The natives are restless

We live ½ mile away from the township schools – one of the elementary, the middle and high school.  They are positioned very close to each, sort of like the north-south-east sections of a compass.  And unifying them all is the large area of prepared turf used for the soccer, baseball, track and football fields.  And the stadium and bleachers bring it all together in a dramatic central focal point.  Here is where the action has been all summer, constantly busy with different teams, concerts, festivals, outside competitions.  It seems as busy as if there are still full classes going on and the full student body is on campus, even though it has been summer break.
And now is the preparation for the sacred time of OH high school rituals – football camp and marching band practice.  We live close enough that in the early evening, we get serenaded by the high school band – quite good by the way.  The music program in our neck of the woods is very carefully developed and nurtured for teenage participation in the large marching band during the high school years.
     Were you ever in marching band in high school?  I must say – I love marching band!  I watch most college football games to get a glimpse of the band, love the halftime shows, LOVE THE BAND!  I went to a high school which had a highly structured band, but only marched 120 people during the season.  You didn’t have to be in marching band to be in the band program, and since I worked at camp in the summer (needing the cash) I wasn’t home for the late July/ August practices – I am a musician which didn’t march.  I was in the wind ensemble and orchestra during marching band season, but I was at as many practices as I could be – all my friends were there!  I went to every home game, knew all the cheers, knew the songs, hung out in the band section, and brought hot chocolate when it got cold.  Wore my school colors on Fridays and knew all four verses to our alma mater – “Close beside Cuyahoga’s waters, on this hallowed ground…”  Band fan extraordinaire!
I would leave home and walk toward school on Thursday night, living a mile away, and be beaconed to practice by the percussion squads – the drum beats, rudiments  and drills.   Strange how so much of my past memories of can be tied up so strongly with marching band practice.  High and college were filled with marching band, for I was studying music education, and you can’t get away from marching band – it’s a must-do.  And I did my student teaching within the Stow area schools, and got to participate in helping fifth graders learn how to hold a clarinet, help the middle school students play together as an ensemble, but the piece de resistance – the high school marching band.
The band director was an OSU alumni, and brought from Ohio State the signature move of the band – Script Ohio.  At OSU (B.D.B.I.T.L. – the Best …  Band In The Land)), while playing their particular march, the entire band, in formation of a long line, plays follow the leader, spelling out Ohio in script – it’s a thing a beauty to behold.  The simplicity, the power, ah!  And the final person, the focal point is the dot on the I, as a sousaphone player struts high step out the length of the field to take his place of honor and stardom – wait for it, here it come – TADA!  The dot on the I is a special privilege.
Well, script Stow is a different story and I can’t help cracking up now, even as I type, even as this was nearly 20 years ago now for me.  Chosen march, check; band in formation, straight line, check; marching single file, check; but then as you see the name of the school spelled before you – Slow.  WHAT?!.  Yep, there it is Slow, and you know to wait for something else, the finishing squad, that will focus your attention to their place of honor.  A squad of six, usually seniors, a privilege – and they bring their squad across the field as they cross the l and make it a t – Script Stow.
You may not find it as funny as I do, but as I listen to the drums of the restless natives, I am transported back to a time which was simpler.  As I walk down the street to watch the marching band practice, I am more centered and calm as I am connected to something in me which is primal to who I am.

Spending a little time learning how to add a photo to my profile. It always seems to take me a while, to get through small interuptions, but I think after followig all the instructions, I may have have got it. Now I'm going to figure out how to add a member to my site. Good luck!

Half a league, half a league, half a league onward

Alfred Tennyson was so inspired in 1854 by a book review he read in the newspaper about the charge of the Light Brigade during the Crimean war that it took just a few minutes to write this epic poem. Does it praise the courage of soldiers in battle fighting for what they believe is right? Does is expose and mourn the horrors and meaninglessness of war? Each reading can bring out a different outcome to whoever is reading it. I’ve attached a portion today.
Half a league half a league Half a league onward 
All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred: 
Forward, the Light Brigade
Charge for the guns' he said
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
 
'Forward, the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldiers knew
Some one had blunder'd: 
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do & die,
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
 
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd; 
Storm'd at with shot & shell,
Boldly they rode & well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell 
Rode the six hundred.

