I got a haircut last week—snipped a couple of inches and added a few layers in anticipation of summer—so I figured my site needed a “summer look” too. I’m just a few posts shy of 100, so it’s a good way to celebrate that as well. Enjoy the new flowery look! It’s still me!
UPDATE: To my frustration, something corrupted this post, so I lost most of my comments about episode 9. This is unfortunate because it was one of my favorites of the season. If you need a recap, go to this Entertainment Weekly site for a fair summary.
We’re back! I didn’t get to watch the show until Friday night, and then my carefully planned extra 2 minutes of recording on the DVR still cut me short! I missed Ben’s final words to Widmore (but fortunately not the entire scene) and of course next week’s previews. This week, I’ll add 10 extra minutes to the recording time just to be sure. We learned about the seemingly unconquerable Ben this week and even got to view–gasp!–a somewhat human side to him.
1. I spent most of the episode trying to decide how much Ben knew/orchestrated and how much actually surprised him. Clearly Alex’s death blindsided him; he didn’t expect that. But did he know he was sending her, Rousseau, and Karl into danger when he urged them to leave in episode 8? Did he realize that Rousseau and Karl would die? That Alex would be used to try to bribe him outside his home? That the guy bribing him would be working for Whidmore? I think he probably knew some of these things. Obviously, though, he didn’t believe Alex would die–even up to the moment when he dismissed her as “not my daughter” and a “pawn.” His reaction to her death and his visible grief after the boat guys left and/or were demolished by “Smokey” showed us that Ben does have some raw humanity left beneath his tough exterior. (Michael Emerson’s delivery in this episode was stellar.)
2. “He changed the rules,” Ben muttered after his “adopted” daughter died of a gunshot wound before his eyes. “He” is apparently Charles Widmore, with whom Ben is involved in a brutal game for a prize of who knows what. At the end, before my DVD stopped playing, I did hear Ben promise Widmore that he would avenge Alex’s death by killing Widmore’s daughter Penny, coincidentally Desmond’s one true love.
The King and I have prided ourselves on teaching the girls correct words for their body parts and functions. (Well, I stop short at using “defecate” and “urinate,” but mostly because I’ve never used them and it’s a lot easier to say “poo poo” and “tee tee.”) Butterfly has lately been curious about her bathroom habits and her body workings in general. For the longest time, she told me her “‘gina” was making tee tee. One day, she asked me where the tee tee comes from, and I explained that she has a little bag in her body called a bladder. When it’s full, it squeezes the tee tee out. After a visit to the “Head to Toe” exhibit at our local Museum of Arts and Sciences, she naturally wanted to know what stores the poop. I explained that she has long tubes called intestines that get the good parts from food to spread around our bodies, and then a shorter intestine that removes the waste and gets rid of it in the potty. Yesterday, as she perched on the toilet in our half-bath downstairs, while her aunt (Empress Katie), her sister (Ladybug), and I sat a few feet away dining at the kitchen table, she began singing, “I have a bladder! I have a bladder! I have intestines! I have intestines!” This was to the familiar tune of “Nanny nanny, boo-boo” (or whatever you want to call it). My sister looked questioningly at me, and I shrugged. If you’re gonna teach a kid the right words to say, you can bet they’ll use those words at the most inopportune moments. Already I must deal with Butterfly’s exclamations of, “Mommy! Your bladder is squeezing the tee tee out into the potty!” while I crouch over a public toilet (because I refuse to sit directly on them), also struggling to keep Ladybug from crawling under the door. Ah, the joys of children!
Today is Earth Day–a day to emphasize the importance of conserving resources, recycling useful materials, consuming local produce, reducing waste, and planting trees. Political showboating aside, I have never understood some people’s resistance to issues related to caring for the world God has given us. Often, in my experience, the resistance has come from the most unexpected sources–people who believe in God and strive to serve what they interpret as God’s purposes. Why would protecting the earth, which is magnificently beautiful even in my own backyard, be considered pandering to a political cause rather than fulfilling one of the earliest instructions recorded in the Bible?
