Books for Enjoyment

 "No great wisdom can be reached without sacrifice." -C.S. Lewis

I did my very best to track with Roman's curriculum this year. (By the time a homeschooled student reaches high school, they are so independent with their studies, it's easy to sit back and let them fly.)

Sorting through some of our school things this morning revealed that I had filled entire notebooks with my own notes and thoughts from reading and studying Roman's Chemistry, Music Theory, American History, and Philosophy text books. 

I was homeschooled this year, too! Haha...

I kept the text books and my notebook always out and handy, so any spare minute that I could find, I would sit down and study. 

I tried to read for my own enjoyment throughout the school year as well, but only managed a few novels and biographies. Now that it's summer, I have more time to read whatever I desire.

I tend to have more than one book going at a time. I find I'm a moody reader. I like having options for different times of day and types of weather.

For example, I started Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte back when we were having those violent storms in early spring. To be curled up in bed late at night with thunder shaking my bed and rain pelting my windows made this story, with its own erratic weather and cantankerous characters, that much more impactful. 

I keep it by my side of the bed, ready and waiting for the next wild storm. (Because who wants to read any Bronte book on a bright, warm day? Doesn't seem to fit the vibe, does it?)

For those sunnier days, I've been enjoying, Them Before Us, by Katy Faust. Micah and I were at a gala recently where the keynote speaker of the evening was the author of this book. Her message was captivating! We left with a signed copy that night, and I began reading it as soon as we were in the car heading for home.

"If we are serious about ensuring that our nation's children are safe and loved, adult desire must be sacrificed on the altar of children's rights and not the other way around." -Katy Faust

This book is SO good! 

But when all the statistics and charts start to feel weighty, I switch over to this antique book that was given to me by a friend.

The Story of the Old Spanish Missions of the Southwest has been a very interesting read. I guess I never considered before that the Pacific Coast would have been discovered and settled in just the same way the Pilgrims and early Colonists settled along the East Coast. 

But instead of Englishmen, it was Spanish Priests, commissioned by the King of Spain, to covert Indians to the Catholic faith.

The Priests of the first mission, which they established in the San Diego area, worked for two years before baptizing their first Indian convert. As inspiring as their steadfastness is to me, this seems to pale in comparison to the true story of a brutal Indian attack this poor mission endured. 

Father Serra was away in Monterey when the attack occurred. A band of hostile Indians, bent on murder, set the mission ablaze in the middle of the night, killing the Fray and a few others whom the mission was left to the care of.

"The news reached Father Serra at Monterey. It was expected that he would be greatly discouraged at such an awful event. But his faith rose triumphant as he exclaimed, 'God be praised for the blessing of a martyr. Now that the ground is watered with such blood, gentilism can no longer hold out.'"

In today's world of boundaries and self-care, it sure puts us modern-day Christians to shame, doesn't it.

He went on to establish twenty-one missions from San Diego all the way up to San Francisco, constructing multiple tabernacles and baptizing hundreds of Indians, all while missing his home country of Spain.

I really just picked this cute book up for enjoyment, but it's reminding me that the Christian life is one of sacrifice and service.

This is why I read.

🌸

~ Courtney 

Day of Recovery

 

I feel as though I may have bit off more than I could chew this school year. 

Yesterday was our official last day, and I woke up this morning with such a sense of relief and accomplishment.

Even though most days I could barely keep my head above water, (homeschooling high schoolers is not for the faint of heart!) I experienced a stretching and a growth this school year that I am quite thankful for.

(Homeschooling is just as much for the mother as it is for children. Don't attempt it and not expect to be completely changed.)

I promised the kids they could sleep in this morning, as a reward for a diligent year.

As I sat reading and soaking up the quiet, slow morning, the first child emerged around 8:00, with two others trickling down between 9 and 9:30. It is now 10:00am, with the fourth still in bed.

A leisurely morning can be so good for the soul.

As I have shared on this blog before, I had the unique opportunity to tutor a small class of high school juniors, with Roman being part of my class. I can relate to Jesus's mother who famously said she "treasured these things in her heart." I was warmly welcomed into these teenagers' world, and even though I was supposed to be teaching them, they taught me so much more! The experience will long be etched upon my heart. 

Nevertheless, it came with many challenges. 

So we are marking off today as our Day of Recovery.

I feel free as a bird....

I took a slow meander around the yard pondering what I want to do today.

I could pull weeds, sort through our school books, run to Costco...

The world is my oyster.

🌷

~ Courtney 

Back Home From Miami

 We've arrived safely home from our beach vacation in Miami, Florida.

