Cottage Blessings

A Step Back in Time

The Roman city of Pompeii, suddenly decimated by the wrath of Mount Vesuvius, is, as you know, a perfectly preserved example of an Ancient Roman town. There to this day you will find uncracked eggs gathered in a bowl, a leashed dog curled in endless sleep, pots and pans left set to boil upon the fire--the precise and permanent picture of life as it was at a distinct moment in time.

This was exactly the way we found things here at home upon our return from San Francisco.

The truth is that I had done no preparation for our three month trip, hurling some clothes in a box to be shipped to our destination one or two days before leaving New York and that's about it. Upon our return, I was amazed to find the house exactly as we had left it, the perfect time capsule of our life back in May. A script from A Midsummer Night's Dream sat splayed on its spine; a Scrabble game in progress awaited a next move on the coffee table; a pitcher of pink peonies drooped forlornly on the mantle, the centerpiece from our almost forgotten Rhododendron Tea.

The Mary Garden outside, long neglected and left to nature, reminded me of Sleeping Beauty's Castle, the green things embracing Our Lady so that we could hardly find her. Full grown melons we had never planted huddled beneath the hostas, their vines and yellow blooms crocheted in a chain stitch throughout the unruly bed. Tomatoes sprang up mysteriously, the evidence of a child's afternoon snack all those months ago.

It was only yesterday--believe it or not--that I entered the learning room in the cottage for the first time, surprised to find scrap paper, books, blocks--all left in their places since May. I reached for a garbage bag, tossing the useless papers indiscriminately, when my eye fell upon a bright yellow sheet covered in numbers. It was Agnes' scrap paper from last year's foray into Algebra. Words were written on one side that made me laugh out loud--the "doodling" of a student whose mind was evidently more on Shakespeare and A Midsummer Night's Dream (not to mention escape!) than anything else.

Here is her simple [she's only changed a few words from the original], yet amusing, parody of Nick Bottom's speech to the "Wall" from Pyramus and Thisbe, the play within a play:

O grim-look'd math! O math with print so black!
O math, which ever art when play is not!
O math, O math! alack, alack, alack,
I fear my mother's promise is forgot!
And thou, O door, O sweet, O lovely door,
That stand'st between the smaller house and mine!
Thou door, O door, O sweet and lovely door,
Show me thy pane, to blink through with mine eyne!

Thanks, courteous door:
Jove shield thee well for this!
But what see I?
No recess do I see.
O wicked door, through whom I see no bliss!
Cursed be thy wood for thus deceiving me!

*******

I must admit to enjoying this visit to our lives as they were in May.

Still, I think it may be time for a bit of spring cleaning to bring us back into the present!

[This is the 500th Cottage Blessings post.]

Wise Men's Gifts, Plan C, or a Bit of Unexpected Poetry

It was getting late in the day when I asked Agnes to write the three letters to Jesus on behalf of our family for our Christmas and Epiphany Tea. I told her my vision for the project, rattling off the top of my head something akin to the sample I posted here yesterday. She said, "Sure, Mom," and returned 45 minutes later with these, each separate letter written in careful script with a line drawing of the individual Wise Man kneeling before the Infant to offer his gift.

Letter Number One:

Dear Jesus,

Melchior brought
His gift of gold
For he had legions
Of wealth untold.
But You were poor
And had nought but rags
And a stable to shut out the cold.

So do we give
The gold that we make
Away to the Church
For Your people's sake.
And with Your help,
May we not withhold
From those that You love
The least scrap of our Gold.

Letter Number Two:

Dear Jesus,

Caspar was wise
And he knew not to bring
A gift that was meant
For an earthly king.
He neither gave livestock,
Nor clothing, nor wine--
He gave you a gift
That was for the Divine.
May all that we offer--
Our thoughts and our prayers--
Rise to heaven like incense
For all of our years.
To Thee do we cry, Lord,
For You we are yearning--
May the incense we offer You
Never stop burning.

