Loving...

Currently Reading: Villette by Charlotte Bronte and Early Irish Myths & Sagas by Jeffrey Gantz
(Finished The World of Downton Abbey in one day though... but I don't regret that 1 a.m. bedtime)

Every year, for Valentine's Day, Nate and I watch Jane Eyre (the phenomenal 2006 version from the BBC with Ruth Wilson and Toby Stephens). It debuted on PBS in February of 2007- the first Valentine's Day we celebrated together. Since then, it has become our Valentine's tradition- no fancy dinners, no bouquets of flowers... just the two of us (with Hobbes), burrowed in blankets on the couch,enjoying one of our favorite love stories.



Today, a list of things I love and am grateful for- because what better day to celebrate it all?

- At the top of my list: Nathan. While I won't get all sappy here, he really is my best friend, the sharer of all my adventures, my "sweetheart of the hawthorn hedges." I wouldn't be the same without him.

- My family and my friends. My life is so full with love from so many wonderful souls- my parents, who support me at every turn; my sister, who is my other half; my grandparents, those here and not here; my extended family, who are really just members of my immediate family because we're so close; my friends, with whom I share a million memories, and with whom I am closer than ever, despite the distances. I know God has blessed me when I think on all of the people He has put into my life.

And other little things:
- Watching birds with Hobbes as they gather the bird seed on our balcony, swooping and diving and chattering to each other in the cold winter breeze.

- The lovely purple shawl my Oma crocheted for me several Christmases ago that I hardly part with during the winter. Whether I'm cleaning, cooking, doing homework, or reading, it's there on my shoulders, keeping me snug and warm.

- Hot mugs of tea, steam curling from the surface invitingly.

- Inspiration. I have a harder time finding it during the winter months, but I'm starting to feel it take hold of me, like the first buds of spring returning. Inspiration to write, to desire, to explore. My blood quickens when it comes and the potential of the life ahead of me takes hold in all of its strength and its wonder.

- Writing this blog. I am so lucky that I have the chance to write about what inspires me, to share my thoughts and impressions with friends and family, as well as readers who have become friends and family. Writing has always been an outlet for me, but this blog has allowed me to challenge myself more and discover just how much I need writing.

- Stacks of books on my bedside table, waiting to be read and experienced.

- Mumford & Sons, every song resounding in my ears like a beautiful prayer.

- Creating in the kitchen.

- Our Ireland pictures.

- Serving communion at church.

- Dreaming of summer- farmer's markets, hikes in the State Park, starting another balcony garden, and driving with the windows down.

- Sunshine.

- Adding books to my Goodreads list.

- Wearing cardigans.

- Doing research at work.

- Accomplishing projects.

- Eating homemade yogurt.

- Shopping at Goodwill.

- Finding antiques.

- The color green.

-  Talking about kids' names with Nate, even though that's several years off.

- Adding quotes to my quote book.

- Listening to Opa's stories on my tape recorder.

- Planning for the future.

- Silence. I love stopping, making an effort to take in silence and calm for a few minutes of the day. Centering myself, saying a few words to God, recognizing the blessings I have. It doesn't happen every day, but when it does, I feel refreshed and in tune with who I am and who I want to be.

Love yourself, love the ones around you. "The greatest of these is love."

Happy Valentine's Day!

A Christmas Without Opa

Currently Reading: Charlotte Bronte: A Passionate Life by Lyndall Gordon, Little Women by Louisa May Alcott, and The Yellow House by Patricia Falvey.

Today has been a Christmas baking day, one full of cinnamon smells, wiping flour on my apron, and licking dough from bowls. My back is sore but my heart is full. Everywhere I look, I feel and see Christmas- from the carols serenading us to the lights on the Christmas tree to the bags full of Christmas goodies on the counters. (Nate playing Harry Potter Lego on the Xbox isn't exactly Christmas, but I'll take it anyway.) :) This year, we used our new Advent wreath (Adventskranz for us German folk) to celebrate the Advent season. While we got a little behind on lighting the candles, we are making sure that all four will be lit tonight as Advent ends and the Christmas celebrating begins.



