At Considerable Cost

Every day, I see headlines proclaiming that all is lost, each side claiming the other side is evil and the cause of all ills.   Because of my social media settings, many of these lamentations come from those who are Catholic.    And I've grown weary from it.   I can always find relief in scripture and prayer, but recently, I've found hope for literature, television, and film from some secular sources.    I watch the films of Steve McQueen who explores what it means to be human and how our actions affect others.   I read the reviews of stand-up comedian, writer, and actor,  Brett Goldstein, whose show, Contains Scenes of an Adult Nature , chronicles his addiction to pornography and his journey as he gave it up and continues to heal in the way he deals with women and relationships.   There are people out there searching for answers, for truth.   They are asking us to thi...

Black eyes.   Technically brown, but any border of iris is lost in their depths.   Not just windows to her soul, but to their observer, they seemed to also be a mirror into his own soul.   Eyes whose near blackness had the same effect as the nun's black habit, always turning my thoughts to God.   In the daylight, those turned thoughts were fresh, hopeful and exciting: a new life, redemption, belief sparkled within delicate almond-frames.   Sharp wit and wisdom beyond years.   But then there was the night, as the blackness deepened around, so it did in those eyes.   Still sparkling, but now with a depth of experience and knowledge.   She was close to God, in love and hope, but that proximity also opened her up to the spiritual world.   The reality of battles, forces, of angels and demons.   Sure, knowing, and peaceful, relying on the name of Jesus and to use the evangelical vernacul...

My laptop has been returned to me today after being sent away for repair.   It seems to be working fine, although I lost some things.   Fortunately, all our digital photos were stored on an external hard drive.   Time to update the blog! The girls were very excited about the start of a new school year.   It's been a good year so far.   I met with their teachers Monday for parent conferences and both girls received glowing reports.   I'm very proud of them. While the girls slept, I finished cleaning their rooms for them.   I just wanted them to wake up to nice, neat rooms on the first day of school.   After I dropped them off and returned home, I went to check their beds and I found this note on Emmeline's desk.   You're welcome.

I realized this week that this summer turned out to be my own "Summer of George."   If you don't get Seinfeld references, I am sorry.   Truly, I am sorry for all you have missed.   I reference Seinfeld at least once on most days, I think. I had grand plans for the summer.   I was going to organize the whole house, from the closets out.   I was going to donate and trash massive amounts of things we don't need in order to de-clutter our lives.    I was going to paint our master bedroom and bathroom so the chalky quickie paint job done by the previous owners would finally be no more.   I was going to stain our back fence and work in my flowerbeds.   I was going to continue my diet success and lose another 30 pounds to match what I'd lost since February. I was so looking forward to turning 40 this month and I even had a private Pinterest board with ideas for how I might celebrate.   I had the dream of a little party and decide...

It's divided the state.   The other side will have hell to pay.   They have no idea what they've started.  These were the words we heard after the pink tennis shoes, after the protests, after the state troopers.   Today, the bill has been signed and my Facebook feed is full of the news announced after the signing: our local Planned Parenthood will close its doors for good.    Division, controversy, protest: as a child of the deep south, specifically the Delta, these ideas are not new to me.    They are the stuff of history at my doorstep and seen from the window of every drive we made in any direction from our Louisiana farm.   They are the root of the scars, visible and invisible that still mark the land and people of my homeland.   They are the root of the wounds which still flare at times. In the Delta, slavery, segregation, desegregation, racism, race realtions are not distant history and they are not abstr...

First picture It's just not possible.   It's not possible that it's been seven years since Aunt Betty (Mama's older sister) drove from Austin on the 4th of July to stay with Emmeline.   It's not possible that seven years ago,  I checked into the hospital for labor induction on the 5th of July.   It's not possible that my tiny little baby girl is now the curly-haired seven-year old who's sitting beside me looking at her baby pictures as I type. 4-D ultrasound: first glimpse of our baby girl Big Sister met Clare for the first time. Aunt Betty with Clare The world's best OB/GYN holding Clare It's not possible that I got through a delivery without Mama being in the waiting room, waiting to hold a new grandchild.   It's not possible that Aunt Betty, Nancy, and Leslie all stepped in, not to take Mama's place, but to help lessen the void left which I felt especially after having Mama there for Emmeline's birt...

Sleeping children: few things are sweeter.   These pictures of my sweeties deserved their own post.   The beauty of napping after swimming: