medial // caesura

  Every act of perception, is to some degree an act of creation, and every act of memory is to some degree an act of imagination.  Oliver Sacks "Boys, tell you father what you did today," I offered casually over the dinner table, hoping to hear descriptions of nature that resonated with my recollection: sunlight shivering the yellow of the elm and sugar maple, the wind shaking out the leaves to compete with the waterfall's melody.  "We climbed a broken wall and jumped over a brick wall that had fallen into the water." And that is how they will remember today's field trip.  What I'll remember though are their expressions, their laughter, the way Ben said, "I love homeschooling.  This is so much fun."  and Knox, "We've had three side trips and we've barely started the trail.  This is great!"  I'll remember the picture Ben took (below right) of the trees and his "ladder vine" and how Knox described the trees...

"Peace and Chicken Grease, Sister!" the greeting/farewell my teenaged brother delivered, his grin and two fingers outstretched.  I'm so thankful God has given me a brother with such a magnanimous spirit and a whole lotta wisdom.  He can make me laugh when that's the last thing I feel like doing.  He reads people better in five minutes than I do in five months.  And he gives the best advice, partly because it's succinct but mostly because it is sheer wisdom laced with humor that brings peace to a troubled mind. Although he would probably deny this and laugh at me for saying so, he brings to mind Colossians 4:6, the theme verse for our recent Classical Conversations training, "Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how you ought to answer each person."   That salt, by the way, is the Truth, capital "T."  My brother was there for me yesterday when the sorrow akin to that described by  Hamlet's usurping ...

Day 5 of being in bed with Influenza Type A: "Hurry always empties a soul."  ( one thousand gifts p. 67)  I told a friend last week that I needed a break.  Funny how you have to be careful what you wish for.  We spent the week in Alabama visiting my parents and had a really good visit, except D became sick with what I thought was just fever and a runny nose.  That is, until it hit me.  I don't remember ever feeling this bad for so long.  Once again, I've had a lesson in empathy.  When I lost my voice last year for six weeks, I got a taste of how challenging it is for D to not be able to communicate.  When I hurt my leg and had to be wheeled around in a wheelchair at the Christmas in the Oaks Run this Christmas, I got a small taste of how it feels to be at the mercy of who is pushing the chair and to not be able to see over the heads of the crowd.  And now, I see that when D squints his eyes, crinkles his forehead, and rubs his head, ...