I am a little nervous for Christmas this year, for it will be our first one without Opa. He won't be there to put on his obviously-fake-but-terribly-cute Santa wig and beard to pass out his "special envelopes," or to sit at the head of the table during Christmas dinner. He won't be making up his own silly lyrics to a Christmas carol and making me laugh- not at the lyrics but at the silly voice he uses. I dreamt about him several weeks ago, and he was using that silly voice again, making a joke just for me. I missed it. It was good to hear it again.




Every year, my sister, Nathan, and I put up our Oma's Christmas village after Thanksgiving. It is something my sister and I have always done; Nate has now become part of the tradition. Ever since we were little, we have lugged up boxes of porcelain houses and accessories, and proceed to perfectly design a little Christmas village in the middle of Oma's living room. We have never missed a year.



While we do this, we always listen to the same CD of Christmas carols, Oma bustles in and out with extra tablecloths and some mugs of hot cocoa, and Opa would sit in his chair, watching us and giving us pointers. Two years ago, as he watched and we admired our handiwork, he said something about how someday he wouldn't be here to see us put up the Christmas village. And then he started to cry. Real tears.

The only time I have ever seen him cry was when he would tell the dog fart story that made him laugh so hard, he was sobbing. But this time was different. Suddenly, my Opa was showing us how important our little ritual was to him, and how much he would miss it when he was gone. In shock, I went to him and laid my head in his lap and cried with him for a minute or two. Then we dried our eyes, and laughed, and I fetched him cocoa. That was really the last time he was with us for the construction of the village. Last year, he still sat and watched us, but he was more listless and a bit unaware of what was going on. This year, of course, my sister and I fought back the tears as Roger Whittaker's version of "Ding Dong Merrily On High" sailed into the room and we began to lift houses out of boxes. His chair was empty. But he and I had that moment, that good-bye to our tradition together two years ago and when I look back on it, I am so glad it happened. That is one of my favorite memories of my Opa, despite the heartache of it.

Putting up the Christmas village this year was hard, but we made it. I like to think it was our precursor to what Christmas will be like this year- hard and dreadfully sad, but still bearable. Still happy. Still celebrating.

I will celebrate the family I have, here and there. I will celebrate the 24 years I had with the greatest Opa of them all, and I will celebrate that someday I will get to see him again. And I will celebrate love, and magic, and hope, which is stronger than the pain and the heartache of loss. My soul is at peace and ready for the joy that is Christmas.

I intended to discuss my journey into Louisa May Alcott's world recently, as I finished the biography Marmee and Louisa, read several of her short stories, and started reading Little Women out loud to Nathan.... but it seems like I needed to get this out today. Thank you for listening. Merry Christmas, everyone!

Book Fate

Spring's a'coming! As I drove home from a friend's house this morning, with the Civil Wars blasting in my car and the sun warming up the picture-perfect farm fields all around me, I felt as if my soul awoke after a long winter of hibernation. Driving through God's creation is like attending a worship service, just as powerful and just as beneficial.

Three books in three weeks- my track record has been pretty good so far and I have enjoyed all three, each one vastly different from the other. So here for your perusal are the random thoughts that accompanied each book, during and after reading. Tonight, I'll discuss Frank Delaney's The Last Storyteller.

I believe in book fate. There have been times in my life where I have found myself reading the perfect book for the circumstance I am going through, completely by accident. Just like God brings certain people into our lives at opportune moments, I think sometimes He sees what we're going through and pulls the perfect book from the shelf. The Last Storyteller was my travel companion when I went to my Opa's several weeks ago to sit with him, celebrate his life, and say goodbye. As I sat there at home the next day, soaking in everything that had happened, I read voraciously. Reading is therapy, and Frank Delaney delivered. Delaney is a true storyteller, the kind one reads about in the old Irish tales about seanchai and wandering bards, weaving tales from thin air. When I listen to him read his books, I imagine him in the old tradition, pipe in hand, wreathed in smoke from a hearth fire. His voice makes each word and letter resonate, physically vibrate with depth and substance; it's an otherworldly experience.

