Set Free

A Little Prayer for the Ministry Team

If you're the praying sort, would you think of The Princess this morning? After the bean supper at church last night, she expressed some feelings of sadness, and I realized that she misses the churches and people we have left behind. Interim Ministry is all about change, and we knew that, but this is the first time she has faced integrating into a new church without a brother or two along to make the adjustment with her.

My children made a shockingly smooth transition to being theological offspring when I graduated from seminary almost six years ago. They have spoken politely and with interest to countless adults, told the stories of where they go to school and about their extracurricular interests. They have done readings and worship dramas, but have stepped aside to let others have center "stage," too. They have sung and played instruments. They have waited patiently for their mother when "five more minutes" became thirty or forty-five or an hour.

Our new church family has been nothing but gracious; we're just experiencing a little homesickness for what we've left behind. And I guess that's the way it will be for us, if this is the path I'll be walking.

I guess you could throw in a little prayer for me, too.

(Sermon over here, if you are so inclined.)

Big Love

It's the name of the play, and it's the feeling this mother has about all three of her children, including the one who was far away while The Princess and I went to see #1 Son in his play at college.

As The Princess said, "It's the most inappropriate thing I've ever seen; it was great!"

After the show (which included brief nudity, lots of underwear, a fair amount of swearing and some very frank sexual talk, all of which overshadowed the violence...), the director moderated a question and answer session with the cast and designers.

#1 Son has been playing soft and/or smart characters all his acting life (since age 7). It was wonderful to see him take on the challenge of playing a forthright, macho "b@$tard @$$hole," as he put it, yet find that character's humanity. His big speech asked a question that has plagued me ever since we sent troops to Iraq: how can we expect people to turn on the fighting instinct when it feels expedient, then imagine it will be easy to simply turn that off when the war is over?

This morning we met early for breakfast at a Hiptastic town landmark. It's the first place I ever went in that town, years ago, and I'm delighted to see it open again after a fire in 2006.

The grandparents will see the play tonight; we do wonder how they will take it. But as #1 Son put it, "If I weren't in it, it would be different."

Indeed.

First and Last

The Princess and I will be on the road this morning to a Non-Contiguous New England State, on a visit to Hiptastic University. #1 Son is a senior there. How did that happen? Graduation is only six weeks in the distance. And this weekend marks his final performance as an actor at college.

Four student years ago, chubbier and softer, he played the nerdy assistant bank manager in a student-driven production of "No Sex, Please, We're British." His entire freshman dorm floor came, en masse, to the production I saw, and they cheered him to an embarrassing (for him) extent during the curtain calls. It was my first night out on a university campus since about 1982, and I was shocked by the wardrobe of the girls in the audience, which was similar to that of the working girls portrayed in the play. It was hard to imagine how my boy might be managing in that milieu, and I think he would tell you now, the first semester was tough.

But he found he had real friends on that dorm floor, some of whom are housemates this senior year, and he found his place in the Hiptastic theatre universe.

And he grew up.

The soft-cheeked boy can now grow a fearsome beard, has worked hard at school, on-stage and backstage, has formed into a young man, with more edges and a different kind of energy. He turns in his senior thesis today.

As a little boy, he had a way of folding into a hug, and that has not changed, for which I am grateful.

We'll have a late lunch today at one of our traditional meeting places in Hiptastictown, significantly called First and Last. Pure Luck will join us, and Dos (#1 Son's girlfriend) and a college friend already graduated and a friend from home who has been in the picture since middle school.

I anticipate some emotion, for me, anyway. Where will he be in six months, or a year? What will the future hold for a young actor whose life has been as soft as he once was? Will he learn to live in a world with more edges?

I believe he will.

Snow? Please, No More. Snowman? Why, certainly!

Snowman arrived home late last night from Land o'Lakes Arts Academy for his two-week Spring Break.

After we hugged, he stood at arm's length and said, "You look great!"

Sweet.

The Injury in Question

#1 Son has a boxer's fracture.

It's not clear to me how an actor gets a boxer's fracture, but I'm told that a piece of foam intended to cushion a blow had "too much give."

I guess it's more of a bar fight injury for most people, since my research suggests the treatment may include ice, elevation and hangover remedies. You might also get a boxer's fracture by punching a file cabinet or a wall. I kid you not.

After a visit to an orthopedist today, #1 Son is wearing a hard cast that will be on for four weeks. His thumb and first two fingers are free, but his right ring finger and pinkie are entrapped for the duration.

If all goes well, it will come off about two weeks before his final performances at Hiptastic University. He is also working on his thesis, due shortly after the play closes, and there is no question that the injury will hamper his writing and typing.

It's hard on the mother to be so far away, but he managed to meet with the doctor and reach a decision about his treatment, and I must remember that he will be 22 next week.

Okay, I've picked my self up off the floor.

Your prayers and healing thoughts for #1 Son are certainly appreciated

Around the World in 80 Minutes

It started as an opportunity for the sharing of cultures at Renowned Middle School, a chance for the kids who came here from other countries to perform for the school community. But over time, and really just since Snowman went on to high school, it has become a more inclusive event and all kids in the school are invited to sign up and perform.

The Princess' friend Guitar Boy has been dreaming of a band. He recruited his best friend, Boy of Many Talents to put down his saxophone and pick up a bass guitar. The Princess and her friend, Best All Around, also became part of the group, though they both play keyboards. They hatched a plan to perform "A Day in the Life."

No, really. They did. A song even The Beatles never performed live.

The Princess brought the music home, scored for all the instruments in teeny-tiny scale. She gamely copied the keyboard part onto staff paper, making adaptations where her friend could not manage the part, and in some cases where she wasn't sure she could, splitting the part up into two parts based on the right and left hand.

The entire cast of characters, including an African drumming group, ballroom dancers, a hip hop group and a family demonstrating Capoeira, as well as part of the school orchestra, toured to three different elementary schools on Wednesday and Thursday. The Princess reported that the elementary school students were more interested in the hip-hop dancers than in her band.

Then Thursday night, they put on the show for the families.

The Princess had paid much attention to her wardrobe, rotating a turquoise velvet jacket and a bright pink brushed cotton one, trying to wear something slightly different for each performance, and Thursday night was no different.

We chatted with other parents before the show, then watched all the other groups perform. The rock band, as the music teacher dubbed them, came last on the program.