Letter Number Three:

Dear Jesus,

As Balthazar watched
A tear came to his eye--
How could he tell Mary
Her Son would soon die?
He knew of the sorrow
It would give to her.
He spoke not a word
Yet he offered You myrrh.

As, surrounding the manger,
We witness Your birth,
Let us offer our sorrow
As well as our mirth.
When You leave the world
It will be a great loss--
Perhaps, by our pains,
We can lighten Your cross.

Baby Jesus was not the only one to receive three gifts today.

Skyrockets in flight . . .

afternoon delight!

This is our contribution to the Science Fair Carnival, dreamt up by Dawn and hosted by the infinitely resourceful Stef of The Eclectic Homeschooler. Our family has cheated just a bit, featuring pictures from a science class the children took last week at a local nature preserve. Theresa (11) will narrate from here:

We began by assembling our rockets from a tube, a piece of straw, a strip of metal, three wooden fins, two pieces of string (elastic and teflon), a small blue ring, a premade engine, a nose cone, a paper tab and a streamer. The tube is the body of the rocket; the straw and the metal attach the rocket to the launch pad; the fins help it balance as it flies; the elastic string keeps the nosecone from coming off the rocket; the teflon string keeps the elastic string from burning up; the ring keeps the engine in place; the paper tab keeps the strings in place; the nosecone cuts the air in front of the rocket; the streamer allows you to see where your rocket has landed; and engine provides fuel and force for the rocket. Without the engine, the rocket would not be able to fly.

The launchpad is attached to a remote control. When the button is pressed, the engine within the rocket is ignited, causing it to lift off the ground. Please click here for a video of one of our attempts.

We loved shooting our rockets in this beautiful setting . . .

and, of course, while we were out, we found yet another mantis! They seem to follow us wherever we go!

When the frost is on the punkin'

Please head out to the Cottage Garden to read Theresa's thoughts on the wonders of Autumn.

Another installment of "The Mantis Diaries"

Jennifer in Austin was kind enough to comment:

"We love the spoon saints and the Shakespearian spoons, as well as the Franciscan birdhouses. However, we REALLY keep checking back for Agnes' Mantis Diaries, Part II! We hope she has time soon.

Ian (9) and Louisa (6)"

Agnes was so honored by Ian and Louisa's request that she set to work immediately on The Mantis Diaries, Part 2--Beech Tree and Renarda.

While you are in the garden, please take a stroll down the path to find Marie's latest quote and yesterday's search and rescue.

Prayerful Pets

Agnes has begun a series of stories and anecdotes about the seven mantises she and her sisters have kept as pets during the past year. Please take a look at The Mantis Diaries, Part 1.

By the way, this is one of my favorite pictures ever. Please click on the thumbnail within the post for a better view of Maureen admiring the flora and fauna inside our house.

Chipmunks

as observed by Margaret and Marie this morning.

September 11th through the children's eyes

A day or two after September 11th, my daughters dictated these impressions of the tragedy to me. As young as they were, it was a day that neither one of them will ever forget.

Seven year old Agnes' account of Tuesday's events:

One day I woke up. I was happy because it was a nice, sunny day, and
Mommy said we were going to a place that was a surprise. The cleaning lady
was coming, and I like the cleaning lady a lot. I had no piano lessons,
which gave me a lot of time to practice (even though I like piano lessons).
We were hanging around the storytime room after we had gotten dressed, and
Mommy switched on the TV. It was the news. The picture on the screen was a
picture of a large building with smoke billowing out the windows.

After Mommy had watched a little of the news, she told us to go out. I
understood why, because sometimes, when there is news that is not for kids,
she tells us to go out. After a little while, I decided I would play with
Theresa, so I went to our room (which Theresa and I like to hang around in). I
found her sitting on the bed crying, so I asked her what was the matter.
She explained to me that both Twin Towers had gotten knocked down. Back
then, I didn't know what a big deal it all was, so I said to her, "Don't cry
Theresa. Actually, it's interesting."