(Micah with our four growing children...)

Did you know that leaving North East Wisconsin at 8:00am and driving straight through the night gets you to Miami by around mid-morning the next day? It sure was a long haul, (48 hours round trip!) but worth it to enjoy several days of salty waves and sunshine. 

We rented a small house a block away from the beach. The interiors were painted bright white, and the floors throughout were a white and light grey tile that resembled cold marble. With blinds on every window to keep out the heat, it all worked together to produce a very cool effect.

(The view from the upstairs balcony.)

We found a grocery store close by the first evening we were there and purchased some essentials. Eating most meals "at home" helped to save a lot of money for our family of six. 

I gave each of my children a travel journal at the beginning of the trip. It was fun to watch them jot down interesting tidbits that were unique to them.

Things we saw, places we went... they scribbled away here and there as the week went on...

The culture in Miami, I observed, was mostly deeply tanned retired couples, sipping Margaritas, lounging in beach chairs for hours. Those who were young were big into fitness. The boardwalk between our house and the water was constantly filled with runners, and the shoreline filled with Yoga practitioners... everyone just trying to live their best Miami life. It's always so fun to people-watch, isn't it? And aside from a few sketchy looking beach bums, who mainly kept to themselves, I wondered, who is local here? It all had a very laid-back, Spring Break vibe. 

We set up our little spot in the sand and settled ourselves in...

Over the course of our stay, our beach neighbors consisted of a French-speaking couple, a young Spanish-speaking family, and group of friends with strong Boston accents. But it took walking past a cluster of young German-speaking men for it to dawn on me how Miami attracts visitors from all over the world. 

Even us fair-complected Northerners...

On Sunday, we drove the 20-something minutes to Ft. Lauderdale to attend Sunday School and service at First Baptist Church.

It was a large and beautiful church, with an extremely welcoming congregation. One after one, they approached us to shake hands and offer a warm hello. We even received advice from a lady, originally from the gulf side, informing us that the Tampa/Clearwater area has better, more beautiful beaches than Ft. Lauderdale. I nodded, then whispered to Micah afterward, "Maybe next year?"

 They made us feel at home. 

It was a joy to worship there and learn from their teachers and pastor. I love when I'm reminded that God keeps a remnant of His people in all places. 

As fun and exciting as it was to visit a new place and soak up the heat and humidity, it feels even better to be back at home. 

I must admit, we got a little sick of feeling slightly tender from sunburn, and constantly gritty from sand.

Not to mention, did you know these roam freely in the wild?....

(Don't worry, we were safe inside our vehicle.) 

Ahh... yes, home sweet home.

🐊🌴🐚

~ Courtney 

Daily Life in Winter

I enjoyed a beautiful breakfast on this wintery morning as my children slept late.

I didn't know we were supposed to get snow today. It's the soft, fluffy kind that flutters down slowly, and watching it from my windows makes me feel like I live inside a snow globe.

I'm grateful to finally be up out of the sub-zero temps.

Cash and I went for several walks on our trails over the weekend. 

It was just the two of us. My children were away at a church camp, and Micah went along to help chaperone. 

I decided I wouldn't grocery shop and just make do with what I had. Jacques Pepin calls this type of cooking Fridge Soup. I love the concept. Just check your pantry and fridge for whatever little morsels remain and see what you can come up with. 

This is what I made for myself:

We were already low on supplies going into the weekend, but I think that's what made the challenge fun. I had one old potato and a can of pinto beans in my pantry. In the fridge I found a carrot, a tiny sliver of onion, and a Tupperware of leftover chicken from when Roman had made himself quesadillas earlier in the week. A few other random little veggies were also used up. It's a great way to clean out your fridge and make sure nothing goes to waste.

I cooked this all up in a skillet using butter, olive oil, and Italian seasonings. It was hearty and delicious, and I was able to get three meals from this. Amazing how food stretches when there's only one person in the house. 

Now that the family's back home, we are spending the day resting and washing up camp laundry. I can't believe how wiped out they are. It's a mellow day here for sure, and a few have expressed their vexation with winter.

It has seemed extra brutal this year for some reason.

 There's an activity I've done with my kids here and there through the years that seems to help. When the weather becomes a burden, I will go through our books for scenes and poems that relate to the weather we're experiencing. 

Our old picture story books have a way of romanticizing any season.

Whether it's rainy illustrations for a rainy day, or snowy illustrations for a day like today, I select a sampling from our bookshelves, spread them out, and instruct the kids to fill their minds with the uplifting images and words. 