Inspiring to me, these rhythmic lines, pulsing forward, they must be heard out loud, dramatically provided. But the sounds are too real for me – “why?” you ask? There is actual cannon fire in my backyard. You see, I live in an alcove between three corn fields, acres and acres of the golden vegetable growing in the hot summer sun. These neighbor farmers use a pneumatic powered cannon to shoot loud sound into the air ( no ammo) to keep the crows away. They set it and forget it, and have them programmed for about every 5 minutes. Yet like I said, three corn fields. It sounds like a proverbial war zone without the casualties or missiles or gunfire.
Yet, I still can’t get the picture of Alfalfa reciting this poem out of my mine, you know, when he firecrackers in his back pocket and someone was lighting them with the sun and a magnifying glass..
Cannon to the right of them (blammity blam blam)
Cannon to the left of them (blammity blam blam)
Cannon in front of them volleyed and thundered (running and yelling and exploding everywhere.)
So we are at home, with cannon to the right of us, cannon to the left of us, cannon in front…

Growing II

This is a burn pile we have at our Columbus Ave. corps, most of which has been put there by us and our four children, Tyler, Abby, Nate and Kate. It has more than doubled in this past week - what a fire we are gonna have!

Don't they look precious!

My husband and I are not alone in the effort to grow things here – I have several young ones helping me. As mom, I am not the one who does it all, and I cannot apologize about it. I do not feel the Bible tells me that mom will work into a frenzy to put everything away, cut, mulch, burn, mow, weed, dust everything, vacuum, wash, sort, polish – all on her own. I do feel, however, that the Bible is very specific about my role as loving authority in these young lives. “Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not turn from it.” Proverbs 22:6

As the authority within their lives, I cannot shun the responsibility to train them in how to work – and for these 14 months, it has meant to work hard. Now, in all honesty, this has also meant many jobs have taken sooooooooo much longer than if I would have done it myself. Frequently, I needed to follow-up their attempts to “help” and finish it properly. Or fix things. Or begin a whole other job the cleaning effort has created.. But as I do, I need to remind myself, “This is for their own good. This is for them. I love them too much to not let them know how to do this.”


We as parents are not raising boys and girls – we are raising men and women. Men and women who will not live with us their whole lives. They are going to live on their own, and maybe have the gracious privilege to be married. They are gong to combine their lives with other people, who may have been raised a different way, who approach work in a different way.
Far from breaking child labor laws, we have induced within our young family that work is part of what God created us for, and there is always more to do. Though a reluctant work force at times, they are definitely becoming a true help. Some of these jobs literally could not have been done without them. We have been able to accomplish big tasks, cooperating and complementing strength…that is before the “you’re such a snot head” word fights start and then its all over.
No other authority in their life is going to be as much in love with them as their family – no boss, no supervisor, no colleague, no policeman, no judge, no county commissioner. It is a responsibility squarely placed in front of the parents to help a child meet authority and not buckle under its weight, hide from its gaze or run from its boundaries. I am on my knees regularly before God to be guided by His authority to exercise a loving, firm, nurturing, reliable authority for them. My growing saplings, precious young ones…
my T.A.N.K.

Work gloves in hand, we set out to do the job that needs to be done. I have needed these gloves alot recently; they are protective for my hands in light of the large amount of landscaping we have needed to manage on several of our properties. They are filthy, beat up, but they have done their job - my hands are free of scrapes, blisters, thorns, tears. (They are also free of the beautiful nails I had. I waited so long to try to grow them again, and not to be vain or shallow, but they looked mahvahlous! But when heavy labor starts, no torn nail is a reason to stop - its a reason to trim. So, now they are short, again until next time.)
Grass seed growing at such a hot time for the year - risky business. Have you ever tried to grow new in the oppressive heat of July and August? You know all you have to do - be vigilent! Straw for protection from heat and birds, but still these areas of the lawn need extra care, extra water. Soon the lawn will be restored from the heavy trauma it has endured. (I'm not the only one, see skylight05 on xanga, same goes)

Everything seems out to get these new signs of growth - they are fighting against the odds - trying to break through and survive. Can I identify - sure enough! Our corps has seen Dave and I and others planting seeds of the the love of God and covering them with prayer and actively trying to nurture and cultivate new growth. New growth in times of high heat and over-exposure - a matter of deep prayer.

Is your day in need of protection? - turn to God in prayer. In need for the coolness of encouragement? - God is there. Muscles weary from the things you needed to do to prepare and protect those seeds God gave you? He restores your strength and takes up the tools with you. Drink in His presence, allow Him to quench your parched life. The heavy trauma that has been endured will not be the final story, there is new growth coming...a promise from God in the land of hopeful hearts.


Home sweet home