Von Wyman Family Singers

Last night we went out to my in-laws’ house for dinner and a visit with Bruce’s sisters. Barb had all different kinds of recorders and they played Christmas songs in different parts, but since no one except Barb plays the recorder very often, they gave up after a few songs. (Even Charlie joined in. I had no idea he knew how to play recorder!) There were sessions around the piano where Barb played for everyone and a few songs where Charlie played. Barb broke out her huge bass. Bruce and Sue played guitar. Charlie played piano and recorder. And (almost) everyone sang in many different parts. It was beautiful. It was so nice to see Charlie in his element – surrounded by music and family.

Brian is coming for Christmas. We are all very happy and Cory is “ecstatic”.

Thank you, Roger Rosenblatt

I stayed up late last night reading “Making Toast” in my latest issue of The New Yorker. My dad buys me a subscription to The New Yorker every year for Christmas and I am so grateful. I had just finished reading Malcom Gladwell’s article on teaching which, in my opinion, was a little short. I wanted to learn more about studies of good teaching. I wanted to learn more about how we could improve education in the US. I wanted to learn how to tell, from a parent’s perspective, if my kids had “good” teachers or not and I wanted confirmation that one of the teachers from last year didn’t “make the grade.”

So, whipped into this frenzy from reading Mr. Gladwell’s article, I was not as sleepy as I had hoped and I kept reading. “Making Toast” sounded like just the ticket to put me right to sleep. It didn’t work. When I got to the part in which Mr. Rosenblatt said that Jessie would soon be a teenager throwing fits about boys and stamping her foot in frustration that no one understood her, the tears began to break the levees of my eyelids. I could substitute my own daughter’s name in there. I recalled how she yelled at me in the car the other day that if I only respected her enough to follow her advice, everything would be fine. I tried to explain that someone can show respect without acquiescing to every directive. When she gets like this, I try to choose my words carefully or not at all.

I followed my husband around the house this morning as he was completing his pre-commute ritual. He assures that every burner is turned off, every door is locked and every light is switched off before he gets in the car. Uncharacteristically, I was leaving after he was this morning, so as he was switching off the lights, I followed along reading from your article. Tears streaming down my face, barely able to form words, my husband looked at me like I was a nut. I am quite familiar with this look. I think half of him is questioning why he married me and the other half is grateful that underneath the stoicism and bossiness, there exists a woman with the capacity to feel.

I am surprising my kids today. Last week when my son asked me for something and I replied “On some special day.” he said “That means never. You always say ‘On some special day’ and that day never comes. There are no special days.” He’ll see. Today is a special day.

Testing

This is a test of the quick press… Always trying to learn something new.

Gave up on idea of using wedding ring and ship steering wheel. Deeply in love with this man who infuriates me. Don’t want to imagine life without him. He gives me the chance to learn something new. Like forgiveness. What a beautiful feeling that turned out to be. Lucky for me, I get to practice with the small stuff. Hope there is never any big stuff. Not sure how I would fare with new found skills.

So lucky. Amazing life. Amazing grace. Ordinary. Ordinary is very very good. And so, it is extra ordinary. Extraordinary.

This must be what love looks like. Wrinkled. A little fat. Grey. Creaky. Real. Beautiful.

Sailing Ships and Ceiling Wax

I think my son’s fifth grade social studies teacher does not want me to get my Christmas cards mailed. My annual Christmas Newsletter is now out of date and doesn’t strike me as funny like it did when I wrote it. I wonder if readers will get the irony. Whatever.

Yesterday we made a trek to the craft store for “cheap” supplies to build a 17th century sailing ship for Social Studies. Last year, when I let my son complete his fourth grade social studies all by himself – his design, his creation, his work all the way – the teacher pulled me aside and asked “Is there something you need to tell me about the social studies project?!” All the other fourth grade projects looked like they were models straight from Maya Lin’s design studio. My son’s project looked like a fourth grader did it. He got an “F”.

I learned the lesson. I know how this game is played. He wrote the paper to accompany the ship all by himself, but I have been slaving away with a hot glue gun, paint, paper mache, balsa wood, an exacto knife, starch, and various other craft-like materials for the last five hours. I am not an “artsy” person. Never have been.

The assignment says “It must be historically accurate.” For crying out loud! “Extra points are given for detail such as canon, action figures, etc.” “Must be hand made from raw materials. No Legos, Lincoln Logs, etc.” God help me. Please. I was tempted for a moment to use my wedding ring as a steering wheel.

John, This One’s For You

Happy Birthday, my friend. It’s a little early, but better early than late, I always say.

Almost every morning I wake up by 4:30 to pull on my running stuff and go out in the darkness to run. If it is a good day, I get to meet some buddies at the corner and we visit while we run anywhere from 4 to 10 miles. Unless it’s a weekend. Then we run longer. It’s dark, but one of my buddies has a head lamp and that helps. I think about that Bible verse that goes something like “Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet.” All Karen’s headlamp lights up is just the path right in front of us. We can’t see what’s up ahead. I heard a pastor say once that if we saw what was coming too far down the path, it would be too frightening.

In the darkness on our path, we meet the same people day after day. We see the ex-sisters-in-law who walk together every day. We see Murray and Mary. Murray more often than Mary because sometimes she sleeps in. Murray always says “Good morning” in his strong baritone voice and he’s been known to warn us to be careful. We often see Kay, who, at 73 got her first Boston Qualifying time at the Newport Marathon in Oregon earlier this year. I enjoyed being there for that race and seeing how excited her husband. Lyle, was for her. I see George walking his old dog, Maverick. I enjoyed the jokes we shared comparing his dog to John McCain. There are so many people I look forward to seeing. I enjoy being a part of this community of pre-dawn darkness.

Yesterday, I went to Murray’s funeral. I think sometimes we get so busy with life that we neglect to tell the people in our lives that we care and they are important to us. I hope that by showing up at his funeral I was able to show his family that Murray made a difference in my life. The church was packed. Murray made a difference in a lot of people’s lives.

And you, my friend, have made a positive difference in my life. Thank you for helping me study and for being my friend all this time. Happy Birthday.