Beauty has a way of inspiring.

Even though my kids are getting older, I find this restful activity can benefit any one of any age. I enjoy viewing the colorful, wintery pages myself, so why wouldn't my kids? 

I might ask a few questions like, "Have you ever seen ice hang on tree branches like this?" or, "Should we try this recipe for winter tea and scones?" and suddenly the harsh winter doesn't seem so burdensome.

But that doesn't mean we're not wishing for an early spring!

💐

~ Courtney 

The Accidental Violinist

 It started with a request from Elsa, back in the fall, to take violin lessons. 

We had inherited a three-quarter size violin from a relative several years back. With the exception of Nola taking lessons with it for one full school year, it has pretty much lived in its case up in our attic, forgotten and forlorn, (as much of our attic dwellers tend to live.)

Hidden between a dusty box that holds an old, artificial Christmas tree, and a bin of baby clothes, the violin was retrieved, brought downstairs, and placed in the backseat of the family car, in anticipation for the first day of practice.

"Dr. _____ is a master instructor," the young man at the front desk informed me, "so he charges more than the other instructors." He slid some paperwork across the counter to me. I signed it, agreeing to the monthly payment, and slid it back to his heavily tattooed hand. His jet black hair was sloppily pulled back into a low ponytail and I realized he looked exactly like who you'd expect to be manning the desk at a music studio by day/ playing his heart out into the wee hours at a smoky pub by night.

Not wanting to send Elsa into the studio with an instructor I had not met yet, we took our seat in the waiting area, and I assured her I would go back with her to her first lesson. Only, no one came out...

"We'll wait five more minutes," I whispered, and we went back to reading our books.

When it dawned on me that her 30-minute lesson (that I had just paid good money for) had wastefully passed by as we read, I returned to my eccentric musician friend behind the desk to inquire.

"Oh!" He laughed, "yeah, that's Steve. He does this a lot. Here, I'll walk you back to his classroom." Elsa and I followed as he took us through the shop, down a hall, and deeper into the back crevices of the studio - the atmosphere growing darker the further we went. 

"Steeeve!" Our friend hollered as we approached the very last room. Popping his head into the doorway, he announced, "Your new student is here." 

What emerged from that very last classroom looked to me like a character from a timeworn novel. A disheveled man began apologizing profusely, and hastily ushering us into his room. Somewhere between accepting his apology for forgetting us, and trying to make our way in, I realized our front desk friend had vanished. Elsa and I were alone with this chatty, flighty, but cheery man.

The first thing I noticed was the room. It was tiny and dark and smelled strongly of cigarette smoke and stale garlic. Posters of Elvis hung on the wall. There were candy wrappers and half-drunk bottles of soda scattered around, and dozens of pages of sheet music strewn haphazardly all over the floor. Trying not to step on any of these items, Elsa and I took our seat.

The next thing I noticed was him. He was a tall, jittery man with unruly hair that reminded me of black and white photos I've seen of Albert Einstein. As he chatted away, hands wildly gesturing, his fiery eyes dashed from me, to Elsa, to her violin, and back to me. 

The mad scientist type, I told myself, as I tried to track with his ramblings...

All passion, no organization, my inner monologue continued...

My character assessment was correct. In the final minutes of Elsa's first lesson I observed him grab his violin from a hook on the wall and play with the skill, beauty, and talent of a genius. I also witnessed him attempt to retrieve a pen from a small drawer, yanking it with such carelessness the drawer pulled completely out, spilling its contents at our feet.

I couldn't help but like him.

As we drove to the studio the following week, I told Elsa I would be dropping her off to run a quick errand while she was in her lesson. By this point, I had considered Mr. Steve unique and a little crazy, but completely harmless. But what I didn't consider is that unconventional people like to keep you on your toes, and always seem to have fresh ideas for their next wacky move.

"Will you be playing with us today, Mom?" Mr. Steve asked me as I walked in with Elsa. A little taken aback, I stammered an awkward, "Uh... haha, no."

"Oh, yes you are. Here!" He thrust a violin toward me, "This is for you."

My errands were skipped that afternoon, and lesson number two was spent with both Elsa and I squeaking our way through Mary had a Little Lamb and Jingle Bells.

When the half-hour was over, and Elsa was packing up to leave, I thanked Mr. Steve for allowing me my first ever attempt at a stringed instrument. Handing the violin out to him, I said, "I suppose I should give it back to you now." 