Finally, their moment came. Guitar Boy and Boy of Many Talents stood at microphones, while the girls were seated at the keyboard. The Princess looked happy. Imagine that, happy! She usually looks worried before the school band concerts, standing at the xylophones, mallets at the ready. When she sings in the GirlChoir, she smiles only when she really feels she must, taking her music very seriously. But there at the keyboard, she smiled broadly.

The music began, and it was surprisingly good. They got a lot of applause because middle-aged parents get the Beatles in a way elementary kids might not. The positive response set them up for the real thing.

You see, today, they played for their schoolmates, and that's what really counted. As Pure Luck would put it, this was the gig that would affect the status bar.

I picked The Princess up after school, eager for the full report.

"It was great! We played an encore!"

It was the same song, because it's their only song.

But they played an encore. And kids danced.

I think my daughter is a rock star.

Conflict of Interests

I arrived home from a church meeting last night just after 9 p.m. and found #1 Son watching TV. Soon The Princess appeared, wanting to watch something else.

Which did you choose?

Barack, Hilary and John in a remake of "Viva Las Vegas?"

(Which is to say, reasonably adult discussion of the issues facing our nation and world, I suppose.)

Or Simon, Paula and Randy in the City of Brotherly Love?

(Which is to say nothing of the sort.)

I suspect you can guess that at my house the decision broke not on party but on age and gender lines. #1 Son got the boot and went upstairs; The Princess commanded the remote control and employed the DVR, and we caught up with the Philadelphia auditions, the usual assortment of agonies, ecstasies and insults to our ears.

Somewhere out of our range of consciousness the three Democrats took questions from Brian Williams.

I don't feel good about this. But at that moment it was beyond my control.

I hope the next debate is on a different night of the week.

Easy to Be Hard

The Princess was packing her backpack hurriedly one morning last week. She needed to be at school early and had remembered rather at the last minute.

Meanwhile, Sam the Dog began barking in the backyard, and I heard Pure Luck say, "Princess, would you let the dog in?"

I said, "She can't right now, she's busy getting ready to leave for school. Ahead of her lies a full day of Academic Achievement and Social Injustice."

I thought I was pretty funny. Didn't I sum up the Middle School experience?

She did not think it was funny at all.

After school I asked about her day.

She told me that So-and-So was really mean to Whosie-whatsit.

"I think it was your fault," she said.

"My fault?"

"Because of that thing you said about Social Injustice."

But really, I think Three Dog Night said it best:

Arrival Time--1:40 a.m.

My cell phone went off in the deep hours of night, playing the hopped-up version of the Dies Irae from Mozart's Requiem that indicates a text message.

It was from Snowman.

Just got in will call tomorrow let dad know

It was 1:40 a.m. That was a long bus ride. I hope they let the kids sleep in, though I'm doubtful that will happen. Snowman's community service job is setting up the chairs for band four mornings a week at 7:30, and this is his day.

I'm relieved he is there safely. And, hey! It only took 21 hours and ten minutes. (Left our house at 4:30 a.m. yesterday to get the bus to Beantown Airport.)

Stranded in Detroit

I'm not the kind of mother who freaks out when she hears her 17-year-old is stranded in Detroit and won't be able to get another flight until tomorrow, am I?

Please say no.

Update: The flight left Detroit and was turned back before it got to Traverse City. The initial word was that they could not get another flight until the same time tomorrow afternoon. But apparently Northwest would rather not have 30 17-year-olds spending the night and half the next day in the airport, so they've found another plane and a new crew and are hoping to have them back in the air at 6:30 p.m. Good thinking on their part.

Update, Part Two: The second flight could not take off, so the airline gave the kids $10 meal vouchers and is arranging a bus to take them across Mitten-Shaped State. No idea when said bus will leave the airport. More when they get there. (Just a little tired of diversions, hoping if this is a message, I will get it soon.)

And last, but not least: While sitting in a Trustees meeting, I got a call from Snowman, who put me on with a Northwest employee. I gave permission for him to ride the bus. They were still trying to get it to go straight to Land o'Lakes, rather than the airport, but that was not definite. Some poor Northwest employee got the pleasure of making the trip with the kids. I guess they'll be there late this evening.

Late Sunday Afternoon

(Late Sunday afternoon. Time for the homework certain parties have been avoiding all the long, long, long weekend.)

The Princess: Mom, if a number ends in zero is it an odd number?

Songbird: No.

The Princess: You sure?

Songbird: Yes.

The Princess: Pure Luck?

Songbird: (sighs)

Pure Luck: A number ending in zero is even.

The Princess: Thanks!

Songbird: (puts head in hands)

Sun Dog and Moondoggie

Yesterday I found myself driving westbound with my husband and two, yes two, of my children in the back seat, and just before the turn south toward the third child, I noticed my husband with his hand blocking the sun and his eye on something to the north.

"What are you looking at?"

"It's a Sun Dog," he told me, but this told me nothing. I had never heard of a Sun Dog.

It's really a  parhelion, a collection of ice crystals in the clouds that catch the light much like a prism, following the sun in its westward journey. Through the sunroof's tinted glass, The Princess and Snowman could see the full range of colors, a little rainbow in the clouds.

We traveled far and wide yesterday, from a time when the sun was low in the east until it was nearly gone into the west, a journey first to church and then to meet Pure Luck at a commuter parking lot, then to get Snowman at the airport in Beantown, and from there to Hiptastic University to see #1 Son play Creon in Oedipus Rex at Hiptastic University. Just as the sun in our eyes threatened to obscure our view of its faithful sidekick, the masks worn in the play disguised some aspects of our boy.

But as he entered from beneath the stage, I knew his hands, his movements, his feet in the odd platform sandals worn by all the characters. 

I remembered the story of Oedipus, of course, although I read the play in college and that is many years gone. It sets up the contrast between those who would trust only the Gods (Creon wants to have the gods' assurances before acting) and those who would control their own fate, only to have it go awry (Oedipus, of course). In the car coming home late last night, Pure Luck and I kept each other awake pondering free will. Would it count as free will, he wondered, if the only choices before us were good ones? And further, is there *any* chance we, humanity, that is, will choose collectively the good?

