I am, at long last, awash in the porch. I have my coffee beside me, the wind is rustling the trees, there is a robin’s nest in the rafters above and my beloved hummingbirds are dive bombing me to protect their feeder from my nefarious plans. LightGirl has gone to find her friends, LightBoy has gone to find his. Yesterday was a tedious drive broken by a hockey game and reunion with LightGirl at Penn State.

She was full of stories, escapades, and laments. The laments were about the food and the hard work. The stories and escapades were about the friends and the boys. She told us about the wonders of the pasta bar at the cafeteria. She had, apparently, sampled it for 2 out of 3 meals a day. This caused me to ask, “Did a vegetable pass your lips at least one time this week?” “Oh, yes, Mom.” said earnestly, “One day they had a vegetable sauce. … (long, loud guffaws from her parents) … and I ate fruit with every meal.” oh … I am now reassured.

After a long period of time during which I gritted my teeth and ignored the sounds which pass for music coming out of the speakers, I could not bear it any more. It was the post dinner hour and my last nerve had been officially reached … for quite some time. So I recieved control of the iPod. The wailing and gnashing of teeth from the back seat was hilarious. “Not U2, Mom … please no U2. Oh no … she’s going to put on celtic music, I just know it.” So I found it amusing that when Minutes to Midnight (Linkin Park’s latest album) came on, neither of them could identify it.

It has become the album of choice for our whole family to listen to. It’s somewhat amazing to me that we all like it. It’s just soft enough for me, and hard enough for the kids. It’s got enough musical interest for LightHusband. The lyrics of the songs are pretty intense. I’m gaining some respect for this band. But I think their song, What I’ve Done, is perhaps my favorite. I’ve heard that it’s their biggest hit. I wouldn’t know about that since I’ve only sort of discovered them lately. But the lyrics are intense and speak of a longing for forgiveness and redemption that seem to be universal. Then I found the video and was knocked off my feet. It is … intense, and beautiful and rich … it is a must see. So I’m posting it here. Enjoy!

Sunday afternoon I left LightGirl on the campus of Penn State University amidst hoards of other teens, all there for summer sports camps. There were boys there for wrestling, football, basketball, baseball, lacrosse, swimming and etc. There were girls there for ice hockey, basketball, gymnastics, figure skating, softball, swimming and etc. Hoards.

I left her with a few of her teammates. They were standing outside of their dorm caught somewhere in between deer in the headlights and small children who had spied a fresh plate of cookies. They uncertain of which world to occupy, I turned and walked to the car certain that they would choose rightly. The ensuing phone calls have done nothing to disabuse me of this notion. She is, indeed, thriving.

In the meantime, LightBoy is attending a hockey camp of his own here at our home rink and is having a ball. I have no idea whether or not he is learning anything, but he is coming home tired and smelly so he is, in the least, active all day long.

It’s been an odd week. I came home on Sunday to shocking news. A friend’s husband had committed suicide back in December and my mother sent the obituary. Her children and my children play every summer up at camp in Vermont. She and I spend a good deal of time on each other’s porches dilly-dallying and chatting about everything and nothing. We look forward to each other’s company each year. We look forward to our families’ spending time together. But now there will be a hole ripped in her family and a hole in each of our hearts where her husband’s laugh used to be.

So much to process.

“Pink cards and flowers on your window,
The sun will set for you
Your friends all plead for you to stay.

Sometimes beginnings aren’t so simple.
And the shadow of the day
Sometimes goodbye’s the only way.

Will embrace the world in gray
And the sun will set for you,

The sun will set for you.
And the sun will set for you
And the shadow of the day,

Will embrace the world in grey,

And the sun will set for you.”
Shadow of the Day (by Linkin Park)

That’s the new favorite line in the LightHouse. It comes from the latest in the Shrek series. Shrek the Third. This movie lives up to the series potential. We saw it as part of the Father’s Day package given to LightHusband. I’ll spare you the details so that you’ll have something to enjoy when you see it. BUT … there is a scene in which Shrek, Donkey, and Puss In Boots visit a high school. As Shrek passed a snotty high school babe type, she looked at him, turned her nose in the air and said, “Like … ewweth.” and we all fell out of our chairs laughing. It’s stayed with us and become our familial exclamation of grossness, badness, horribleness, etc.