If you read the story of creation in Genesis 1, you’ll find breathtaking imagery of the vastness of our world–and there’s only a hint of the worlds beyond it. Imagine the breadth of our universe. It’s astounding. And we, as creations blessed with thinking brains and the means to act on our thoughts, are responsible for the earth’s care. It seems such a small thing, and yet, as time has marched on through the centuries, we have become more and more careless with our trust. The difference in how I live my life and how my great-great-grandparents lived theirs is like night and day. Conveniences and speed are helpful in our increasingly fast-paced world, but it seems that we rarely ponder how they affect our source of life.
I sat in Butterfly’s swing yesterday and leaned back, marveling at the bright green leaves sheltering us from the midday sun. I breathed in the fresh air, watched the birds search for food in the grass and then soar to the treetops, and traced lines in the cool dirt with my bare feet. What a lovely world we have, and what a shame that we all don’t do more to keep it that way. I include myself in this, for I am as wasteful as the next person.
I don’t know what the solution is. I suppose that it is, as with many things, something that must happen one person at a time. Does the fact that we put our used cans and plastics in a bin for recycling matter? I like to think it does. One person, one effort at a time. That may have to be enough right now.
(Queen Kelley is now stepping down from her soapbox.)
(Click on the photos to see larger images.) One of my springtime delights is searching the thick bushes and small trees close to our house for nesting birds. As I peer quietly between the branches, I’m usually rewarded by the sight of a mother bird eyeing me warily, perched atop her carefully crafted nursery of sticks. It’s great fun to watch her (and her mate, if applicable) flit back and forth between our bird feeder and her chosen spot. I check every few days for signs of new life, and again, I’m usually rewarded. Baby birds aren’t exactly cute–at least not at first. Eventually, though, they lose their fuzz and grow proper feathers, becoming miniature versions of their parents.
Last year, we found a nest in our front-porch flower basket. Two-year-old Butterfly was amazed, if slightly confused, by the naked pink chicks all piled together. This year, I’ve enjoyed watching cardinal parents explore the birdfeeder and have been fortunate enough to locate the nest of brown thrashers.
Just yesterday, I checked the thrasher nest and was concerned to find it empty. Where were the fuzzy chicks who were growing much too big for their nursery? A few minutes later, I was thrilled to hear the mother making a short chirp and then to hear a tiny chirp in response. Soon I saw her and then her perfect little chicks–at least two. They are a bit whiter than their parents, but still sport the characteristic speckled underbelly. Definitely cute now!
The thrasher had nested in a small tree/bush that cozies up in a corner by our front porch. I checked on the baby birds often, sometimes climbing on the porch railing to see them better. After reading about the birds on a Cornell University site, I was startled to learn the following, which was listed as a “cool fact”: “An aggressive defender of its nest, the Brown Thrasher is known to strike people and dogs hard enough to draw blood.” Sorry, but that would not have been cool. Not cool at all. The mother always watched me with that piercing eye of hers, but she never seemed aggressive. I guess we were lucky enough to host some of the nicer brown thrashers!
I had the privilege of meeting with my writing mentor and friend yesterday evening. As we sat in armchairs and sipped our respective hot beverages at Barnes and Noble, we chatted about his latest project–a screenplay continuing the fascinating saga of Star Trek. I found it easy to talk about his already well-written, carefully crafted work.
Then he turned to me and asked, “So what do you want to accomplish tonight?”
Um. “I’ve got about four chapters in sequential order that seem to work well.”
“But what’s your theme? Where are you going with this?”
Um. Kevin never fails to challenge me. He probably asked the theme question four times last night, and I don’t think I ever gave him a straight answer, and I’m not sure what that means for my little novel wannabe. He assured me that I had some good stuff, but he said it reads like events happening with no clear authorial purpose. One question he asked stopped me cold: “What are you trying to tell these kids?” He meant my intended readers, of course. Indeed, what do I want to tell them? How can I tell them this without being preachy and intrusive and heavy-handed? Kevin’s point is that without a focus, my work will probably not connect with any reader. And he’s right.
