Source!

I have it. I have the source. I have the source of the quotation I included in my most recent post. Actually, Gerald found it for me. I'm not sure how he did it, but he did it. And the poem the quotation comes from is so lovely, I wanted to share it with you. Enjoy!

THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL
by
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL

A man fails in his search for the Holy Grail, has a mighty change of heart, begins to identify with the poor and gives of his bread and water to a leper in need. Then this is what happens:


As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face,
A light shone round about the place;
The leper no longer crouched at his side,
But stood before him glorified,
Shining and tall and fair and straight
As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate,--
Himself the Gate whereby men can
Enter the temple of God in Man.


His words were shed softer than leaves from the pine,
And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the brine,
Which mingle their softness and quiet in one
With the shaggy unrest they float down upon;
And the voice that was calmer than silence said,
"Lo, it is I, be not afraid!
In many climes, without avail,
Thou had spent thy life for the Holy Grail;
Behold, it is here,--this cup which thou
Didst fill at the streamlet for me but now;
This crust is my body broken for thee,
This water His blood that died on the tree;
The Holy Supper is kept, indeed,
In whatso we share with another's need,--
Not that which we give, but what we share,--
For the gift without the giver is bare;
Who bestows himself with his alms feeds three,-
Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me."

You Gotta Have Heart and Music...

It is not so much what we give but what we share,

For the gift without the giver is bare.

I've loved this quotation for years, but I can't remember where it came from or how I came to know it. I tried googling it, in hopes of finding an author to credit. You can be sure that the English teacher in me has little tolerance for plagiarism. But I couldn't find anything even close. So I'm going to leave it without an author, but I want to be clear: I can't claim it as my own. I know I didn't write it.

This weekend we had the privilege to watch Eli perform in Skyview High School's production, "Broadway Bound," a delighful review, with performances from 14 Broadway musicals. This photo shows Eli in his costume for the song "Heart and Music" from the play New Brain. This was a new one to me, and I was so invigorated by it that I could barely refrain from singing right along with the cast.

Watching Eli perform is pure joy. The kid positively comes to life on stage. This show had considerable diversity. At one point Eli stands high on a platform and sings a solo about an upcoming attack in "One Day More" from Les Miserables. After a 15-minute intermission, he comes crawling across the stage, holding his stomach, singing about having just been in a fight, part of the song "Rent" from the musical of the same name. Then, just two numbers later, he comes out dancing in a group of eight boys, all wearing goofy crowns on their heads with equally goofy expressions on their faces, doing the can-can while singing "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" from Spamalot.

I laughed. I laughed to the point of tears. I cried. And then I laughed some more. Both nights.

I enjoyed all 14 numbers without exception. These kids did not merely give a good performance; they shared their love of music and their love of life with the audience. Lucky us!

You gotta have heart and music. The cast of "Broadway Bound" most certainly had both.

Caved

Have you ever caved? Have you ever sworn you would never do something but then caved? I hope you have. I hope I'm not the only one.

Here's some history. My three youngest sons, along with Shulamith's husband, are serious video-game players. I almost used the word "addicts," but I thought better. They all four live productive lives despite their affinity for playing games. "Addict" implies otherwise. No, they are not addicts, but get any two or more of them together, and let the gaming begin! In our house I'm pretty sure we have every system known to humankind, both hand-held and console. Scattered everywhere are those tiny squares that fit in the Nintendo DSI. When the Wii system was released a few years ago, Isaiah and Eli spent the night in a line at Walmart to get their Wii just as soon as it was available, while Seth waited impatiently at home. Yep, my sons are serious game players.

I, however, have remained video-game sober. It's true. I have been able to proudly declare that I have never played a video-game, nor did I have any games downloaded to my phone. Nope! Not gonna do it. Shulamith and Matt have allowed Seth to download and play games on their phones, but not me. My phone was a "no game zone." Until about a week ago.

I caved. I can't even believe I did it, but I must come clean with my beloved blog readers. I caved.

About a week ago, I received a text from Shulamith: "You should download Droidwords on your phone. It's just like Scrabble, it's free, and we can play on our phones!" Oh no! The pressure! What was I to do? Stand firm in my "no games" policy or download this game, so I could play with my daughter?

No contest. I caved.