So it was last night when LightHusband unveiled the bad news. The horrible news. The Washington Capitals are changing their jerseys. They are reverting from the very cool black, blue and gold of now, to the oh-so-not-cool red, white, and blue of the 1970’s. This news was met with a chorus of, “Like … Ewweth!!!” around the table … again and again and again.

But see for yourself. It really is … well … horrible.

We’ve been busy here at the LightHouse and my blogging time has suffered. Summer hit. With it came some new adventures that have taken me away from my blogpost. Let’s see …

Hockey … yep … there’s still hockey. I’ve taken on the role as Team Manager for LightGirl’s team in the coming season. I attended a team managers meeting for the league a few weeks ago. Wow. It’s been a couple of weeks now and I’m still processing the culture shock. The world of travel hockey is definitely a “third space” for many of these families. It also seems to be a “second language.” O my, o my. One thing I did learn from that meeting (led by the league registrar and financial officer) is that the players must fill out forms. I felt a veritable blizzard in July coming on during that meeting and the temperature of the ice rink did nothing to dissuade me. Paper … my very favorite renewable resource. I do get to organize it all into a three-ring binder and carry it neatly to games. Swell.

On the other hand, this is a role which will give me greater interaction with the girls. I’m excited about that prospect. I love this age group and working with young women of this age again will be good. LightGirl is none too pleased, she is certain that all of my faults as a mother will be on display. I reassured her that I save those mistakes for her and LightBoy. She was somewhat mollified. Hah!

Sunday we take LightGirl to Penn State for hockey camp. She’ll stay there for a week and play hockey, hockey, hockey with her friends. She’s going to die. It’s going to be like hockey boot camp. They have breakfast and room check at 7 a.m. This alone will kill her. Then she’s going to have to work like there’s no tomorrow. And then work some more. It’s going to really test how much she loves the sport. She will either thrive … or die. I’m betting on thrive … with a lot of pain for good measure. However, the anticipation is going to drive me to the hoosegow. I’ve had the opportunity to overhear several conversations between LightGirl and a couple of her teammates that are also going. The teammates have also not been to this camp before. The speculation and giggling are hilarious. They are also ruining my ability to concentrate on preparation.

LightGirl has a new “do” now. She has a bob. Think 1920’s Flapper girl and you have a good picture. It completely suits her and frames her sweet, sassy face. She’s so funny though, she keeps calling it a “bobbin.” Because her mother is a quilter, so it’s a bobbin. Like the thing you put in a sewing machine. I struggled to keep a straight face. After the hair cut, we went shopping and out to dinner. It was a fun “girls” afternoon and evening. She grilled me on whether or not I would miss her while she was gone. I had a hard time with that question. She won’t be gone long enough for me to truly begin to miss her. I am excited for her. I think she’s going to have a wonderful time; she’s going to be learning and engaging with people in a whole new way. I will miss hearing about that daily. We’ll catch up at the end of the week. But this is a new stage of her life. One where she is beginning to pull out from the dock and do things without us. I’m thrilled to be sure. There is a small part of me that is sad. But most of me is just looking ahead to all the possibilities … the horizon is broad, the choices are popping up like daisies. Adventure is calling … where will it take her?

LightBoy is going to be busy next week too. He’s going to a hockey camp of his own. Day camp here at the home rink. I’m relatively certain that staying home with mom and dad is going to include going to a movie or two and maybe a favorite dinner or dessert. Something fun here or there.

In the midst of all of this, I have been continuing to go my place of exercise regularly. I’ve not been doing laundry regularly so there is now a large pile of unfolded but clean clothes in my livingroom. The piles of unclean clothes are much smaller now. I am attempting to declutter our house a little at a time. “A little” being the key phrase in the previous sentence. So little, that in fact, it is imperceptible to the human eye. I believe that our “stuff” reproduces in the night when no one is awake. It does the hoochy-koochy with each other … the nasty as it were … and makes little stuffs to grow and live in the dark corners until they can assume proper adulthood in my closets. I think I’ve discovered what the origin and purpose of dust bunnies are. Hmmm …

So … yeah … we’ve been busy. Running around. Doing school. Chasing life. Wondering … laughing … crying … all the regular stuff.