The Last Storyteller was the final installment of a three part series, one that is part love story, part coming of age story and entirely captivating. It follows Ben MacCarthy, a collector of Irish mythology for the Irish Folklore Commission, who has wandered the Irish countryside for decades, trying to understand his own life and the decisions he has made. Bereft of his true love, he finds solace in his memories, the words of his mentor, and the stories he collects. It was comforting to return to these places that had become so familiar to me in Venetia Kelly's Traveling Show and The Matchmaker of Kenmare. It was rewarding to revisit Ben, and James Clare, and even Billy "Flocking" Maloney. But the theme of this trilogy that especially resonated with me throughout Opa's last days and beyond was the advice James Clare gives Ben in the first novel and continues to emphasize throughout Ben's life. As James says, "Every legend and all mythologies exist to teach us how to run our days. In kind fashion. A loving way. But there's no story, no matter how ancient, as important as one's own. So if we're to live good lives, we have to tell ourselves our own story. In a good way." Oh, I love those lines. Ben's quest for the love of his life also becomes a quest to tell his own story. In The Last Storyteller, Ben is finally able to do so, to evaluate and understand his life. And it is beautiful to see.

I love stories. I have had people ask why I never studied literature (although I argue, technically I do... I just don't have a degree for it). But the reason I went into history is because I have found that the past is where we find the real stories, the true drama of human existence. Through studying history, I have been privy to the stories of men and women from Crete to Mississippi. When we live our lives, they don't seem glamorous or monumental. Daily life is just that.. marked by seconds, minutes, and hours that are equal parts triumph and disappointment, peace and stress, joy and sadness. But when we see our lives and our world today as acts in a larger play, or a chapter in a larger tale, it starts to make sense. We can see how we fit into the broader scheme of things and even how we can change it. We can look back on the stories of those that have inhabited this Earth before us and see how their stories affect ours and even how ours mimics theirs. But we have to be open to it, we have to realize the potential that comes from our collective stories. There is so much to discover when we learn to listen.

I believe I was fated to read The Last Storyteller, with its emphasis on looking back to understand one's life and the importance of sharing our stories, just as my Opa stepped from this life into the next. The book helped me grieve and made it easier to focus on the gift of life, as well as death. During the past two years, I made it a point to ask Opa for his stories, and record them for my family and my descendants. And I saw with what joy he looked back on the life he had lived and recounted details and moments that may have seemed trivial, but all added up into making him who he was. I believe we can learn from everyone's story and I know I learned much from Opa's. My job now is to make my life worthy so that I may tell him a good story when I meet him again.

The Lesson of the Rubber Band

Last year, there was an entire week where I wore a single rubber band around my wrist. Nothing flashy, nothing colorful. A plain, flesh-colored, dirty rubber band.

That week, I had walked into work to find two books waiting for me on the back table that had just arrived from Inter-Library Loan. One was an audiobook, one a new release, and I had been waiting for weeks with bated breath for both to arrive. And there they were- waiting for me, arriving on the same day and banded together like a beautiful Christmas present in the middle of a soggy February. I took off the rubber band encircling the books and slipped it on my wrist, no doubt because I planned on depositing it in the nearest drawer. Yet I wore it for the rest of the night, and then into the following week. At first, it wasn't deliberate- but every time I started to take it off, I remembered the inexplicable joy and tingling excitement of seeing those books and knowing they were finally mine to explore. I never wanted to lose that feeling. So I kept it on.

I thought about that today because for some reason or other, I wound up with another rubber band on my wrist. This time it was just because I needed a place to put it, but when I glanced at it tonight, I remembered that moment a year ago and smiled. I needed a reason to smile. And a thought flashed into my mind like a snapshot- no matter what happens in our lives or what difficulties we face, there is always a reason to anticipate the future and relish in the opportunities we have stretching out before us.

Like opening a brand-new book. Enjoying a mug of tea. Taking a walk in the fresh air. Strolling through aisles at the bookstore. Buying a new outfit. Waking up to the smell of fresh-baked bread. Cuddling your niece. Making a home-cooked meal. Packing for a trip. Or celebrating the life of someone you miss.

There is so much around us. We just have to notice it, anticipate it.... and celebrate it. Even if you do so by wearing a plain rubber band.


Me and my Opa