As you might remember, I already play Facebook Scrabble with two friends from the distant past, Rebecca and Elisa. Now I have Droidwords games going on my phone with both Shulamith and Gerald (once he found out what we were up to, he immediately downloaded the game to his phone too). And I have to admit, it's really fun.

But please tell me it will end with Scrabble. Please! Tell me that next week I won't be shooting zombies or catapulting angry birds or punching anybody.

Tell me it will end with Scrabble. I beg you.

Wealth

This is a picture of Isaiah on Christmas morning just after he opened his new backpack. Believe it or not, he had been going without one all school year, somehow carrying all his books and supplies in his arms. Isaiah is a kid with few needs. He makes no demands. But he knows what's important. His values are pure. You've heard the expression, "Out of the mouths of babes...." Obviously, nineteen-year-old Isaiah is no longer a "baby," but still, I'm always surprised by how much our kids have to teach us regardless of their ages.

A couple days ago, he and I were texting back and forth. He had just finished up his long weekend working 13-hour shifts both days at KFC. I thought labor laws prohibited this sort of thing, but apparently not at KFC in Utah. He was tired and desperate for a different job, yet his attitude remained steady. At one point I texted him, "I'm so sorry you have to work so hard at that stupid chicken place. I wish we were wealthy, so you didn't have to do that." To this he immediately replied, "Mom, we are wealthy in so many other ways besides money."

He is so right. Thanks for reminding me, Isaiah.

Isaiah has always been a man of few words. When he was three, we had a list on the refrigerator of all the words he knew. There were nine. Yep, nine. He was obviously intelligent and understood everything we said to him; he just didn't have much to say back. I've joked that he spoke nine words at age three, and he hasn't said a whole lot more since then. But as you can see above, when he does say something, it counts.

The classic middle child, he stays in the background mostly. Once when he was around 10, he was sick and home from school. I had mentioned this to Gerald on the phone early in the morning. At lunchtime, Gerald called and asked, "How's Isaiah feeling?" You guessed it. I had totally forgotten he was even home. Any of my other children would have made their presence known all morning long, requesting food, drink, or just some "mom sympathy" to sooth their sick bodies. Not Isaiah. I threw down the phone and rushed into his room to find him quietly reading a book.

I doubt Isaiah will read this post because I don't think he reads my blog, and that is okay. It might embarrass him if he did, and that is not my intent. But this is a record for posterity, and I want it written how proud I am of my middle kid. In May he will be half way through his undergraduate degree, earning stellar grades in rigorous computer courses while working 13-hour shifts selling chicken.

More importantly, he knows what truly matters in life. He knows what real wealth is.

We've Earned It!

When we first moved to Billings six years ago, we knew not a single person in the entire state of Montana. It was not the first time we had made such a move. Our family likes to get around, try new places, find new opportunities, meet new people. And always, as we've made these moves, we have discovered an outpouring of love from gracious and welcoming folks. I remember when we moved to California in the summer of 1991. With Isaiah a wee babe and Luke and Shulamith both young as well, we headed out to see what life might bring us in the beautiful Bay Area. Among other things, it brought us the friendship of a dear person named Corrie, who wrapped us up and helped us in every way possible to adjust to our new California life. Thanks to Facebook, I'm still in touch with Corrie, but even without Facebook, I could never forget her kindness.

Coming to Montana was another adventure and a challenging one, at least at the start because of various circumstances beyond our control (like having to live the first four months in a college dorm while we waited for our house in Washington to sell). I wrote a bit about that here, but I didn't mention one person who made a huge difference in our lives back then. Her name is Kathy. I met her when I got a part time job tutoring in the writing lab at MSU-Billings. She was the Assistant Director of the Academic Support Center. She didn't know me from Adam (Eve?), but she saw an opportunity to help, and she didn't let it pass by. Several times in those four months, she invited our family to her home for dinner. We were dealing with not only extremely limited space for the five of us (Luke and Shulamith were away at college), but only a small fridge and microwave with which to prepare meals. Now you all know how I love to eat in restaurants, so for the most part that's what we did, but those occasional home-cooked meals at Kathy's house were appreciated more than you can imagine.