P.S.  I just noticed that my linky-thingy in my sidebar is broken.  And I have no idea how to fix it.  No, that’s not entirely true.  I noticed it about 5 days ago.  But I’ve been involved in getting our finances installed in Quicken.  And … I have no idea how to fix said linky-thingy.  So, if anyone has any ideas, please throw them my way.  I’d love to hear them.

Really … it’s what Kievas said …

He said (and I quote):

1. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.

2. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.

3.At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.

4. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

So … that’s what I’m doing. It’s meme time again!

1. I love coffee (love, love, love it). And I love chocolate (the darker the better). BUT … I do not like to mix them. I don’t even like to have coffee with chocolate dessert. Those two tastes cancel each other out somehow.

2. I used to drink Diet Coke by the bucket. But I don’t anymore. Now I’m trying to kick a vicious rootbeer habit.

3. The annoying thing about all this hockey in the LightFamily now, is that I hated it when I was growing up because my brother always got to watch Hockey Night in Canada which came on right in the middle of the Waltons.

4. The only kind of music I won’t listen to is country … but I’ll even listen to country if it’s got some kickass bluegrass in it.

5. I don’t like pasta with marinara sauce. I think we ate it too much for several years there and now, I just don’t care for it.

6. One of my goals in life is to learn to play the bagpipes.

7. I’m excited that I get to teach the LightChildren a unit on anatomy and physiology next year. That was one of my favorite subjects in highschool.

8. I find it very amusing that some of LightGirl’s favorite songs now, were some of my favorite songs … way back when. She is always shocked and then dismayed by this. Which I also find even more amusing.

I cannot possibly tag EIGHT whole people … it would make my head blow up. So I’m going to double tag four people: Makeesha, Jamie, John and Scott. Har …

I finally get it.  I’m in my mid-40’s and now … finally … I understand.

I understand the impulse that overcomes a person (usually a young man) and causes them to shoot spitballs.

Last evening I went to a “Mandatory Parents Meeting” for all of the parents who will have children on travel teams in our hockey club next season.  LightHusband had to take the LightChildren to their regularly scheduled in-line practice, otherwise he would have had to sit through this nonsense.

In my younger days I might have arrived early to ensure that I knew where the meeting was.  I would have gotten a good seat.  I would have paid attention, even taken a few notes.

Now, I’m beginning to get a sense of what’s important in life.  I arrived at the rink late.  Didn’t have a clue where the meeting was.  Complimented one of LightGirl’s teammates on a hairstyle change and chatted with a few other teammates; giggled too.  Have I mentioned that I like this age?  Gave up on procrastinating and slouched into the meeting late … so late I had to stand against the back wall.  With my (illegal) fastfood diet soda and straw in hand … we’re not supposed to bring food or drink from outside sources into the rink.  I break this rule regularly and with aplomb.  I’m spending several thousand dollars in rink fees for my children play hockey, if I want to bring in the occasional soda, I will.

Thus began what was to be the most. boring. hour of my life.  Hands down.  I have never been in a more boring meeting ever before.  I’ve been in boring meetings before.  But this one took the cake.  I felt bad because HeadCoach had to stand up front looking interested and supportive, but he was clearly bored out of his mind too.  I began to imagine shooting spitballs at him, just to lighten up the meeting … start a war of sorts (a silly one mind you).  My only problem is that my aim is notoriously bad and I probably couldn’t shoot far enough, so I’d hit someone I don’t know … that would be very bad.

You know a meeting is boring and horrible when it causes formerly well-behaved middle aged women to consider shooting spitballs.

At the end the meeting leader (who’s name I do not know) asked for questions, I considered raising my hand and asking, “Are we done now?” or “Did anyone ever tell you not to quit your day job?”  or “Why was this mandatory, we didn’t learn anything?”  but I’m just not that rude … yet.

Yesterday, Smaug roared. He didn’t just rumble or growl or roll over a bit. He sat up and roared. It made for a bad morning. I didn’t know where to turn or if I would be able to escape. Fortunately, I had an appointment for a med check with my psychiatrist in the afternoon.