It was the first time in almost three months that I could see and touch all three of my children, sit around a table with them (and with Dos), a momentous day in some ways, but ordinary in others, containing the usual elements of our times together: reminiscing, teasing, conversation ranging from Battlestar Galactica to Dungeons&Dragons to the state of the world to science to the food at school and the music Snowman has heard and played and the acting #1 Son hopes to pursue as his work and right back to the Writer's Guild strike and its possible effect on Avatar, a great concern for The Princess.

Oh. And God.

And foolishness, as when we left the theatre to walk back to the car and saw a ring around the moon, and I asked, "Is that the Moondoggie?"

Long Distance Birthday

Dear Snowman,

Today is your birthday, the first we have ever spent apart. Seventeen years ago, in a hospital decorated for Halloween, you arrived in a hurry and you have been determined ever since. I stand amazed at your commitment to your instrument, your adherence to your principles, your propensity for maturity and your dry sense of humor.

Here at home, we miss you.

Just as was true when your brother left for college, we are re-organizing ourselves, exploring new ways of being family. For the past six weeks, your sister and I have been all there is, and the house feels large and quiet, except when Sam is barking at a passing neighbor. The Princess fills your role of letting the dogs out in the afternoon and making sure their water dish is full. I must say she is no help with the trash and the recycling, but she has been good company.

I remember wondering how we would manage without you, on a practical level, but what I miss most is your presence, not your usefulness.

You know it was hard for me to wrap my head around letting you go. But now, when we talk on the phone, and you tell me all you are doing at Land O'Lakes, when you describe how hard you are working and how happy it makes you, I am glad, even joyful, that it was possible for you to go, even though it is so far away from us.

I understand what it is to be called to something you love, how porous are the boundaries between "work" and "bliss."

I am proud to be your mother.

And I am counting the days until you get home for Thanksgiving.

(19, in case you're wondering.)

Love,
Mom

Sunday Snippets

• I've had a lot to do this weekend. There is one thing left. I am out of steam.
• Snowman visited this church today. Let's just say it wasn't his cup of tea: musically, theologically or personally. I encouraged him to get off the bus at the Methodist church next time.
• This afternoon The Princess did her homework. I did not complete my task.
• Pure Luck went to a gym in the Mitten-Shaped state. If he has a day off, why shouldn't he be able to come home? Oh, it's 13 hours by car. That might be why. I told you, I'm out of steam.
• Would someone come over and help me pick up the 73 pairs of shoes The Princess and I have scattered all over the house?

To Make An End

What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.
T.S. Eliot, "Little Gidding"

Tonight at Land O'Lakes' Opening Convocation, the Director of the Dance Department spoke eloquently of the opportunities available to the students here, and really to all people, if we will be open to what comes to us: teachers, suggestions, challenges alike. Watching my son make friends and settle in over the past three days provided me with just such choices.  Always the arm baby who leaned away rather than snuggling in, he is ready to be on the move personally, intellectually and musically. Would I be open to the new learning, or cry instead? Or might I cry and learn, too?

Our years of being together full time are at an end, and I am grieved when I think of home without him. But in the ending, indeed, there is a beginning. And it is no less true because I will hear about it via e-mail or phone. Bless him, he suffered more embraces than he generally finds comfortable, but I didn't feel satisfied until I held his hands and prayed. I don't think I've ever done that with one of my children in the midst of a farewell. I felt inarticulate and apt to weep, and I found in prayer the blessing I wanted to give him. This may seem obvious to some of you, and when I am wearing my hat of pastor, it certainly seems so to me. But as Snowman's mom, I felt surprised at what came over me, standing in the dark outside the hotel at Land O'Lakes, the sound of singing rising up from the beach just below us.

Further on in "Little Gidding," Eliot writes:

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

Up to this point in my life, I've looked back at my own life and its places and people.  I have been the heroine in my drama. It's disconcerting to be part of what will be left and regarded from a distance, a supporting player in someone else's story. I struggle with it, honestly I do. The role of Mother, not yet to be retired but materially altered, perplexes me. My own new beginning must await me, a start born in this ending, a new chapter of a story unfolding, another trip to arrive where I started and know it, perhaps really know it this time.

Dismissed?

(Last night at the Parents Meeting, school administrators warned us that we would at some point feel dismissed by our children. Herewith, my day.)

Scene One:

(Sitting in lobby of school "hotel" waiting for Snowman to meet me for lunch. He is late. I call #1 Son.)

#1 Son: Good to hear from you. I'm having lunch with friends, so I have to get back. Bye!

Scene Two:

(Lunch has ended. No sign of Snowman. I walk to dorm to drop off purchases from school store.)

Snowman: I didn't see you at the cafeteria.

Songbird: I thought we agreed to meet in the lobby. I sat there for over an hour.

Snowman: Oh. I met some friends and went in, and then I played ping-pong.

Songbird: I turned down an invitation to eat with some other moms.

Snowman: If other moms invite you, you should go.

Songbird: But I thought we had plans!

Scene Three:

(Outside Music Majors meeting an hour later.)

Songbird: Want to meet for dinner?

Snowman: Oh. Um. Okay.

(Snowman's eyes: Please get an invitation from other mothers.)

Scene Four:

(In which our heroine calls home, feeling mildly dejected, hoping to hear from The Princess after her first full day of school. Pure Luck hears her coming up the walk and puts her on the phone.)

Songbird: Hi, honey! It's good to hear your voice!!

The Princess: Oh, hi.  Mom, my friends are outside, and I'm going to 7-11. Bye!

Chucks of All Sizes

  Chucks of All Sizes 
  Originally uploaded by msongbird.

The Princess and Snowman are both ready for the first day of school.

I will write more after we reach Land o' Lakes!

Back to School, Part One

I spent the day taking #1 Son back to Hiptastic University, to begin his Senior year. He has been a non-worrying college student, and I am grateful, considering the sorts of fits my brother and I gave our parents. As always, we enjoyed traveling in the car together and found no shortage of conversational topics. As my father once said about the little fellow, age 2, "He must be good company."

This year he looks forward to doing an Acting Thesis, which will include performing in Oedipus Rex and Big Love (not the HBO drama, but the play by Charles Mee), as well as writing a big paper. He will live in a house on campus with four friends. I stand by my conclusion that it is a hovel, although it is much cleaner now than when I saw it occupied last spring.

#1 Son amused himself and his housemate by telling me I mispronounced "hovel." Clearly he doesn't remember where ah'm from...

(Bigger versions at Flickr. I may not be able to live with the grey hair after seeing this morning's pictures.)