Finally, we got out of the dorm and into our house, but not before the bitter cold of our first Montana winter hit. I am from the mild Pacific Northwest where the temperature rarely dips below 30 degrees, and when it snows, everything shuts down, so you don't have to go anywhere. I was woefully unprepared for the sub-zero temps and the relentless snow and ice. One freezing morning in January, I showed up for my tutoring shift, feeling particularly down-trodden. It had not been above zero for several days in a row. I was ready to pack up my children and return to Washington. Sensing my despair, Kathy informed me that here in Montana when spring finally arrives, we Montanans emphatically declare:

We've earned it!

For some reason, this was exactly what I needed to hear. It made me laugh. It took the edge off. It made me realize that an end would eventually come, an end to the snow, an end to the ice, an end to the bitter bitter cold. And it did. It really did. That was six cold winters ago. Each year I forget how cold it was, and each year I am again surprised. And when I fear it will never warm up again, I remember Kathy. I remember her declaration:

We've earned it!

And so we have. The winter of 2010-2011 has been just like all the others: COLD. Snow and ice have covered the ground for months; I practically never feel warm. But I want you to know that the end is in sight. There is light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. Today, the high was all the way up in the 40's. I'm serious...the 40's! That was enough to melt much of the ice, and I was able to walk my regular four miles without slipping. I feel physically and psychologically refreshed. Only two weeks ago when Gerald and I walked the trail with the temperature 12 degrees, I only made it 2 miles before I was too cold to continue. And he had to practically carry me from my house to the trail because our street resembled a skating rink very much in need of a Zamboni.

Indeed, conditions are improving daily. Okay, yes, we could get another storm bringing more snow and freezing temps. It's possible. It is certainly not unheard of in February. I'm praying it won't happen, but even if it does, thanks to Kathy, I always have hope. Hope for change. Hope for warmth. Hope for spring.

And when spring arrives, you can be certain that here in Montana, we've earned it!

"Go West!" and Other Proud Mom Moments

When we lived in Washington, our elementary school funded a program called Missoula Children's Theater. Each year, two actors would show up with a trailer full of sets, costumes, scripts, and props. They would audition a huge group of kids, cast most of them, rehearse them after school over the course of about a week, and then miraculously (and I do mean that most literally) put on an entire play. It was beyond crazy. And it was also wonderful. My four older kids had this opportunity for several years. I wish I could remember all the shows they were in and all the characters they played, but alas, I cannot. The only one that stands out is when Eli was in first grade and played a tarantula. I can't even remember the name of play, but he was seriously the cutest tarantula ever, smiling from ear to ear throughout the performance.

Ironically, now that we actually live in Montana, our school does not have Missoula Children's Theater. Instead, the PTA sponsors a similar program though a local company called Venture Theater. It's not quite as polished or professional as Missoula, but the concept is the same, and it still provides a marvelous opportunity for kids to try out the art of theater, perhaps for the first time. Pictured above is Seth with some fellow cast members performing in the production "Go West!" just last evening. He played a Native American and had five lines which he delivered splendidly. This was his second year participating and most likely his favorite part of both fourth and fifth grades.

We have been in the parenting business for 26 years now, and we've attended various children's performances for at least 20 of those. It never gets old. It never gets tiresome. I always feel like the proudest mom there. I'm certain every other mom in the audience feels like she's the proudest, but right in the moment, I'm sure it's me. From primary programs to orchestra concerts, from dance recitals to spelling bees, from basketball games to track meets, from piano recitals to cheer competitions, from choir concerts to high school musicals, from fifth grade band concerts to Venture Theater plays, it's great to be a mom. So very, very great.

Karma?

You have likely heard of the Law of Divine Reciprocity: What goes around comes around. Karma. And you may remember that in my most recent blog post, I spoke a bit harshly about the airline industry with its baggage fees, lack of food, and silly security policies. So I have to ask myself, "Could it be karma?"

Let me explain. Shulamith took me to the airport in plenty of time for my 7:30 flight to Denver Tuesday evening. She even parked her car and went in with me because her sweet Mathew was due to arrive back from New York at about the same time my plane took off. Everything seemed normal. My flight was listed as "on time." I made my way to the gate, where the monitor showed my "on time" flight to Denver scheduled to board in 30 minutes. Excellent.

Those 30 minutes came and went. And though the monitor still listed the flight as "on time," there wasn't an agent to be seen. Along with several others awaiting the flight, I began to worry. Then I tried to reassure myself. I had a 90-minute layover in Denver, so I should be okay, right?