My psychiatrist is truly wonderful. He’s not supposed to listen to me as much as he does, but he does. I told him about Smaug’s roar and how I’ve lost my way and I don’t know quite know who I am anymore. We talked for a while. He had a suggestion. Now I have a doctor’s note to quilt more. To define myself by the things I like to do rather than the things that I hate. But I have permission to have fun. Permission. I stole something from Smaug yesterday and he doesn’t realize it yet. I think I’ll get this one out of the cave too.

BlazingEwe and I were all set to go out to dinner.  The LightChildren and FlamingLambs were at the rink with LightHusband.  BlisteringSh33p has a mysterious fever so he was home in bed.  BlazingEwe got a phonecall from a mutual friend, TexasBlueBelle.  Her teenage son had disobeyed his father and had left their house when he’d been told not to.  Both parents were over an hour away and son has been having a troubling year.  Would we go pick him up?  He considers us his other mothers.  So, off we went on a mission of merciful chastisement.

It proved to be an interesting several hours long conversation.  BelleSon was completely and utterly honest with us.  Oh, he spun a few yarns and gave us a few lines that he thought we’d want to hear (and I will revisit those at another time).  But it was another gem I stole from Smaug’s pile to recover and build a relationship with a teenager last night.  I had forgotten how wonderful those interactions with teens are.  We laughed some and gave him some key things to work on.  He said he’d like to keep meeting with us.  A small miracle happened right in front of my eyes.

So I ended the day with 2 pearls in my pocket, two miracles that I do not deserve.  But I will keep these.  Somehow I will get out of the cave with these.

Since I left my church almost 2 months ago, I’ve begun working out regularly. I realized this morning that it’s become a place of worship for me. Is that possible? There is music. There are people. There are encouragers, exhorters, evangelists, prayers (spoken and unspoken). There is no sermon; not directly. A wonderful thing about my place of worship is that it is for women only. Women have voices here and women are heard. My voice is heard here. I do not choose to speak tho. I have nothing to say. I watch and listen and exercise.

On Saturdays when I go to my place of exercise/worship I drive past a set of low office buildings. They are mostly nondescript. I drive past them on weekdays too, but there is nothing noticeable about them on weekdays. I think that there must be a women’s health services clinic in one of the offices, because on Saturdays there is always a small group of people picketing against abortion on the side of the road. It’s almost always all men. I know that abortion is a tangential issue for men. But why don’t more women take up pickets against it? That’s interesting.

Hockey has now consumed our home. LightGirl has 2 sets of goalie gear and 2 of skater gear (in-line and ice) and LightBoy is working on 2 sets of gear. There are bags, sticks, skates and pads everywhere.

Missional is becoming trendy in Christian circles. Brother Maynard even has a cool graphic to show which way the trend is turning. It’s the latest watch word for Christian branders to run after and get while the money is to be made; WWJD for the 2000’s? The only problem is that actually being missional is important. Bro. M. posted his cool graphic because that’s where his heart is at. There are a lot of us following those numbers in a not so idle fashion because we want to see it catch on somewhere deep. We want it to be real … not trendy. Trendy would just break my heart one more time.

So missional means (to me) living a life that more and more comes to resemble that of Jesus. It means treating everyone who’s path I cross as individuals with gifts and needs and a life and a story to tell, even if all I will hear that day is a sentence. It means giving out of my abundance to those with less; not from a pedestal on high, but from a bridge across. For many people missional seems to mean living an urban lifestyle. Their desire is to live in and among the urban poor. I’ve been contemplating whether or not missional can be taken to the mountains successfully. Do rural folks need missionally minded people in their midst? Maybe an artistic quilter or something? I don’t think I’m cut out for many more years of this city living. It’s strangling my soul.

If you live in Virginia, you are connected to the tragedy. It is inevitable. You have connections to VATech. A dear friend’s daughter is a senior who is a teaching assistant in the engineering department. I’ve met the daughter, had lunch with her. She just lost her favorite professor and 10 students that she has assisted this year. Another friend is a teacher at the high school from which the shooter came, and from which two victims graduated. Still others graduated from VATech or went there for different parts of their education. Others have friends.

This arrived in my in-box this morning from CoachWonderWoman, who is also a HokieParent (her son goes to VaTech) … as she wrote, “It captures the support the students and extended community has received this week.”:

This hasn’t simply dominated the news here, in Virginia, it has penetrated our very bones.