Extractions

Today was the day.

The Princess required extractions as part of her orthodontic treatment plan. The procedure went smoothly, but I have my doubts about the nursing arrangements, in particular the relationship between nurse and patient.

I didn't realize they gave Vicodin to 12 year olds. Can I expect her to be awake at all?

If she does wake up, we have the following movies, newly purchased, to pass the time:

1. Mean Girls
2. Ella Enchanted
3. The New World (that one might be for me)

Think of us today, friends.

Countdown

We leave for Land o'Lakes in three weeks.

I'm just sayin'.

Still to be acquired:

• Laptop--there is some indecision regarding Mac (what he used at school) vs. PC (what we have at home)
• Uniform--new rules are about to go into effect regarding the light blue shirts; of course we have already been stockpiling a variety that will now be useful only for one year. Sigh.
• Tuxedo--do we buy one here? Wait and do it at school? Order one over eBay?
• A calm frame of mind on the part of the mother-- not available in stores

Heading Out

Early in the morning, before the break of day, Snowman, The Princess and I will board a bus bound for Beantown, where we will catch a train  to The Big Apple and see #1 Son in a play. When we return I will be re-packing and leaving the next day for a week at church camp.

The last time I worked at the summer camp, three years ago, I had a blog, but I was using it mostly as a place to post sermons. It was nothing close to the daily activity it is now. I didn't think twice about what leaving it behind would mean.

This year I'm thinking about it a lot.

Recently, being part of the blogosphere has not been the joy it once was. I'll admit it: my feelings are hurt. Others are hurt, too. I'm contemplating issues that had not been part of my reality, examining my reasons for believing certain things. I, who once thought of myself as among the most liberal and inclusive of people, have been pushed to the edge of orthodoxy.  I, who once thought of myself as hip and well-informed, have been forced to realize that I'm apparently conventional.

Blogging hardly seems an appropriate activity for the person I am turning out to be. Perhaps parchment and a quill pen?

Of course, blogging is a requirement of my membership in an organization that has meant a great deal to me. So when I say that I am thinking of retiring from blogging, I'm speaking of something broader, too.

I'm appreciative of the supportive comments left here by many, many people, particularly as I have undertaken changes in my life. I am grappling with how to process sad and difficult feelings without the crutch of overeating, and because blogging about them feels inappropriate, I'm going to have to find a different place to put them.

I'm reading the artful posts of friends, and thinking about how I used to write that way, and recognizing that I don't have the heart to do it right now.

I feel like a drag, and that's not what I want my blogging to be.

So, I'm heading out for the next ten days or so. Most of that time I will be offline. I hope when I come back I'll feel like writing here.

Booking the Tickets

I know that Snowman is leaving for Land O'Lakes Arts Academy in a little more than a month, but I've been having trouble settling in to making the actual plans. I remember feeling this way before #1 Son left for college three years ago. During the month of August I became quite depressed. I anticipated a life change that would be sad and difficult. I knew my nest would not be empty, but I felt it might as well be! I did not want to live through the inevitable changes.

It was easy to avoid reality because college was a mere 3 hour or so car ride away.

I'm feeling the same way about Snowman, complaining on the inside about how this is happening too soon (for me, that is), worrying about whether he's really ready to live away from home, and worrying particularly about the great distance and the expense of travel.

Oh, that.

Clearly, the time is growing short for booking plane tickets.

I've been avoiding it. It's complicated. We need to fly together but return separately. (I hate that part.)

I'm trying to remind myself that once #1 Son got to college and  settled in, and once we had a chance to adjust to being a family of four most of the time, everyone did beautifully. I'm trying to remind myself that Snowman is going in order to be challenged both musically and academically. I'm trying to remind myself that this was his idea in the first place, and that not everyone who wants to go there is good enough to be accepted, and that he is a sensible young person who will figure out whatever it is he needs to know, given time.

But I am his mother. I worry that he won't like the food. I worry that he won't get enough sleep. I worry that he will feel homesick.

I worry.

Somehow booking the tickets makes it real.

Anyway, this morning I did it. We leave September 5th, and I come back alone on the 9th.  I will have three days on campus to get to know the place and perhaps the area, too. I was hoping to stay long enough to attend one of the UCC church services in the area on Sunday morning, but the choice was a 7 a.m. flight or doubling the price of the ticket. We can't have everything.

Does anyone ever tell a new mother that letting go someday will be the hardest part? Maybe it was in one of those boxes where you check a little square confirming you have read the fine print, even if you haven't.

Just a Little Motherly Advertising

As some of you know, #1 Son is in New York City working on a play. The American Story Project has a blog up, and if you wish you may see pictures there or read a little more about the play here. I'll be going to see the play next week; if you're in the area and might like to go, tickets are available here.

How did I get old enough to have a son with such a beard?

After Dinner

The Scene: Our Dining Room
The Players: Songbird, Pure Luck and The Princess
The Game: Scrabble

The Princess: I really miss Scrabble Junior. You just put letters on the board and hoped they would fit.

(A beat.)

Because you didn't know how to spell words.

(Rim shot.)

Late Night Asterisks of Sunday

*The beautiful background music of this late evening blogging session? My dishwasher, working as it should again.

*When Pure Luck suggested a new walking route, I knew it would be longer than the old one, but I went along and kept up the same brisk pace I have achieved the past two days. He said it would be a little longer. Our recently expanded neighborhood route took us about 20 minutes last night, and I was working hard to keep that pace. Tonight we made sure to time the new walk, I kept up a similar pace for 35 minutes! Yay, me! The trick is to have 35 minutes available to take the darn walk.

*I am seriously drinking a lot of water.

*I am embarrassed to admit, however, that the whole time I was preaching about natural thirst and drinking deep at the well, I had the remains of a Coffee Coolatta sitting on the ledge beneath the pulpit.

*My half-grey hair is making me slightly crazy. I predict a sudden change of hairdresser, probably within the next 48 hours.

*#1 Son gets home tomorrow. He'll be here for less than a week, then he's off to the Big Apple to portray Matthew Brady in a play, complete with beard.

*Snowman returned from UCC General Synod this afternoon with a new hero: Bill Moyers.

*The Princess begins Band Camp in the morning. I think it sounds like fun. She thinks I would be welcome to go in her place.

