Silhouettes

It doesn't actually take much to learn how to capture a good silhouette. Sunset behind you. Exposure decreased a bit. Subjects and limbs separated enough that they don't appear to be one massive blob.

But what is difficult, is finding a place where you can easily capture one! It's no simple thing around here finding a spot where there aren't mountains or rooftops or trees behind you. And it's usually an unexpected delight when we are out and about and I suddenly realize one of my kids is standing in a spot with nothing much behind them, at evening, and towards the sunset! 

Such was the case on a recent family walk when Penny and Anders leapt up on a rock. (Though, as you can see, there was still competing "stuff" in the background.)

But even more delightful than seeing this opportunity was texting it to my three older girls ... and having it texted back to me as follows:

Goldie returned it first with Anders' stick having become a fishing rod:

 Which, naturally, begged for Penny to add a fish:

And Daisy to add ... a shark:

And Goldie to then shift it all to:

A week or two later, when we stopped by a park for Family Night, I looked up to where a few kids were calling me from a hilltop and gasped! A perfect silhouette spot!

I quickly called for more kids to get up there and get up there fast and got this lovely shot. (Only afterwards did I realize that Summer's bike helmet, in silhouette, made for an overlarge head. Or that Mette had not been joking when she said she had to go to the bathroom. Still! We will definitely return to this spot at some point with all ten kids lined up on that hill!)

Unrelated to any of the above:

I never did post a picture of Mette going to Kindergarten (since she started a week after the other kids). She's mastered school. Bless her heart. Never mind that she turned five just days before it started, she loves the challenge of learning and could easily be fine in 1st grade with Summer this year. (Probably, in large part, due to the fact that she spent much of this last spring leaning over my shoulder, as I helped Summer with all her Covid-homeschooling school work, demanding that I let her practice finding buddies to 10 and so on.)

And there is also this that ought to be shared:

Mike bought these "BedRyder" truck seats that you bolt right into your truck bed. Though they are legal and not so very different from Jeep or convertible seats, we get some dubious looks when the kids are in them. But they sure think it's fun! (Goldie rode as well during this maiden voyage. She just wasn't in a picture-taking mood. Thus Anders appears to be a solo rider. Which he was not.)

And that's all for now.

9:30 p.m. on a Weds. Night

It's 9:30 p.m. and the house is quiet. Well, not like ... quiet quiet. I hear Summer squealing to Penny about something. And Jesse and Anders seem to be engaged in a lively discussion (I just heard, amidst much that I could not make out, the clear words "battling Spider Man"). 

But, they are all in bed! (Saving Goldie who is at work and who, as far as I can tell, between homework and her schedule, is never actually in bed.) Still, as I was saying, the house is sort of quiet! And I'm done with the necessary demands of the day (I even, somehow, got my Sunday School lesson all good to go this afternoon [which has never once happened this early]), and my typing here, at this not-too-incredibly-late hour, with nobody bothering me ... is quite the miracle. 

(Which is lovely. But also a bit sad because ... do you remember my first ten or twelve years of parenting? When every kid in bed by 8:00 was the norm? That was a lovely time. Perhaps ten or twelve years of parenting would have been a good time to have signed off on the job. "Thanks for the exposure to parenting, kids. It was great fun! I'll see ya' around." [Heehee. Hoho. Just kidding. ... Sort of.])

A moment ago we were digging through Halloween boxes -- trying to assemble costumes for their school party tomorrow. (I'm always a smidgen disappointed that I have rarely managed to take advantage of the opportunity for elaborate costume planning. It seems it might have added an element of extra excitement to our mortal Octobers. But, [shrug], who knows. Maybe digging through boxes in a frenzy is its own excitement. After all, Summer, who had already found her costume weeks ago in her grandma's basement, [and who had been put to bed long before costume boxes were dragged out] heard the boys rummaging about, seemed to sense what was afoot, and came upstairs pleading to stay awake a little longer for the annual unearthing of old costumes].)

And just now, Jesse wandered out of his room to tell me it was too hot to sleep in there and then, after a few suggestions from me (close the heater vents, open the window for a minute), said, "I like when you are up here. It makes me feel more safe." (Our computer desk is in the loft just outside of his bedroom.) Oh I do like being their security. I take back all that earlier business about how I should have left off parenting ten years ago. Ha!