Wrong.

Minutes passed. Finally, an agent arrived to inform us that our plane was on its way and should arrive in 15 minutes, and they would "turn it around" just as quickly as possible. Okay, fine. Those 15 minutes turned into 30, and the quick "turn it around" was anything but quick. By the time we were off the ground, it was a full hour later than our scheduled departure. This would give me at best only 30 minutes in Denver. Now I was scared. You see, Wednesday was the first day of my new semester at school. I had classes at 8:00, 9:10, and 11:30 a.m. I had to get to Billings.

You may have noticed that I'm not very good at accepting what I can't control. "Flexible" is NOT my middle name. Or my first name. Or my last name. Not sure it's even part of my vocabulary. Any attempt at relaxation during the flight was utterly futile because surely if I worried enough, my anxiety would make the plane fly faster. It was not a pleasant ride. Now you'd think that once we touched down in Denver, I could push my way off that plane and begin my marathon sprint through the "B" concourse from gates B88 to B37 where the plane to Billings would depart.

Nope, wrong again. Because of the fees to check baggage (see earlier post), most of us frequent fliers, myself included, do not check our bags. Instead, we take the biggest bag that qualifies as a "carry on," only these bags don't actually fit on the smaller commuter jets, and must be checked plane side and retrieved at the top of the jet way. So, as I considered that my plane to Billings might be pushing back at any second, I was forced to wait...and wait...and wait...and wait at the top of the jet way for my suitcase. Grrrrr.

Once the bag was retrieved, I made the familiar dash through the airport hoping against all hope that maybe my flight was delayed. If these people only knew that my classes started the following morning, surely they would wait! Wrong again. Panting breathlessly, I arrived at Gate B37 to find no one in sight. My flight was gone. The very last flight to Billings that night was gone. Fighting back tears, I called Gerald briefly to tell him, but of course he already knew because he is our family's would-be travel agent, who tracks every single detail of our flights whenever anyone travels. Had I called him as soon as I had my suitcase, I'm pretty sure he could have told me it was hopeless, but well, in desperation I really needed to make the run for it. Just in case. Just to know I did all I could.

Next, I called two colleagues from my school. I left voice mail for the first, and luckily, the second picked up. It was nearly 10:00 p.m. Once I related my tale of woe and explained that under no circumstances would I be in Billings for my first two classes the next day, she graciously admonished me to "Be safe." Barb, you cannot know what that simple phrase of kindness meant to me in that moment. I was crying yet again.

The next order of business was to make my way to the Customer Service desk where the line was thick and deep and turned out to be 90 minutes long. I was familiar with that line because Lindsey and I stood in it over a year ago with little Emma on our way to visit Celeste, when our delayed flight out of Billings caused us to miss our connection in Denver. But that's another story. At some point during the wait, a United Customer Service Rep. told us that if we were on the flight from Salt Lake City, we would receive hotel and food vouchers because the issue causing the delay was mechanical. I know I should have been thankful, but really, all I could think about was missing the first day of the semester and my students who would show up at 8:00 the next morning to find no teacher.

Vouchers in hand, I headed to Burger King, the only restaurant open that late. Others in my same situation joined me for a late dinner, and we all headed out into the bitter cold (-12 with wind chill) together to wait for the hotel shuttle. It arrived about 20 freezing minutes later and took us on the 30-minute jaunt to the Holiday Inn. Then there was yet another line to check in. Finally, at nearly 1:00 a.m., I was in my hotel room, a quite luxurious one at that. Problem is, I could hardly enjoy it since I needed to catch the 6:30 a.m. shuttle back to the airport the following morning. Fearing I would miss that shuttle, I barely slept.

The rest of the journey was beautifully uneventful. I arrived back in Billings in time to teach my 11:30 class. I wanted to say to my students: "If it looks like I slept in these clothes, it's because I did!" I don't pack clothes when I visit Shulamith because it's easier to just wear hers. Oh, and I don't pack make-up or hair products either because I can just use hers. If you'd like to imagine what I looked like that morning when I met my 11:30 class for the first time, I can assure you it's much worse that anything you are thinking.

Could it be karma? I don't know. But I'm pretty sure I won't be dissing the air travel industry again any time soon.