Awards

This morning I'm invited to the 6th grade awards assembly at Renowned Middle School. This may mean simply that The Princess will receive a "points" award for her extracurricular activities. (Her brothers gained fame for forgetting to turn in their points sheets at least one year each.)

I remember feeling very competitive on #1 Son's behalf and overjoyed when he won academic awards. I'm glad to say that I have cooled down a bit, although having a cousin in the same grade may make me feel a little more eager on The Princess' behalf.

This is in part because I won so few awards at anything in my school life. Every summer at camp I hoped for one of the drama awards, but even when I had a significant enough part, it never happened. My brother won trophies all the time, and I sensed I must lack some important quality, since I did not. I was a senior in high school before any such acknowledgment came my way (Best Actress in a Leading Role for playing Lucy in "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown" and Most Outstanding in the Choir--it was a pretty happy day for me).

I remain conflicted about awards. After all, we'll get our reward in heaven, right?

How about you? Did awards come easily? Not at all? Was there something you always wished for and never received? And does it still matter to you now?

What Came in the Mail

At our house, we've been waiting impatiently for a packet from Land O'Lakes Arts Academy. A phone call a few weeks ago let us know that Snowman had passed muster for admission, but we wouldn't be able to say yes or no officially until we knew more about the financial aid available to him.

As I stood holding the package in my hands, I considered my mixed feelings. A good award would make this an easy decision. Or would it? I feel some hesitation in letting this bird leave the nest, hesitation that has more to do with me than with his readiness to fly. A bad award would mean two more years of having Snowman here at home, more time to spend with him and enjoy his sense of humor, more listening to the music he recommends, more Wednesday evening's watching "Lost" together, more hearing him play his clarinet at church, more of many things I don't even know how to name.

On the other hand, a good award would mean a head start on what he hopes will be a career in music, a chance to go to school with kids who are more like himself, eager to learn and to develop not only as musicians but as human beings.

I opened the envelope.

The outcome: a medium award, not so good as to be automatic, not so bad as to end the conversation. I had a talk with Snowman's dad, The Father of My Children, and I think we have a way to make it possible for him.

I know it's a place, as they say in the acceptance letter, where it's "cool" to be talented. But here is what convinces me. They write,

Chosen candidates share a distinct passion for learning, a thoughtful perspective of the world at large, and an equal commitment to community and to personal excellence. It's simply not enough to be gifted; a successful candidate must have compassion and demonstrate a commitment to excellence and the improvement of the world in which we live.

I'm reading the letter and weeping, because they are describing my child. How could I not let him go?

A Short List of Small Pleasures

Here is a short list of small pleasures from this Saturday:

Feeling sore after exercising, not the "I broke myself" kind of sore but the "Oh, do I have muscles there?" kind

The Princess in the outfield at Adorable Little Baseball Field with a group of kids from all over the state, being honored for her work in school, cheering her own name on the scoreboard

Getting warm enough at the game to take off my jacket

Feeling cool enough to put it on again

Hearing the announcement that profanity is prohibited at the game

Slugger the Sea Dog leading the crowd in a rousing rendition of YMCA--way too funny

Seeing a home run, several double plays, lots of players on base, good throwing and a happy crowd (Sea Dogs won, 10-5)

The way the house smells after the Domestic Goddess ministers to us

The sound of my husband's deep voice on the telephone

A little snoozle on the couch

Molly at the dog park, making the rounds of the people and wroo-wooing them

Sam running up the hill to meet me with an empty bag tucked into his collar, for taking care of "bidness," courtesy of clever Snowman at the bottom of the hill

And, last but not least, no sermon to write (lay speaker tomorrow), so I can get to bed early.

Human Faces

The Sophomore Class of Hippy Dippy High School finished its Humanities expedition, "The Human Face of Human Rights," with an exhibition at a local gallery devoted to documentary film-making and photography. Snowman and his group interviewed Gordana, a young woman from Bosnia who now lives here in City By the Sea, learning about her life as a little girl during the war, the way she and her brother managed not only to survive but to play and find the fun that children must have, despite worrying about their father in jail and the scarce rations the family had to eat.

The Princess and I were late to the event due to a conflicting piano lesson, and we missed the speeches and a choral reading from the oral histories taken by the students.

When I arrived, a teacher I have known for some years, glowing with the excitement of the evening, said, "Snowman was WONDERFUL! He could have held back, but he didn't, and his reading was WONDERFUL!!!"

We wandered around the gallery, perusing the other student displays, and then had a chance to read Snowman's complete oral history (each student in the group wrote a paper about the interview subject).

As we walked back to the car, I asked him about the choral reading.

"What was it exactly? Mrs. TeacherLady was quite excited about your participation."

"She was?"

"Yes, I'm sorry I missed it."

"It was nothing."

Snowman tends to be quite nonchalant about his own achievements, so I pressed him.

"Tell me more about it."

"It was nothing, really. We each read a sentence from our oral history, just standing in different places in the gallery. Lots of people didn't even do it."

"But yours must have been a really wonderful sentence, if Mrs. TL was so pleased with you. What was it?"

He pulled a folded piece of scrap paper from his pocket and read:

"She reasoned that she could still take many guns apart from memory."

Although we laughed on our charming street in the Old Port as we reached the car, wondering why that sentence seemed so wonderful to the teacher, upon reflection I think I understand. Our little city has become home to many, many people with stories like Gordana's. They know what the world is really like, a place where the deaths of 33 people in one day cannot shock the way it does here on our protected brick sidewalks and cobblestone ways that pass chic local shops and the ubiquitous Starbucks.

Sometimes I wonder if I am living in Disney World.

What Got to Me

When the anchor on CNN told this story about the emergency workers: as they carried the bodies out of Norris Hall, the cellphones of the dead students were ringing as their parents, no doubt, tried to reach them and be sure they were okay.
My boy called for assistance filling out his 1040EZ today, and I was glad to help him.

Brotherly Love

On Tuesday night, Snowman played in a big concert at City By the Sea's Big Auditorium, as a member of two of the City By the Sea Wind Ensembles, a program of the University of Southern Vacationland. These concerts have always fallen right in the midst of #1 Son's college semesters, and since there is a hope on Snowman's part of going far, far away to school next year, and because there was a particularly gorgeous piece of music on the program, #1 Son came home to hear his little brother play.

