by size

As part of our ongoing effort to ready our house for market, I have just arranged all my books by size. Seriously. Over sized books, spiral bound books and books with staples on the spine were banned to the garage or to our storage pod. I keep finding a book that's just a couple millimeters taller than its neighbor, and have to get back into the fray. The funny thing is that I must have done this as a child, because I remember thinking about some of the really old books "yes, this one is just a bit taller than you think." If that won't feed a person's OCD I don't know what will.

Which brings us to the deep existential question here:

Why are books not a standard size? Or a standard set of 3 sizes? Why would one book be 2 millimeters taller than another?

Processing...

This past week we had to be out of the house while we got the place painted and re-carpeted for the sale of our home. We thought- hey if we have to pay for a hotel every night anyway, why not see Leggoland. And hey, if we're going to be in Southern California anyway, why not Disney? So after the marathon of getting every piece of thing we own off of any piece of furniture we own and off of all the built-in bookcases, and packing for a 9 day trip (and of course work last Sunday) we finally made it to Legoland. The weather channel kept promising an intense winter storm, but we woke in a hotel WAY out of our league and very cushy, to a beautiful sunny day. Leggoland was perfect for our 5 year old son, and nothing makes a parent happy like a joyful child. There was something in the way the place was designed that felt sweet, that felt caring. I kept saying "We are so blessed" just to grasp hold of this peaceful, happy, sunny day with my family.

But soon enough we're onto Anaheim, where showers again loomed. And Disneyland is freaking HUGE by comparison, and not so child-centered as Leggoland. We got the boy to "Winnie-the-Pooh's Great Adventure" (or something. He gets so mad when I get the title wrong) and he even got a real hug from Pooh. My partner got his turn on Space Mountain, and with our life-goals achieved, we braced for the deluge, which in fact came while we were on Dumbo's Whirly Adventure Something (sorry Son). We stumbled back to our hotel satisfied, but a little overwhelmed.

Imagine our shock when the next morning the sun was shining gloriously. So glorious, in fact, that I seriously under-dressed. It was a relief to walk the park again with no goals and no rain to drive us. The day was lovely, and I was glad to have the time with my family, but I kept wondering about this notion that Disneyland is the archetypal story that drives our industrial-growth society. We long for a place like this where we can have all our needs met (with great competence and attention to detail, it must be said) as long as our needs are shopping, roller coasters and corn-dogs. But stay off the fences and walls, just keep moving on to the next 45 second ride, the next 30 minute line, the souvenir shop for each thematic area. The closing fireworks display was beautiful (by this time I had bought my souvenir sweat-shirt to make up for my bad planning) but the narrator kept saying "dreams do come true." I thought, "like going to Disneyland?" I am still wondering, is there any there there? Is it empty? But it was a good day, a memorable day with my sweet dear husband and son. And there was dancing (like real professional dancers with skills and all) in the parade, and fireworks, and free tortillas at the Mission Brand Tortilla Demonstration, and beautiful landscaping, and a tree house 3 stories high. And Winnie the Pooh gave my son a hug.

Processing...

A place for birds

I am so thrilled that our buildings and grounds committee has gotten serious about putting in a new garden at the church. Maybe some native plants? Maybe a place for kids to plant stuff?

The project got a boost when the curriculum committee wanted to plan lessons for spring that included both gardening and building-and-watching bird boxes.

So Sunday as I'm leaving church, one of the women on that committee stops me: "Look it's a robin" she says. So it is. One and then another

"They all live in that old oak." she adds. "The oak is supposed to come down in the new garden plan."

"Crap" I think.

"I'll have to ask my friend from Audubon what kind of tree we can replace it with that will be as good a habitat."

And now I'm deeply happy. I'm so glad the conversation will happen, that someone will ask about the birds, and where they will go if we cut down their tree.

A girl told me last week at church that they were studying the Rain Forrest at her school all year. I keep thinking, if only we knew about the birds in our own back yard, and thought about them with each choice we made, how powerful that would be.

Getting Out

Sunday was one of those days when I managed to get myself, my son, and a posse of parents and kids out of the church and into the community. It makes me nervous, because it's never as simple as you think it's going to be. This was set to be super simple- we were going to make up bags of helpful things for the families at the Opportunity Center. 18 bags, one for every family. We planned to do it this Sunday because it's a holiday weekend, and we always have smaller attendance, hence a more manageable crew to take on adventure. The thing about holidays, though, is that people don't like to commit to be anywhere. My program coordinator (M) and I were nervous that we didn't have a lot of advance commitments, but trusted that this would be great like all the previous special events, where people turn up at church even on a holiday, and want to be part of the fun.

By coincidence, we had just received a donation of FABULOUS papers and stamps from a crafter who had recently moved out of state, so we started the morning by making cards and notes for each family. The older kids were sorting out our donations into piles of like objects to create an assembly line for the bags. I had our math whizzes dividing our total sponges by number of bags, and adults bustled around seeing how we could make every bag come out even. A couple rushed off to the store to buy "everything else." ("Really?" I thought "That seems like a pretty big donation" but they really meant it! People can be so generous.)

As usual, some of the children were totally absorbed with the drawing and writing, and others were done in a few minutes and ready to run circles. I called them all together to read a story called "Tight Times " by Barbara Shook Hazen. The illustrations are beautiful drawings, very expressive, and the story always feels very real; what it's like for a family when times are tight, and how on earth you explain that to your 5 year old. The kids were so quiet and attentive while they listened, it really gives the impression they took it in. (I can only hope that was more than my projection.)

But still the shoppers were out shopping, and the running-in-circle kids were back to running in circles. We were due to leave for the Center, but we still needed "everything else." It is moments like these when I wish someone more patient and less anxious than myself was in charge.

But when "everything else" came, the children and youth lined up and filled their bags, the adults made sure the bags all came out right, (M)handed me a big pile of field trip forms and a list of who-goes-in-what car, and after I convinced my son's playmate to join us, so that my son would be willing to leave his water games on the playground, we headed off. Almost every parent of every child wanted to come, and each transported a few of the bags. By some miracle I was the first car to arrive, and there was our Case Manager (K) who was sweet and gracious, (and patient with our lateness) and took over being in charge. I had been to the Opportunity Center once before, but none of my posse had seen it for themselves. It is such an amazing space, with such care in aesthetics as I have hardly seen in a place designed to serve families experiencing "tight times." My son was devastated when I told him it was time to go. He just wanted to stay on his rock in the sunshine, out in the front open-space of the center.

I am leaving this church in June, leaving this region, and that means leaving behind places like the Opportunity Center. I just thought if these great parents and children could get to see it, they would want to stay connected.

the ducks are back

There's a stream that runs near my house. I cross it every day when I run or walk my son to school. I guess it is still called a stream even when they line it with concrete. It's this amazing ecosystem that has, from time to time, fish and ducks and even the occasional crane. And every summer they stick a bulldozer in there and doze it all up. [Pause to restrain environmental rant].

Yesterday I ran by, and stopped to look at the tall green plants, taller than me I guess. And the little green ones. And the soft-looking dirt of the creek bottom. And the ducks. Eight of them. The ducks are back! That little cement creek managed to renew itself in time for the migratory season of our ducks. Amen and blessed be.