"But I loved the Twin Towers so much," Theresa sobbed.
"I'm sure they'll be building the Twin Towers up again," I told her.
"Yes," said Theresa, "but when? They won't be able to build them back up
until the smoke stops coming out!"
"Don't worry," I said, "I'm sure the firefighters will put it out."
"But it was too hot even for the firefighters," said Theresa.

I still wasn't worried--I knew the smoke would have to stop coming out
sometime.

Then Mommy called us because she said we were going to Dunkin Donuts.
Theresa and I came thundering down the stairs and hopped into the car as soon
as the door was open. We were both pretty sure that after we had gone to
Dunkin Donuts we would go to the surprise place. After Dunkin Donuts, we
started driving home. "Why aren't we going to the surprise place?" I asked.
"Well," said Mommy, "I'm very sorry, but I'm too worried about Daddy. We'll
go to the surprise place very soon." I started crying, but Mommy said I
shouldn't be crying when we had to go home, so I stopped.

I soon found out how awful it was about the Twin Towers. Daddy almost
had to stay at his friend's apartment, but in the end, he called and said he
was at the train station and would be home that very day. Mommy was so
happy that we all went outside and put up an American flag. Everybody had
one. Everyone had put one up that day. We sat down on the front steps to
wait for Daddy. All of a sudden, the front door opened at my friend
Kristin's house. I went to the edge of the street and told Kristin that my
Dad worked in Manhattan. "My Dad works in Manhattan too," said Kristin,
"Luckily he wasn't hurt!" Patrick, Kristin's big brother, said, "We're very
lucky that he wasn't." After a little while, Kristin's mother came out, and
I told her that my father worked in Manhattan, but he was coming home today.
Kristin's mother said, "Yes, and here he comes right now!" I looked in the
direction she was looking, and, sure enough, Daddy was walking down the
sidewalk right near our house. We all greeted him, and after a while, we
went into the house.

As it turns out, a plane had crashed into the Pentagon too that day.
That night, we went to a special Mass to pray for the people
who had died. After Mass, we played with our friends, the O'Sullivans,
while all the adults talked. It was very unusual to be coming out of church
at that time, because it was so late.

A few days later, we went to the gardens, and I wrote a story about it,
and it was this story.

The end.

Six year old Theresa's account of Tuesday's events:

A few days after my sixth birthday, there was a plane crash. It crashed
right into the Twin Towers. Everybody thought it was an accident. Then
another plane crashed into the other Tower, and everyone knew that it wasn't
an accident. Then there were two explosions. They were similar, but not
exactly the same. One was red, and one was gray. I'm not sure which one
was worse, but I know the worst part about it was that both towers fell
down.

At first I thought they were just ordinary buildings, but they weren't.
They were the Twin Towers. The way I found out was this--my Mommy called my
Daddy on the telephone. He knew that one of the Twin Towers had fallen
down, but Mommy told him that both Twin Towers fell down. I heard it, so I
started crying. "What's the matter?" asked Mommy. "I liked the Twin
Towers," I said. Mommy tried to comfort me. "They'll build them back up
again." "But when?" I asked, "when the smoke stops coming out?" "I'm not
sure," said Mommy.

I went into my room and went to lie down on my bed. I lay down on my
bed, and the cleaning woman came in. She asked me what was the matter, and
I told her. She said, "Don't cry." That cheered me up a bit. I wiped my
eyes and went back in the storytime room to watch more TV. Then I went back
in my room and sat on my bed. My sister Agnes came in. She asked what was
the matter, and I explained to her that both Twin Towers fell down. "Don't
worry Theresa," she said.

Then Mommy said it was time to go to Dunkin Donuts, so we ran down the
stairs. After we ate our bagels, I asked, "Why didn't we go to the surprise
place?" "I'm sorry honey, but I need to stay home so I can find out what is
going on in Manhattan, at least until Daddy calls again." Mommy was glued
to the TV, so we had to stay inside. Then Daddy called from the train and
said that he had gotten to our town and was going to be home very soon.
Mommy hung up the phone, and we all ran outside. I went to talk to Mrs.
C, my friend Kristin's mother. Then Mrs. C said, "There's your
Dad right now!" I ran over as fast as I could and hugged him. We played
outside for a while. Then I went in, and we ordered Italian food from the
pizza place.