Psalm 34

6 This poor people called, and the LORD heard us;
he saved them out of all their troubles.

7 The angel of the LORD encamps around those who fear him,
and he delivers them.

8 Taste and see that the LORD is good;
blessed are those who take refuge in him.

18 The LORD is close to the brokenhearted
and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

So I was, at first taken with the idea of OneDayBlogSilence, which sprang up so quickly in the wake of the tragedy (and please note, dear reader, that I refer to it as a tragedy, not a massacre … there is a deep magic in the meaning of words and we must choose them carefully for the good or ill of the future.) Until I began to see the headlines of other tragedies from around the world that same day. 30 were killed in a bomb blast in Baghdad. How many were killed in Darfur? In Afghanistan? How many women were raped? How many other random senseless acts of violence stopped the bright shining lives of young people around the world on April 16, 2007. Young people with grieving mothers, brothers, sisters, fathers, aunts, uncles, friends, cousins, teachers, professors, pastors, mentors. Old people who had dynamically effected and affected the world around them in ripples that flow out uncounted. So …. on April 30, this blog will also stand with others, silent and dark in memory of victims of violence everywhere.

Yes, weep and grieve until the Spirit is poured
down on us from above
And the badlands desert grows crops
and the fertile fields become forests.
Justice will move into the badlands desert.
Right will build a home in the fertile field.
And where there’s Right, there’ll be Peace
and the progeny of Right: quiet lives and endless trust.
My people will live in a peaceful neighborhood—
in safe houses, in quiet gardens.
The forest of your pride will be clear-cut,
the city showing off your power leveled.
But you will enjoy a blessed life,
planting well-watered fields and gardens,
with your farm animals grazing freely.
(Isaiah 32:15-20 (The Message))

We’re back to hockey. The ice season ended a few weeks ago and now we’re (or rather LightGirl and LightBoy) are playing in-line hockey.

LightGirl is playing on an all girls team called (are you ready?) the Pink Panthers. They wear black jerseys with pink lettering. She is playing in goal for half the games. Today was her first game in goal. She was cool headed and smooth. They still lost, but she stopped 35 shots. Her coach told her she played the best game he’d seen for a first time goalie. It astonishes me all the time that I have such a self-contained and self-assured daughter. I’m in awe of her and her potential.

LightBoy has taken up the sport as well. He is playing defense. He still looks a bit like a misplaced giraffe ended up in the midst of a hockey game. He got a few more shots off today and then took off after them, just like his coach told him to. LightGirl sees lots of big sister coaching potential and she was promptly warned off by the surrounding parents.

There was a game in played in between the two games. So we had a lull. LightHusband and another parent went out to get some lunch and brought it back for a few people. There was a Chick-Fil-A nearby so that was the spot of choice. When they came back there was some discussion of the company practice of staying closed on Sundays. One mom said, “Well, you know it’s a Christian company.” Another responded, “What if you have a Chick-Fil-A craving on Sunday?” “Well … you know … it’s a ridiculous policy.” “Speaking of Christians. My second cousins daughter goes to one of those Christian colleges and she just sent us a letter, because she has to go on a missions trip this summer or something.” “Well, I don’t know why those colleges need more money. George Bush signed that law that gave money to the Christian colleges.” “Well, I guess they have to raise their own money for these trips or something.” “Yeah, I could never be a Christian. They have too many rules.”

Well … how about that?  I just listened … there wasn’t much room for me in the conversation without being rude or defensive.  But it’s stuck with me all day.  I’ll be thinking about for quite some time to come.  By the way, I did a little sleuthing and found out the corporate policy behind Chick-fil-A’s decision to close on Sundays:

Truett Cathy, founder of Chick-fil-A, made the decision to close on Sunday in 1946 when he opened his original restaurant, the Dwarf House, in Hapeville, Georgia.  He has often shared that his decision was as much practical as spiritual.  Operating a 24-hour a day business left him exhausted.  Being closed on Sunday allowed him time to recover physically, emotionally and spiritually.  And, of course, being closed on Sunday aligns with his personal religious convictions and beliefs.

To explain this at our restaurants, a sign states, “Since 1946, it has been our nationwide policy to be closed on Sunday.  Thank for your patronage, adn we look forward to serving you Monday through Saturday.”