless, I was assured that the bus would be at Best Buy.  And, indeed, there was a big red vehicle in sight as I approached, but it proved on closer inspection to be a Budweiser truck, which deals in a different sort of liquid altogether.

I decided to check out the actual address I had been given, but the bus wasn't there, either.  "Weren't you informed?" asked the friendly person on the other end of the phone when I called the blood center.  "The drive was changed to Sunday."  No, I had not been informed, unless you count the e-mail I had received on Friday, reminding me of my appointment.  It was simply a form notification, which I hardly looked at, as Google Calendar had been there, done that for me already.  My mistake, I suppose, because although nothing was said about a date change, the e-mail did have Sunday as my appointment date.

No problem, though, just about 20 minutes of time wasted.  I returned today, and there, where it was supposed to be, was the blood bus.  It was busy but not crowded, and all went almost smoothly.

I say almost, because as I said last time, they wanted details for all of my trips overseas.  It shouldn't have been a big deal, since I was prepared this time with the dates of my Swiss trips.  (I'll admit to being a little fuzzy on the number and extent of side trips to Germany, France, and Italy, which are always a few hours here, a few hours there.)  So I was surprised when there seemed to be some concern, and the lady came back to me after consulting the master book, asking, "What cities, what regions did you visit?"  "All over the map," I replied, "but mostly in Basel and the Luzern area."  Back to the book she went.  Finally, she returned to me, with the page in question:  "We're concerned about malaria," she said.  "You see this region over near Mozambique...."  The light dawned.  "Switzerland," I sighed.  "Switzerland.  Not Swaziland."

After that, actually losing a pint of blood was a piece of cake.

Definitely not my kind of music.  But check out the guitar solo between 2:63 and 3:12.