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