In other news:

More of Starling climbing on the counter.

And it's not just the counter anymore. 75% of the day she is in my arms (or clinging to my legs in screaming furry that she isn't in my arms) (oh that girl loves me!); but the 25% of the time she isn't in my arms? She's dragging stools around and using them to climb to every dangerous or trouble-making spot imaginable. (And whenever I hear piano keys clanking I have to run remove her from standing on the top of our piano.) Most of the time now our stools are placed on top of our counters (for her safety and our sanity). And I miss a kitchen ... without barstools standing on all the counters.

But oh she is a delight. We will hear her in her bed saying little numbers to herself, "1, 2, 3, 7, 9" or singing garbled bits of the alphabet song. And for any new word she learns or surprise piecing together of words ("fire, hot", "moon in the sky", "night-night guys") she has a hundred siblings clapping, cheering, exclaiming how cute she is, and touting her as the smartest baby ever. It's not a bad way to experience toddlerhood.

Speaking of toddlers (and speaking of ... speaking), Hans, at age three, has a lovely and full vocabulary. And he loves to use it to tell us very lengthy stories. Unfortunately the longer his stories get, the more tiresome he begins to find enunciation and word separation -- which often leads to us misunderstanding, responding incorrectly, inspiring his wrath, and the whole story needing begun again. It's quite the cycle.

On the other end of the spectrum (age wise), Daisy was home last weekend. We hadn't seen her since conference which, I suppose, isn't so very long, but it feels so happy when she is here! We are already eagerly exclaiming how wonderful it will be having her for more than two-measly nights over Thanksgiving. And then grumping that she will have to drive back to Prove to work on Friday. But then happily comforting ourselves with, "But then you can just drive right back home again! And we will still have two nights!"

And Abe. I have my little Five Year Journal that allows me to see what we were doing last year (or two, or three years ago, etc) on the same day. Last year at this time, I'd be writing things about Abe on his mission and I'd think, "And on this day last year he was here! Carving pumpkins with us." or "Last year at this exact moment he was taking his AP Calculus test. And now he's gone!" It seemed impossible and completely crazy that a year's time could change everything so much. BUT! Surprisingly, this year, I find myself just as shocked to have circled to a point where "last year at this time" he was also on a mission! It seems so strange that something so big and so life-changing ... is no longer this new, wholly unfamiliar thing we are living (with years of it ahead), rather, he's ... kind of ... becoming one of the seasoned, old missionaries! He's only got eight months left. My mind can't make sense of any of it.

A bit from a recent letter (that reminded me of Elder Uchtdorf's Oct. 2019 Conference talk):

"Home is kind of like the Shire. Right now I'm off on a grand adventure, which, like any adventure, has plenty of fun and excitement, but also the hard work of the body, sacrifice of the heart, and effort of the soul that make it real. We're already far beyond the Misty Mountains and the rolling green hills of The Shire, and there is no sense spending every second wishing oneself somewhere you're not. That takes the fire out of the adventure. And I suppose there is no greater adventure than the literal battle of good versus evil, the long road to becoming like God, and the giant task of bringing light to another human soul. Easier adventures aren't so memorable nor so rewarding. ... Someday all too soon the adventure will be over and I will be called home. But for now ... here's to adventure."

And, to end, some pictures of an evening spent in the canyon not long ago. (I think this was where Starling learned both, "fire, hot" and "moon in the sky".)

Life Besides Politics :)

It’s been an interesting time. (“Interesting”. Ha. There's a mild word.)

Our country has been in such commotion, and it has been an emotionally exhausting time for ... everyone, I imagine. But maybe especially for those of us who recoil at contention and confrontation ... and who truly want to be peacemakers — all full of love and wisdom and compassion, but who consistently stumble over a mortal inability to truly respect and understand opinions so passionately different from our own. 

It’s much harder than I should like it to be having the people I'm connected to seeing things in a way that simply does not connect with my own leanings. It always feels like a small wedge pushed into my heart, and, these past months, I have prayed more constantly and desperately for charity — to truly love those around me and see them as Christ does; to have all those wedges plucked back out of my heart — than I maybe ever have before; and to have the ability to go about, without judgment, strengthening others "in all [my] conversation, in all [my] prayers, ... in all [my] doings." And yet, still, I admit to avoiding certain interactions altogether simply because I don’t trust my ability to find the common ground and give space for the unity I want so much to let thrive.