A friend drove him to the train station, and he changed to a bus in Beantown, helped drive his brother to the rehearsal, had dinner with us, attended the concert, then got up at 5 the next morning to catch the 6 o'clock bus to get a train that would allow him to be back at school taking an exam at 2:40 p.m. That kind of brotherly love was my dream when they were little boys, and while it went on hiatus during a phase of their lives, it makes me happy to see them together this way.

When Snowman was born, #1 Son rode with us on the gurney from Labor and Delivery to my room. He had been waiting with his grandmother just down the hall and was the first person in to see the new little fellow. During the pregnancy he had spoken of “our baby” and been one of the parties to choosing “our baby’s” name.

He was four years and almost eight months old, and he found the mewling bundle a bit disappointing. When we had been home for a few days, I asked, “Don’t you love the baby?”

He held his hands about six inches apart and said, “I love him this much.”

Soon the mewling became cooing, and within weeks little smiles began to appear on the baby’s face, most of them directed at Older Brother.

One beautiful day, he turned to me, flung his arms wide and said, “I love him this much!!!”

I guess he still does.

In the Forecast for Today

Here is the forecast for today:

• Light snow this morning.
• A hastily arranged double wedding at 10 a.m. (Make sure the chancel is tidy first!)
• A hospital call on a pillar of the church.
• Switching to a mix of rain and snow by noontime.
• A desperate hunt for something new to wear on Sunday.
• A last-minute trip to the grocery store for essentials.       
• A Nor'Easter predicted to drop 5-10" of wet, heavy snow overnight.

A Snow Day on Maundy Thursday? Check back tomorrow for more forecast details.

Princess in a Bag and Snowman Sangfroid

Yesterday began and ended with student performances, reminding me that I once described myself as having a "houseful of performing seals." That probably sounds a little edgy, but I loved and still love seeing my children's joy in expressing themselves through acting, singing, music and movement.

At Renowned Middle School, the 6th graders just finished an expedition about the Four Forces of Nature: Gravity, Heat, Wind and Water. What makes their learning expeditionary is the way in which all the subject teachers work together to open the subject holistically. Math, science, language arts and social studies, even music came together to create an outstanding presentation. In four groups based around the four forces, students created a movement and music presentation grounded in science, history and mythology. The Princess worked in the Gravity group. They focused on the Kobe earthquake and the Japanese story "Earthquake Fish." All the students learned about the socio-economic impact of natural disasters (including Hurricane Katrina and the 1994 Tsunami). Working with a modern dance teacher from the city's public arts academy, each of the four groups created a movement piece developed from both the science facts and the connected myth, with the central figure (in The Princess' group, the Earthquake Fish) portrayed in a giant mask manipulated by one of the young dancers. The dances were scored with music the kids created using the program Garage Band. The total effect was amazing! And, oh yes, most of them were dancing in fabric bags, as they portrayed elements being worked on by the forces of nature. Try to pick your child out in a scene such as that...

In connection with the expedition, students have engaged in a service project; here's a quote from their webpage:

In our current expedition, The Forces Are with Us, we have been studying the four forces of nature: wind, heat, water, and gravity. As part of our expedition, we looked at what hurricane Katrina did to the area around New Orleans. We wanted to do something to help, so we are collecting art supplies for an after school that is set up in a FEMA trailer park in New Orleans. The program services about 300 children who are ages 7-14. They are seeking donations and we are trying to help them. We are gathering supplies such as pencils, water colors, paint brushes, scissors, and glue. Please bring any donations to room 212. Thank you for your support.

I am very proud of The Princess who is one of the team leaders for the service project.

Last evening, Snowman sat in on the concert for the school strings program, playing his clarinet on the Radetzky March and the second movement of Schubert's Symphony #9 in C Major (The "Great" Symphony), which has lovely parts for various wind instruments. Most of the wind players invited to sit in were college students (who, as Snowman pointed out, got paid for their effort!), and he was pleased to be among them.

Ever since he was a little tike, Snowman has shown remarkable sangfroid on stage. In fact, he once fell asleep during a performance of "Peter Pan," in which he played Michael Darling. The Darling children are in bed. When Wendy came to "wake Michael," she found she had to wake Snowman. We must give him full credit, as he leapt up and went on with the play as if he had never been asleep.

Last night there was a long gap between the first piece he played and the second, and as the other music went on and on and on, he began to look more than meditative to me. In fact, during the Handel Organ Concerto, which did not include the winds, I began to worry. You'll have to forgive me, I'm known for worrying, I can't see all that well at a distance, and we were sitting in the balcony of a large concert hall. He just looked to me like a person whose eyes were closed. When the Schubert began, and the college girl clarinetist next to him held her horn at the ready, his was still down. Was this a style or timing choice? Or WAS HE ASLEEP?!?!!!

Fortunately, Snowman, as befits his name, is far superior to his mother at keeping his cool. His cue came, and he played beautifully.

Just the Facts, Ma'am

Think You Have the Flu? What Are Flu Symptoms? Know the FACTS

Fever

Aches

Chills

Tiredness

Sudden symptoms

Um, yes.

I was just a shade to the left of vivid at a church meeting last night, not in color, but in proximity to the sort of delirious mania I tend to exhibit when running even a low-grade fever (which is all I usually run anyway. Even with strep, I had little to no fever.)

I am tucked up on the couch with interim ministry materials.

Many thanks to Snowman for bringing me soup.

#1 Son lost his phone, so if he should read this, I hope he'll find a way to get in touch with me tomorrow, which will be his 21st birthday.

I know it's true that I gave birth in 1986, but it somehow seems wrong, nevertheless.

My graying hair looks much better in the downstairs bathroom mirror than in the upstairs; do you think it could be the new fluorescent bulbs in the former? (They give the skin a certain jaundiced tone, but they're good for the hair.)

It is 8 degrees here, with a wind chill making it feel like -13.

Although the weather is a little less frigid where Pure Luck is, he fully expects to wear his Ninja Snowsuit at work tonight.

I'm still the #1 Google search for ninja snowsuit, but that's probably because no one else ever thought of writing about such a thing.

Yes, something resembling a delirious mania.

Sticking it to the Man

We're hearing predictions of a big storm to hit here overnight, so we joined the hordes of City By the Sea residents rushing to local grocery stores to supplement our no doubt already abundant stores of food. In fact, Pure Luck sounded perplexed when I told him my plan over the phone. He knows how much we brought home from BJ's less than two weeks ago.  I assured him we meant only to replenish a few staples.

