Evidences all around me

As I look around me at the table, I suddenly perceive things I'm not used to seeing. If 50 years from now someone were to look close at our soft wood table, they'd see impressions on the edges. Indentations from writing return address on envelops... "Rosebud AB" and "Snider" "Box 630". Someone could learn lots about who lived here from these slight evidences.

Then I see my lists for the day. Constant reminders to be more diligent for my aging, sore body. (I danced a bit hard last night in a coaching.)

Then I turn my eye to the easel where Donovan's panorama of our town sits, folded from being toted in his backpack home from school. Such an expansive imagination and great photographic memory with the SYSCO truck.

Then I glance up and see his 10 month old picture in the dandelions by the side of the highway. Beautiful. Chubby cheeks and a little contented smile, - not at all registering the wailing unhappy baby that merited the sudden pullover on a the Trans Canada back in 2002.

I'm full of Christmas thoughts already. Partly because I don't want to work on difficult grading or writing projects, and partly because there's no other significant holiday to look forward to. Then I see Dan Pagoda's cartoon of Santa and the elves trying to see who to give gifts to: there's only a handful of "nice." It's really faded now, but the resourceful elf says, "Hey I know, what if we changed it to 'who's HOT and who's NOT?'" Such a sadly true sentiment when I look around. We're all getting so sucked into the internet and mediocrity that kindness seems to take too much effort sometimes. Which is really a lie if you let yourself think about it.

The boys are quietly working this morning. Weston is listening to Prince Caspian on the audio tapes and Donovan has been inspired to make his own "The Night Before Christmas" book. It's quite good, dear soul. Donovan has had very chapped and split lips for two days now and it pains me to see him that way, but he's plugging away at his projects with great determination. Weston is gnawing on a half apple with the core cut out (his second one) - oh, he loves apples. God's best creation to his 5-year-old tastes.

Donovan is still pale (except his swollen lips) but he has a bit more energy this morning. But many others are suffering. Our neighbor Paul Lassen had a fever for 5 days and had to be monitored in the hospital. I saw his wife Janice trying to rush off to work and childcare and I rushed up and asked if they couldn't use a quiche. "Sure," she said. And that afternoon I set out to make two: one for us and one for them. I put spinach and feta and ham and onion and cheddar into it with a walnut crust. I was fine, although the crust was too crumbly. Dave helped buy some extra farm eggs and we made it in time. He and I loved ours but the boys wouldn't touch it. Donovan said the smell made him sick. Nonetheless, Dave and I were grateful for it the next day as well. - And it really didn't take that long to make.

So, we're having a sunny November and no sign of snow. It doesn't seem right. Time is passing quickly this 2009th year since Christ and by boys are getting tall and smart. This morning Weston said, "I smote him" (meaning he struck the evil stuffy with a sword - thanks to King Arthur stories.) I don't remember ever using the word smote.

I took the boys to the dentist yesterday and on the way home we played 20 Questions. I chose a chameleon and Donovan guessed it, Donovan chose his new toy from the dentist and Weston guessed it, then Weston said, "I'm a kind of bat." "A kind of bat?" Donovan and I were confused; we didn't know any KINDS of bats. "Vampire?" "No." "Sugar?" "No." "Baseball?" NO! Don't be silly. I fly at night." "Chester?" "NOO!!" "OK, OK. What's it start with?" "ACH." "ACH?" "ACK" "Ack- bat?" "No. It goes like this:" And Weston rolls his hands around each other in a sign of rolling. "I don't know, Weston. What is it?" An exhausted Weston sighs and says, "an acro-bat!" --Oh, Donovan and I had a great laugh after that, but we had to be careful. "I see your thinking about that, Weston, but an acrobat is usually a human who does tumbling circus tricks, not a bat." "Oh. I thought it was a bat." "Yes."

They're both so hungry to assert their thoughts. They're forming their values right now.

Thankfully I have gotten to work on my play some. It's undergoing changes... gradually, but it sure feels good to start. "Well begun is half done." or even "Just begin and you will win."

So... thank God for a mellow Saturday and here's hoping we can convince the boys to pitch in with cleaning the house today... Maybe we'll bribe them with the idea of getting to put up a few Christmas decorations.