I feel, I think, a bit how Joseph Smith felt in his day when he was listening to the shouting back and forth between the different churches in his area. Replace church and religion with political parties and politics and I think this sums it up pretty well:

“[T]here was in the place where we lived an unusual excitement on the subject of religion. ... Indeed, the whole ... country seemed affected by it, and great multitudes united themselves to the different religious parties, which created no small stir and division amongst the people, some crying, “Lo, here!” and others, “Lo, there!” ... [And] notwithstanding the great love which the converts to these different faiths expressed ... and the great zeal manifested by the [those] who were active in getting up and promoting this extraordinary scene of religious feeling, ... yet when the converts began to file off, ... it was seen that the seemingly good feelings ... were more pretended than real; for a scene of great confusion and bad feeling ensued ... so that all their good feelings one for another, if they ever had any, were entirely lost in a strife of words and a contest about opinions. ... During this time of great excitement my mind was called up to serious reflection and great uneasiness; ... so great were the confusion and strife among the different denominations, that it was impossible for a person young as I was, and so unacquainted with men and things, to come to any certain conclusion who was right and who was wrong. My mind at times was greatly excited, the cry and tumult were so great and incessant. In the midst of this war of words and tumult of opinions, I often said to myself: What is to be done? Who of all these parties are right; or, are they all wrong together? If any one of them be right, which is it, and how shall I know it?”

And, the discouraging thing is, that while we must choose sides to some degree and decide where we will cast our lots, I’m afraid that, just as there was no pure sect in Joseph’s day among the churches, there is certainly no pure and fully correct party in our day. And there won’t be until Christ himself eventually reigns. 

So we are left to make the best of it. And, even among those of my own faith, "the best of it" has wildly different meanings.

Anyway, all of that was actually to say that amidst all of these things; our own little lives continue to play out in all their ordinary and complex ways. And that is what I wanted to actually focus on. 

Last week was the first time since March that I was able to teach my Sunday School class again. It had to be over Zoom -- which was certainly not ideal (as it makes the lighthearted connections, interactions, and comments much harder to keep a part of the class), but it felt so good to be discussing nothing but truth and scripture with my little class again. 

Also, leaping widely from politics and religion: I love a good banana squash. My dad always grew them in our garden during my growing up years. My mom would store them for months in our cool basement and cook them throughout the year with butter and brown sugar for Sunday dinners. The only trouble is ... they are gigantic. And it takes a good deal of motivation to even cut them open, much less cut them in small enough chunks to peel, etc. So often a giant banana squash will sit on my counter for a full month before I will cook it. But the other day I determined to be not even remotely put out by the cooking. I simply picked up the entire squash and hefted it into the oven. Then dusted off my hands, patted myself on the back, and went about my business.

It proceeded to leak squash juice in great abundance -- filling the entire house with smoke and a burnt smell. And when I removed it from the oven it sort of fell apart so that seeds were mixed throughout and almost impossible to tidily remove without removing most of the edible squash as well. 

Mike happened by in the midst of this mess of smoke and squash and me trying to sort out seeds and skin in a pile of orange. He patted me and said, "You're a good homemaker." And that was that. (Hahaha. Smart alec.)

ANYWAY!

I currently can hardly begin to get my blog in order. My computer with photo editing software has gone bad. I had a host of pictures on there waiting to be edited and added to the blog. I kept thinking it would shape up and I'd get them done. But it didn't shape up. And in the meantime, photos were piling up on my camera. And some were being pulled to my phone for a quick phone edit before sharing on Instagram or emailing to Abe. But most were still on my camera. And then the photos taken with my phone were getting all mixed with camera ones I'd pulled over and chronology was getting all mixed up. And it is STILL all that way. Only yesterday I finally decided to quit trying to finish editing the ones on the bad computer before proceeding. Lest I never record anything again. I simply pulled them over -- unedited. And am putting them here. And then we will hope I can begin to make sense of all the other photos scattered haphazardly hither and yon.

For now:

An evening with particularly extreme lighting (sun and bright here; gray cloud and dark there) spent at the park.

Daisy home for Labor Day weekend. Sunday dinner in the backyard. (And she made me eclairs!)

And a day playing around at the farm.

And that is all. For a minute. While I try to make sense of a mass of photos with no place to call home.