I wavered between feeling disappointed, overwhelmed, inspired, excited, and confused. Writing is certainly more complex and complicated than many of us imagine. It still gives me great joy and continues to feel like a passion. I’m grateful for people like Kevin who not only offer great advice but also hear my input about his own work with humility and honesty. Who knows where this will all lead, but for now I’m glad we (and often Karen and Jeremy too) try to meet a few times a month to bat around ideas and give each other helpful, constructive criticism. If nothing else, it feeds my soul for a while.
A few Sundays ago, our worship choir at church sang a particularly moving anthem. I was grateful that the lyrics were printed in our bulletins and have reflected on the words several times since.
In the bulb, there is a flower; In the seed an apple tree;
In cocoons, a hidden promise: Butterflies will soon be free!
In the cold and snow of winter There’s a Spring that waits to be,
Unrevealed until its season, Something God alone can see.There’s a song in every silence, Seeking word and melody;
There’s a dawn in every darkness, Bringing hope to you and me.
From the past will come the future; What it holds a mystery,
Unrevealed until its season, Something God alone can see.In our end is our beginning; In our time, infinity.
In our doubt there is believing; In our life, eternity.
In our death, a resurrection; At the last, a victory,
Unrevealed until its season, Something God alone can see. (by Natalie Sleeth)
For me, this song beautifully describes my relationship with a God who at times seems so large and distant, at other times so personal; at times utterly confusing and unreal, at other times more familiar than the people I know best; at times cruel and unrelenting, and at other times long-suffering and the epitome of compassion. In other words, a God who fortunately surpasses all my human reasonings. The song reminds me of Ecclesiastes 3:1-8. It is somehow reassuring to believe that there is indeed a time for everything, and I take great comfort in knowing that even when I can’t see far enough to believe a path even exists, God is there, already at the end, seeing it all and guiding me through it.
There’s not much cuter than a one-year-old child. (Except maybe a three-and-a-half-year-old child, but I’m in no way biased.) We love seeing her stubby little body struggle to master the finer skills of life–face mimicking the expressions she observes, fingers picking up tiny objects, mouth forming adorably accented words, and chunky legs toddling about. Watching Ladybug master this last skill has been a particular joy. Just in the past month or so, she’s gone from rapid movement on her hands and knees, crossing a room in mere seconds, to the first tentative steps forward, and finally to where she is now–still a little wobbly, but completely fearless, barreling ahead after whatever she wants, grinning her wrinkled-nose grin and giggling all the while. I am always delighted when I see that precious, slightly bowlegged wobble and hear those chubby feet slap the linoleum or laminate or hardwood. She’s just SO CUTE!
Robin posted this hilarious Lost montage. If you need a review of the past season thus far (or heck, all past seasons), you should definitely check it out. After viewing it–and laughing out loud the entire time–I said, “My sentiments exactly!”
This morning, Butterfly decided to wear her Minnie dress from Halloween. Then she decided she needed some brown shoes (worn on the opposite feet, of course) and yellow socks to go with it. She topped off the striking ensemble with a hot-pink headband. I’d offer more comment, but I think the picture is sufficient.
(Sorry photos are always of the backs or tops of my children. The King and I have an agreement not to show their faces on the Internet. If you know us, you see enough of our kids in person and via email photos anyway!)
This is just a note to let my readers know one of my best friends has joined the blogging world. Check out Heather’s new site at the appropriately named Sweet Southern Belle.net! As social worker, minister’s wife, and mom to a 17-month-old, Heather has a unique outlook on life. I look forward to reading her thoughts.
Butterfly had a sensitive day. From the moment I braided her hair for preschool and she cried out when I pulled it too tightly, to the fit of tears that overcame her when an eczema-covered knuckle touched her salty dinner, to her angry yells toward both myself and her sister when we accidentally bumped her arm or leg, she overreacted to every unintended “injury” today. I took her moodiness in stride for the most part, trying to remain calm even as she flailed around. After a similar incident during her bedtime potty break, I tried another tactic. She’s recently become enamored with the Disney princesses, so I said, “You gotta toughen up, gal! Princesses are tough, you know!”
Her matter-of-fact, though slightly whiny response as I followed her into her bedroom? “I’m not a princess, Mommy. I’m a three-year-old girl.”
How is it that she continues to teach her parents, oblivious to the lessons she’s imparting through words that sound completely sensical to her?