With both kids in the car, I headed to the new Whole Paycheck that recently opened in City By the Sea.

I have mixed feelings about shopping there. I like the idea of whole foods, and we've been fans of the much smaller Wild Oats here for the past couple of years, a store I assume will close now that its corporate parent has been swallowed by Whole Paycheck. And swallowed is a good description of how it feels to drive into the parking lot and to enter the store itself. It's HUGE. It somehow just feels wrong for the "green" store to be so enormous. This is nowhere more striking than in the area where you can buy cooked food or salads at food bars. I wonder, even on this crowded Thursday afternoon, can there possibly be enough shoppers in City By the Sea who can afford to buy this expensive Indian food (delicious looking, by the way) and six varieties of tofu salad? There is a candy counter bigger more expansive than the one in our local posh candy store. It's out of scale to our community, and I shudder to think of the waste at the end of each day.

Snowman wondered if anyone would even know if he should make off with a Risotto ball. "Not only would it be delicious, I'd be sticking it to the man."

(That was just talk, by the way.)

He also noted the amount of decoration throughout the store. It's so revoltingly corporate, so perfectly put together, filled with the affectations of "rustically" wrought iron and wood. When we got to the checkout line with our shockingly overpriced orange juice, bread, butter, flour and Annie's mac and cheese (yes, and our kettle corn, probably the real reason we ended up there instead of the regular grocery store), Snowman speculated on the values of the company.

"For all I know," he said, "even though everything in the store says organic, they might be serving pies made of people."

"Ah, so you think Whole Paycheck is a front for Sweeney Todd?"

"I think it's possible. And the pies might taste really good, and we wouldn't know. And somewhere in an office someone is laughing with delight for having fooled us all."

"Are you suggesting Montgomery Burns owns Whole Paycheck?"

"He might."

Our line mates exemplified the types we saw throughout the store. The woman in front of us bought $200 dollars worth of groceries, including five bottles of wine. She wore high-heeled boots and an upscale "casual" ensemble. Meanwhile, a retired hippie and his daughter with green hair tips stood behind us in the slow-moving line. He was eating some kind of a bar, and I took a moment to look back and see if he would present the wrapper to the cashier.

He didn't.

So apparently someone *is* sticking it to the man.   

Songbird-Snowman NewsHour

(We are in the kitchen, fixing dinner, while Wolf Blitzer brings us the Situation Room.)

Wolf Blitzer: So you really think it's 50-50 that Senator Clinton will be the nominee?

Congresswoman: I do! She's formidable.

Snowman: I'll vote for her, but I don't know if I'll be happy about it.

Songbird: (double take) You'll be old enough to vote!!!

Snowman: (grins) Yeah.

Songbird: (ages visibly)

A wee funny

Posting from the wireless-enabled coffee shop in Charming Suburb, between meetings:

It was dark, very dark, when I woke The Princess at 6:45 this morning, still 25 minutes to sunrise.

"Honey, it's time to get up."

Groans emerged from under the covers.

"Sweetie, do you want to get in the shower."

A head rises up above the pillow.

"No."

Another groan of anguish.

"What's wrong?"

"I still have to do my Sunshine Math."

Prayer at School

I'm remembering a day I prayed in a public school. It wasn’t the first time, of course. I can remember praying fervently to remember the periodic chart of the elements!! But this was a little different, because I wasn’t sending up a 911 call to God. Over at Big Red Dog Elementary School, the third graders were having a Thanksgiving Feast. The Feast has been a third-grade tradition for many years. Mrs. C, who was once Snowman’s teacher and retired recently, used to host it in her classroom.

She was a marvel of organization. Desks and borrowed chairs were arranged in such a way to allow 55 children each to have a seat. When The Princess was in third grade, I volunteered to help and was stationed at the drink table. The buffet was impressive; each child had signed up to bring something, and I was very thankful that The Then Little Princess had chosen cherry tomatoes rather than turkey!

As we were finishing the set-up of the buffet, one of the other moms mentioned that I was a professional pray-er. For a moment I wondered whether I would be asked to pray—and if so, what I would say—and then remembered why I wouldn’t be asked. After the children were all seated, Mrs. C laid out the rules of the meal:

be polite to others,
no one eats until everyone has a plate,
take one cup and get it refilled,
and finally, you may go back as many times as you want!

And then it came, that moment that for me is always so thrilling at the beginning of a Thanksgiving meal, that pause before we pass into gluttony, the moment when, at our house, we would pray.

Mrs. C was great, I thought. She told the children we would have a little time of silence, in which we would close our eyes and think of the things we are thankful for, and she gave some examples.

We are thankful for our school and our families.
We are thankful to live in the greatest country in the world, the United States of America. We live in this beautiful state of Maine.
She mentioned the Pilgrims and their journey hear in search of freedom of worship.

And then, because she is always on schedule, Mrs. C gave us “about 45 seconds” of silence to reflect.

Thankfulness for living in this country is not something to be taken lightly in a classroom filled with children of all colors, some of whom have lived here only a few years, coming from Sudan and Somalia and Ethiopia, from Vietnam and Cambodia, from Eastern Europe.

And now, we interrupt our regularly scheduled program!!

We get on planes, and trains, or into our cars and we travel as far as it takes to be with those we love. It’s our busiest travel week of the year in this country, even above Christmas. We change our routines, and we take a moment or a day to revel in all the bounty of our lives. And if we believe that all good gifts around us come from heaven above, we stop and take a moment, at least 45 seconds or so, to say thank you to God.

So I must admit that at school that day I didn’t just reflect. I prayed. I was giving thanks that The Then Little Princess was finally having a good year in school, after a very rough start to her elementary education.

And I had another prayer, too. It was my prayer that someday we might all be able to pray, in our own ways, next to each other, thanking our God in the name familiar to us, whatever that might be. I don't mean that it needs to happen in school. But I believe it needs to happen in the world. And perhaps that group of children, eyes closed and elbow to elbow around those long tables, will live together differently, thankful for their similarities and for their differences, for the rich banquet life could be for all of us if we could think for a moment about all the good things around us, and stop to say thank you.

You call this a holiday?