He looked at me shocked. "Didn't you hear?" Then entering into some strange theatrics, he cupped his hand around his ear, "You don't hear that?" he continued, and enthusiastically glancing up at the ceiling declared, "God told me to give it to you."

"Oh!" I played along, "I am not one to argue with God." 

We went home with two violins that day.

Back at home, I inspected my new instrument closely. It was covered in dust and scratched up along the edges. I carefully wiped it with a clean, damp cloth. The following week in the studio I purchased a new block of rosin for our bows. It was there at the counter that I caught my first glimpse of the price tags on violins. With some of them being over a thousand dollars, I realized what a precious gift I had been given. I decided I would play mine every single day. 

And even though I am very much still a squeaky beginner, that is how I became the accidental violinist.

🎶

~ Courtney 

 

Magic Time

 As I was minding my business, snapping pictures around the house of the beautiful sunlight that pours in around dinner time each evening, it dawned on me that I don't think the story of this little French print was ever properly recorded on my blog.

The French must not be morning people, because we walked past a charming shop on a quiet cobble street two early mornings in a row, and neither time were they open. I mentioned to Micah how I admired the print of the young girl, dressed in red, sitting in a garden that I recognized as Versailles, where we had just toured a few days prior. 

"If they were open, I'd pop in to inquire about purchasing it. I sure do like it," I told him.

"Maybe a photo of you standing next to it?" He suggested...

On the morning of our departure for home, Micah proposed we dash over to the shop one final time... 

"No," I said. "I can live without it."

Well, it's found its forever home on my dining room wall, as you can see.

Micah had it shipped to America, matted and framed, all behind my back.

I opened my Mother's Day gift to this surprise a month later.

The evening light, (or Magic Time, as Micah calls it) sure was pretty tonight. 

There's just something so special about splashes of warm light in the house.

You never know where it's going to land or how long it will last.

I realized I had been indoors all day, working my life away 😉 and should really get out on the trails for some fresh air.

My Saturdays now consist of housework in the morning, then studying and preparing my notes for my class in the afternoon. So the walking break was well-earned.

We are in week 9 of school, and I've really been enjoying tutoring Roman's class of homeschool juniors.

There are five students in my class, and I've fallen in love with them all - ha!

 They truly impress me each week. These teenagers are so bright and wise, not to mention genuinely fun to be around. I feel quite blessed to get to do this, even if it means learning hard things like chemistry, music theory, and algebra - yikes!

Roman is healing up from his surgery splendidly, and is back to his normal routine. I am so glad that is behind us! 

He had the best recovery and outcome we could have asked for. I'm so thankful.

Now we can settle in, cherish the Magic Time of fall and winter, and hopefully not have any stressful family matters for a while.

 (Homeschooling and tutoring highschoolers is all the stress I need at the moment.)

🌟

~ Courtney 

"Grim Grandeur" - Roman's Surgery Day

 As part of my tutoring responsibilities with Roman's homeschool class, I am trying to track with his subjects and do some of the assignments myself. 

One course on the agenda this school year is poetry and creative writing. 

The assignment to look around for and write about some moody, dismal scene, titling it, "Grim Grandeur," piqued my interest. I had the perfect place. 

Packing up my over-night bag to stay with Roman in the hospital, I threw in my journal and pen, and hoped for some down-time to write.

We are safely home now from our week spent at Children's in Milwaukee, where Roman underwent spinal surgery for scoliosis on September 2nd. The experience kept my mind so focused on him, that I barely had the quiet mental space necessary to come up with anything to write. Not to mention, that they keep hospitals so clean and bright that dismal and grim really only describes the emotional side of things, not the place itself.

Have you heard of this new trend that people are posting about called Rare Aesthetic? 

As someone who tends to attach strong emotions to nostalgic things, it's fascinating to me to learn this has a name!

Have you ever been struck by the sight of your school empty and dark at night? Or glanced around your apartment one final time on move-out day? Or opened your eyes in an airplane to catch the first glimmer of sunrise through the cabin windows after a long, red-eye flight? ... These memories, with their unusual "frozen in time" atmosphere, have a way of engraving themselves on our hearts forever. 

So, I'm not sure what to call this... "Grim Grandeur," or my own "Rare Aesthetic." Nonetheless, I did manage to jot down a few observations in an attempt to, "totally surrender to whatever atmosphere was offering itself at the moment," as the writing assignment encouraged.

Tuesday, September 2, 2025  entry:

We arrived in sheer darkness, hungry and puffy-eyed from an early rise and long drive. The pre-op room was small, warm, and dimly-lit. A motherly nurse spoke gently with us while she placed the IV in Roman's hand. All is well. We are strangely at peace. 