We’re all exhausted from our vacation. That always seems to be the case, and I’m aware of the irony. I guess the all-consuming, no-holds-barred work of making memories is draining in a joyful kind of way. Here, at first glance back, are my best moments from our week-long vacation on this pristine, luxurious island and in nearby Charleston.
1. When we arrived at the spacious rental house after an eternal car ride, Butterfly burst inside, quickly greeted my parents, who’d arrived ahead of us, and immediately set about exploring. She was especially delighted by the small playroom that led into her cavernous sleeping quarters. It was fun, if not sometimes frustrating, to teach my three-year-old how to play a game of Hi-Ho! Cherry-O that was well-worn with use.
2. On Monday, our first full day, we toured the South Carolina Aquarium. Though the animals were sleepy that morning, we all enjoyed the incredible variety of creatures who live in the water–from enormous sea turtles to ghastly green-yellow eels to otters. Even Ladybug was mesmerized by the fish as they glided through the water.
3. That evening after a long day in Charleston, the King took Butterfly for her first glimpse of the sea this trip. I didn’t go along, but the pictures he took of her freewheeling and twirling in the fine sand say it all.
4. On Tuesday, the “big girls” went shopping at a charming group of stores called 
“Freshfields.” We bought a few nice items and devoured chocolate shakes at the vintage-looking soda fountain. Tuesday was also Ladybug’s first ever encounter with the beach and ocean. Of course, she delighted in the wet, gooey sand, and despite the chill of the sea water, she gladly joined her big sister in splashing around and even sitting in the surf. The sheer joy on both my girls’ faces as they experienced the grandeur of the ocean was a priceless treat for me.
5. Wednesday morning, the King, my sister, my sister-in-law, and I left the kids with Nana and Pappy and boarded the ferry to Fort Sumter. I always enjoy reliving a bit of history hands-on, and remembering the story of the Civil War’s beginning (and, even though I agree with state rights, hating the particular stimulus for that war–slavery) was both interesting and moving. My best memory 
from that tour, though, was the sight of dolphins playing in the sea. Such fascinating creatures!
6. Returning to the house after our trip to Fort Sumter, I glimpsed Pappy and Butterfly having a picnic on the back deck. Another priceless moment.
7. Thursday was another 20-mile trip into the city of Charleston, which is chock full of history. Christy, Katie, and I toured the Customs House and Provost Dungeon while the King and grandparents took the girls to a children’s museum. Our tour was incredibly interesting to me–the breathtaking arched brickwork in the “dungeon” (constructed of bricks made by slaves on a nearby plantation), the segment of the original sea wall from colonists’ days, the gorgeous room of columns and elaborate fireplaces where some of the first plans were made for independence from Britain, the delicate dresses and waistcoats worn by ladies and gentlemen in the 1700s, and the lovely antique furniture.
8. On Friday, we took a final trip to the beach. While the King built a sandcastle for Ladybug, I trailed along behind Butterfly as she tiptoed into the surf and then ran away from it squealing with glee. Together, we explored the numerous tide pools, finding tiny schools of fish, crab holes, sandpipers, and pleasantly warm patches of water. Later, Pappy and Daddy helped launch the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse kite we bought at a toy store before the trip. Butterfly was amazed for about two minutes. Then she flitted away to something else.
These were the main moments, but there were plenty of others:
-viewing Enchanted with my family (my third time seeing it; it was the funniest yet!).
-playing hilarious games of Pictionary with my family on two different nights, using Lord of the Rings monopoly gamepieces and a dice with the Eye of Sauron as the number 1; we laughed so hard we cried.
-watching the emotionally and spiritually moving film Amazing Grace on our last night there.
-enjoying delicious seafood with my third cousins at a restaurant that clearly caters to lots of children–they had huge buckets fitted into the table for trash, which Butterfly loved.
-walking with my husband on the beach as the sun set.
-simply being together for a week with no obligations–not even email!
We got back to the real world on Saturday and haven’t stopped since. What a fabulous vacation, the details of which I look forward to sharing here. For now, though, head over to the King’s blog and let him entertain you with his Kiawah memories. I’m going to bed!