• My eye has been itchy and puffy all week. I am trying hard not to touch it, but have a tendency to rub it in my sleep. The only thing that takes the edge off? Benadryl. This also takes the edge off my mind, but not in a good way.
• When I went to the downstairs bathroom to look at my eye in the mirror, I discovered a lip-gloss enhanced lip-print on the glass. Sigh.
• The Princess is driving me crazy by making music on a kitchen chair with a paper clip. Make.It.Stop!
• There is no school today, as we are observing Veteran's Day, so the chance that it will end soon is small, considering that she is now explaining to me how the notes the chair makes are unrelated, meanwhile continuing to make "music" on her "musical chair."
• Snowman is asleep on the couch, where he slept all night to keep an ear out for Sam.
• Last night, when I left the house for five minutes to pick Snowman up from his clarinet lesson, Sam ate some knitting, including the tip of a bamboo needle.
• I'm less worried about the needle tip than about the ball of yarn attached to the knitting, because I can't remember how big it was.
• He got through the night with no problem.
• And he is a very large dog.
• And he has eaten ridiculous things before, including most of a shirt sleeve last fall, which he has managed to clear, so to speak.
• Remember when I thought Pure Luck would be home no later than tonight? The new ETA is Sunday night.
• Sam tends to eat these things when Pure Luck is away.
• Please, oh please, Sam, don't need to go to the vet!
• Can't I just rub my eye a little?

Black Cat Princess and Jack O. Lantern

  Black Cat Princess 013 
  Originally uploaded by msongbird.

The Princess is out trick-or-treating with her friend, Smartypants. She is very pleased with her costume, and I am relieved it is finished.

Snowman carved a handsome jack o'lantern. He is eating pizza, then planning to make himself horrifying with the stage blood in an old makeup kit #1 Son left behind.

We have Snickers, Milky Ways and Three Musketeers aplenty. Sam is ready to bark at the least provocation. Molly is ready to join the next band of trick-or-treaters. I am ready for a nap.

  Jack O Lantern 
  Originally uploaded by msongbird.

Carved by Snowman, using one of those dreaded pumpkin carving kits...

A Birthday Dinner

Snowman turned 16 today.

We met The Father of My Children, Papa (paternal grandfather) and Delightful (his wife) at a Japanese restaurant in town. We enjoyed sushi and tempura, steamed shrimp dumplings and miso soup (though not in that order). Food was shared around the table, and to Papa's relief, no two people ordered the same thing.

We reminisced about exciting scenes from Snowman's infancy and childhood, recalling the day of his birth.

"He just popped right out," said TFoMC.

"You can say that after you give birth," I replied.

But it's true, of our three children, Snowman was the one in a hurry to be born. I woke before the sun on that October 30th, knowing this was the day, five days before the due date. After all, I was experienced! (So experienced that we had gone in a week earlier with equal certainty...) We called Papa and Nona, and they drove the 40 minutes from their house in, oh, about 38, to take care of #1 Son, and then off we went to the hospital.

My water broke just before I climbed onto the bed. I call that good timing.

I faced a window that looked out to nowhere discernible, and each powerful contraction seemed to throw me into the glass, then yank me back to reality again.

Fortunately, it didn't last long. Soon I was holding a little bundle of boy, wrapped tight in a blanket, face scrunched up tight, crying, "WAH WAH WAH WAH!!!!"

He stopped as soon as I began to sing.

I worked in the Children's Room at the City By the Sea Public Library until shortly before he was due, and the storytime for 2 year olds was my territory. That morning, I sang not a lullaby, but those songs he had been hearing week after week while he grew inside me.

Happy Birthday, dear Snowman. Tonight it is Don Byron and Artie Shaw to whom you listen, Stravinsky and Mozart whose music you play. 

But it all started with "The Wheels on the Bus."

Heart Play

#1 Son recently participated in an experimental theatre project called "Heart Play" at Formerly Methodist Currently Hiptastic University. Go here to read more about it and here to see the picture in a larger format. He's the young man in the foreground.

It has always been the play of his heart to arrange scenes and take on roles. He was the little boy who could spend countless hours very seriously setting the scene for his Fisher Price Main Street people, or his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and later on Playmobil characters and Lego knights. He cared about the "set up" and about the relationships between the figures, too.

When it was time to look at colleges, we talked about whether he wanted to look at liberal arts colleges or narrow his focus and audition for conservatory programs. Choosing the former seems to have proven the right choice. There have been interesting classes and wonderful acting opportunities, including the lead in a senior's thesis film last year. #1 Son enjoys both components of his English and Theatre double concentration. But I suspect that English is the study of his mind, just as Theatre has been and will continue to be the Play of his Heart.

On the Mountain

There were no fire alarms.

There was a modicum of listening, and there were a few flashes of insight about my own call.

There were meet-ups with old friends and meals eaten with new acquaintances, and there was shopping for institutional swag and clerical garb.

There was the joy of seeing my son interacting with other young people who are part of the United Church of Christ congregations in Maine, kids he met at camp this past summer, kids who urged him to get more involved, kids who hugged him and included him.

There was spinach in the salad at dinner.  What the fireplace?

There were controversial resolutions and more straightforward ones, too. And while there were those inevitable mind-numbing twists of parliamentary procedure, there is pride at being a member of the Maine Conference of the United Church of Christ, a body whose Annual Meeting voted to decry torture, to be a Fair Trade/Fairly Traded Conference and to bring the message about fairly traded coffee back to our congregations, and, most importantly, voted to work together for the quality and equality of marriage.

Can I get an Amen?

Amazing Stories

Parts of the Friday Five became the lead-in to my sermon today, as I described going to church at the White House and my infamous meeting with Mick Fleetwood.

After church today, Snowman said, "You never told me you met Nixon!"

"I have to save some things up," I told him. "Maybe someday I'll preach about Captain Kangaroo, too."

"How much you liked him?"

(It's no secret around here that I am a big fan and most of my favorite childhood books were read to me by him.)

"No. About meeting him."

"You never told me you met Captain Kangaroo!!!"

Yes, I'm full of surprises. (And I think I have his autograph somewhere, too.)

Bar-B-Q!

Tonight was the 6th Grade Barbecue at Renowned Middle School. For years teachers from around the country have come to observe and take ideas about expeditionary learning home with them. The diverse student population includes native speakers of 28 languages. The Princess follows her brothers there, and if she repeats her experience from elementary school, she will be the happiest of all.

Reno