Category Archives: Life at Home

Dust-Keeping

11 Wednesday Mar 2009

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“All the windy ways of men,
are but dust that rises up,
and is lightly laid again.”
       -Alfred, Lord Tennyson — The Vision of Sin
 

I hate to dust — which is why one of my winter goals was to dust all my wood blinds.  Embarassing to admit  that I lead such a dull life.  But there it is.  And here am I with only ten days of winter left.  No time like the present.  Three down, seventeen to go.

In her housekeeping book, Home Comforts, Cheryl Mendelson devotes seven pages to the harmful effects of dust, especially the mites and allergens it harbors.  She writes, “As for its effect on your health, the Victorians were right to believe that dust is an irritant to the eyes, nose and lungs; it attracts pests, promotes unpleasant odors, and can transmit infections.”  In the next chapter, she devotes another seven pages to its removal.

There is always plenty of dust to be removed.  I use a specially designed microfiber cloth for the job –it’s promoted to attract dust like a magnet.  If only….    But no.  Only part of the dust is captured.  The rest I simply dislodge, to fly somersaults through the air.  

When the sun is shining, it’s easy to see all the particles floating.  Floating, floating, floating, they celebrate their freedom– they have escaped my dust cloth for now.  It will take a while for the particles to settle down again.  But some things in life are not worth the wait.  The dust will keep until our next divine appointment.  

I much prefer to live in the land of fairy dust, where anything is possible.  According to J.M. Barries’s pen and imagination, a little fairy dust sprinkling would send me rather than the dust particles to flight.   Of course, his pen did fly across the page toward a place called Neverland.  I live somewhere else — in another time, it was once called the dust bowl. 

Here in my real world, house dust doesn’t sparkle like fairy dust.  But it does a great job of keeping a girl grounded.

Sowing Seeds

10 Tuesday Mar 2009

Posted by in In the Garden, Life at Home

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Forty little tomato seedlings are growing big on a sunny window ledge inside our home.  I planted these little darlings two weeks ago and they rewarded me by germinating four days later.  So far, sowing tomato seeds appears to be easier than sowing seeds into the minds of adult children.

When the weather is nice, I take my garden tray outside so the seedlings can grow strong with the Oklahoma wind and avoid the damping off disease so easily contracted without proper air circulation.  Outdoor visits also help them ‘harden off’ to avoid later transplant shock.

When raising children, we practiced something similar.   As readiness was shown, our kids were given greater outside-the-home freedoms and experiences.  This was my husband’s doing more than mine.  His philosophy was to grant our precious teens space to sow any wild oats while still under parental loving care. 

We expected blooper choices.  And we were not disappointed.  I remember reeling both girls back inside with a safety net — with affection, what we called a gilded cage.  Some children just need a little longer to mature, that’s all.  But in their own time and space and way, all four have grown strong inner constitutions to thrive in our lovely but sometimes dangerous world of pests.

If all goes well, I’ll set my first tomato transplants into the ground at month end– followed by another set in mid-April.  The first will be insulated with an outer shell of  black plastic pots (leftovers from last fall’s planting spree) filled with newspaper.  I’m told early spring plantings, properly insulated, will increase production and still survive frosty spring-time visits of winter temperatures – down to 25̊ degrees Fahrenheit.   

We transplanted our children from Texas to Oklahoma, in a similar way, by surrounding them with plenty of loving family.   The girls often took advantage of a home-cooked meal as they grew homesick for a familiar face or a taste of home.  The boys received some free meals as well — and help several times when a car battery died.   Today, except for missing the taste of great seafood, you’d think our children were all natives.

I’ve haven’t had such good experience in transplanting tomato varieties from Texas to Oklahoma.   My plantings from the last two years have died on the vine — either from spider mites or Fusarium wilt.   So this year I’m planting OSU recommended varieties for Oklahoma.  My seedlings are Big Beef Tomato –a disease resistant variety that has shown natural resistance to spider mites.   

My children have shown a natural resistance to tomatoes.  Perhaps I didn’t sow enough seed in that direction.

On writing

09 Monday Mar 2009

Posted by in Good Reads, Life at Home, Soul Care

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I just finished Stephen King’s book On Writing. 

 

This part memoir– part writing advice book was inspiring, but for one scary thought that made me wonder if I’d wandered into one of King’s horror stories: 

 

 “…while it is impossible to make a competent writer out of a bad writer, and while it is equally impossible to make a great writer out of a good one, it is possible, with lots of hard work, dedication, and timely help, to make a good writer out of a merely competent one.” 

 

With brutal honesty, King stripped me of all false hopes.  But I am left with one true hope that I pray in Gregorian-like chant:  Don’t let me be a bad writer, don’t let me be a bad writer, don’t let me be a bad writer….    

 

The book reads quick as King intended.  Though some thoughts are not quick to let go.           

 

Writing with blinds down and door closed for example.  I’d much rather look out a window.  But maybe shut blinds will keep my mind from wandering away…

 

Writers need a dedicated desk, humbly shoved into a corner.  I’ve no more harbored guilt over that recent layaway purchase – that lovely old mustard colored table…soon-to-be writing desk of mine.

 

Writing practice is invaluable.  But it should not seem like practice.  Time stands still when I write.  And when I’m not, I’m drawn to it.  I remember well how I dreaded piano practice as a child.  When forced to sit in front of the ivory keys, I goofed off until my jail sentence was over.  No way writing practice is like piano practice.    

           

No matter what, tell the truth always.  This is why I write.  Writing helps me to discover truth and it keeps me real.  I’ve learned words must speak truth.  Half-truths and lies simply do not hold together, nor lie down in a well-behaved line of words. 

 

Writing is merely transcribing what you see or hear.  My best writing– the words that breathe and come alive on paper–are not my words at all.  They seem to come out of nowhere.  King calls this ‘nowhere’ his muse.  I prefer to credit God.  I hope he or she doesn’t mind.  I liken transcribing to the way Mozart composed.  He heard the music first – only then did he write.  Mozart was great at taking dictation. 

 

“Writing isn’t about making money, getting famous….  In the end, it’s about enriching the lives of those who will read your work and enriching your own life, as well.”  Sounds like King’s benediction to me.   To which I’ll say amen.   

 

But here’s my own benediction.  I bought On Writing for my son Kyle to respond to a birthday gift he’d given me two years before.   That day, Kyle asked me to name my dream – to speak it aloud.  Throwing caution to the wind, I did.  And rather than laughing, he believed.  Then he searched for his trusty list of twenty writing tips he practiced himself and gave them to me.  The gift of On Writing to Kyle was my clumsy poetic way of saying — I believe in dreams.  And I believe in Kyle.  And I believe in Kyle’s dreams on writing.