I step out of the room for a moment to be greeted by an unavoidable orange ball in the sky. Through the windows at the end of an empty, quiet hall was the grey outline of building tops and a vivid sunrise. I step back into the room to sit... and to wait... and to listen to frightful things from doctors in an airy and composed way. (They must be trained on how to have a calming effect on people when offering potentially upsetting words.)

Three IV's total will be placed in Roman, I learn. The main IV, a back up IV, and an artery IV to monitor his heart. Labs are drawn to verify his blood type in case a blood transfusion is needed. (I'm sorry... what?!) A tube will be thread down his throat, so expect a weak voice and sore throat upon awaking, as well as blurred vision, and a swollen and probably bruised appearance from being smushed on his stomach for so long. I sit back in an attempt to process.... but with that, Roman is wheeled away in one direction, (I fumble to scoop up our belongings) and we are whisked off in the other direction to endure this six-hour procedure in their waiting room.

I try to settle into a spot by a window to rest and read. After taking in the view, and marveling at how we've come this far, (scoliosis that ends in surgery is often a years-long journey involving bracing, x-rays, second options and tears) I turn to 2 Chronicles 32 and read...

Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or discouraged. vs.7

...but with us is the Lord our God to help us and to fight our battles. vs.8

Suddenly an irresistible urge to pray washed over me. I stopped reading, closed my eyes and asked God to send extra angels to surround Roman on every side. I asked God to place His hand on the surgeon. I asked for everything to go smoothly. And when I ran out of words to pray, I thought of the verse that promises, "groans that words cannot express," and asked the Holy Spirit to intercede.

Just then I received a text. Startled out of my thoughts, I lift my phone up to read... "Update - Prep work is done and the procedure has begun." I realize I had been praying at the moment the incision was being made.

My senses awaken during this interlude like this morning's sunrise illuminating our day. Now that the busyness of the morning is over and I am alone, I can really see, hear, and feel in this waiting room. It is peaceful here. The room is spacious and clean, with blue chairs and bright, cream walls. A little counter with complementary water, coffee, and tea sits reassuringly off to the side. Instrumental music plays over the speakers. I notice the same few parents who checked in at 6:00am alongside us, and wonder what their story is. Some are resting, some are reading. One mom is given a warm blanket by a smiling nurse. But we are all sharing in this same bizarre experience of handing our most valued treasure - our child!- over to strangers for a life-altering operation.

I am thankful for the young couple seated behind me. They seem to understand the unspoken etiquette of speaking softly and of benign topics at a time like this. Our nervous systems can't cope with anything more stimulating.

I resume my people-watching out the window. It's going to be a sunny, beautiful, and warm September day. I continue to receive update texts from the nurse that Roman is doing well under anesthesia and everything is going smoothly.

By the time we make it to recovery, and breathe a sigh of relief at the Doctor's report that it all went perfectly, Roman is comfortably resting. Whew! What a whirlwind today has been! My body relaxes and I realize I'm hungry. I didn't feel it till now. How could a mother eat when her child's back is torn open, anyway? Micah has headed for home, and it's just me and a very tired, loopy Roman, alone together. We are told to expect to be here for 3-5 days. 

I like our room. It's private and painted a sunny yellow. 

Once settled, I decide to navigate my way through a series of elevator rides and long hallways, following signs as I go, to find the cafeteria. It is bustling with activity and humming with people as I take my dinner selection to the check-out. What is a reasonable first meal to consume after an emotional day? Something comforting and bland, you suggest? Like grilled cheese and chocolate milk, perhaps? Or soup and crackers with herbal tea? Makes sense. I should have listened to you. What do I choose? A spicy hummus and avocado wrap, filled with crunchy mystery veggies that I did not enjoy at all. That is so unlike anything I normally eat, I'm not sure why it seemed right in the moment. But I choked it down and it filled me up.

Back in the recovery room, that unavoidable orange ball is back in the sky. The sun is spilling that golden, evening light into our room, making sterile hospital equipment and plastic furniture look rich, warm and inviting. Grim grandeur. And I realize I have watched both the sunrise and sunset from this building on this day. One to mark the start of something scary and unknown. The other to whisper, See? You got through it. Everything will be okay.

"And we know that all things work together for the good of those who love Him." Romans 8:28

"I will go before you and make the crooked places straight." Isaiah 45:2

Thank you for all the prayers and support!

💐

~ Courtney