After dinner, we went to a special Mass because the Twin Towers and the
Pentagon had fallen down. I played with my friends, the O'Sullivans.
Then we went back home, got into our pajamas and went to bed.

The end.

More from Agnes

Nature study continues in the Cottage Garden.

The Feast of St. Joseph the Worker

A year or so ago, Agnes wrote a poem for my husband appropriate for today's feast. May God bless and keep all our husbands and fathers!

Protector of the Family

by Agnes (about age 11)

In different times and places do they stand,
Saint Joseph and the sturdy father who,
Works hard and long each day to feed his band,
Of merry little ones, their mother, too.
Yet none can name a difference between
Saint Joseph, and the man who at the door,
Is greeted by his wife and tiny son,
Such is the payment he has waited for!
Saint Joseph, please protect and bless this man,
Who shields us from the wicked things below,
Who, in his turn, protects his family,
Just as you did, so many years ago.

Living with Lewis Carroll

One of the things we love about Lewis Carroll is his knack for poetic parody. Agnes surprised me today with this Carroll-esque spoof of one of her favorite works by John Keats. Included first is the original Keats poem to highlight the humor in Agnes' tongue-in-cheek version.

Minnows
(an excerpt from "I stood tip-toe upon a little hill" by John Keats)

Where swarms of minnows show their little heads,
Staying their wavy bodies ’gainst the streams,
To taste the luxury of sunny beams
Temper’d with coolness. How they ever wrestle
With their own sweet delight, and ever nestle
Their silver bellies on the pebbly sand.
If you but scantily hold out the hand,
That very instant not one will remain;
But turn your eye, and they are there again.
The ripples seem right glad to reach those cresses,
And cool themselves among the em’rald tresses;
The while they cool themselves, they freshness give,
And moisture, that the bowery green may live . . . .

Workbooks
(by Agnes, age 12)

Where swarms of workbooks rear their ugly heads,
Shoving their papery thickness 'gainst our brains,
To feel the drudgery of printed plains
Temper'd with graphite. How they ever wrestle
With all our sanity, and ever nestle
Their bulk upon our desks (they weigh a ton).
If you but scantily think, "Oh, I'm done!"
You'll notice that more questions will remain;
Yet turn the page, and there they are again.
The workbooks seem right glad to bore and burden,
All for the sake--they say--to foster learnin';
The while they make us toil, they headaches give,
And suffering, that no free time may live . . . .

Our favorite Lewis Carroll parodies include How Doth the Little Crocodile, the madcap companion to How Doth the Little Busy Bee by Isaac Watts; Father William, a reinvention of Robert Southey's straitlaced The Old Man's Comforts and how he gained them; and Hiawatha's Photography, the side-splitting sequel to Longfellow's Song of Hiawatha. (In spite of the order of these links, it is actually far more amusing to visit the original works before the Lewis Carroll renditions.)

Internet Irritant

We have been having quite a bit of trouble with our internet connection, although the problem appears straightened out now. Sharing my recent frustration, Agnes wrote a poem gibing our "Buffalo" wireless access system:

Oh, what is with the internet?
The fiendish Buffalo,
Is playing tricks upon me now,
I know, I know, I know!
Now listen here, you vile felon,
I've got a blog to type,
I think the time to reconnect
Your tail is very ripe!

Oh, what is with the internet?
The Buffalo's at fault, I bet!

My little mouse must think it queer
To not be clicking links.
He questioningly squeaks at me,
The Buffalo just winks!
I calmly hit "refresh the page,"
But there is no refreshing,
The internet is knocked out cold,
The Buffalo's work, I'm guessing!

Oh, what is with the internet?
I'll get that little beastie yet!