8.10.2007

A Little Bit of Living Just Isn't Enough


Full and bright with summer, the past month tipped the scales and emptied the blog. We enjoyed visits from three batches of guests, one for only an evening and morning but the others for 3-4 days. We attended two weddings-- one in Ithaca and a fly-by-night wedding in Buffalo, after which we drove home, the girls asleep and John nearly so. He poured music in his ears and wind on his face, while I poured candy in his fist to keep him awake until we pulled into our gritty, gravelly drive at three in the morning. We gardened and laundered and hung out to dry; we watched movies on a sheet, ate popcorn four ways, and awoke too early. We went to the county fair--twice!--without the bearded beloved, and we ate an elephant's ear. We played, laughed, jumped, grumped, and ate requested chicken noodle soup for supper on a ninety-degree night. Now you know.

During the blinding days, steam rising, the girls play in the rubber pool that sloshes with inches of tepid water, murky with much use, and they cover the kitchen floor with green, grassy tracks. I sweep an acre of green blades off the floor before walking out to the same an hour later. On rainy days, they run through the house with siren shrieks and slip outdoors if I turn my back. When I give consent, they raise hands to the rain and come in dripping. Even in gray, they glow luminous. Shining constantly with rain or pool water, their slippery bodies spin about so quickly I grow tired simply looking at the great energy they spend in one hour of play.

When the heat makes me sticky with adult sweat and my temper is short, I forget the goodness of childhood in summer. I forget to live as my children do. Two weeks ago, the girls and I drove to Nanticoke, and I stepped back in time and saw summer as my ten-year old self (a good age, as all ages are). After slaving in the garden, we would race to the crick and try to swim and tube in two feet of water. We'd spread ourselves out on rock slabs to dry, slick limbs stretched long and dappled in leaflight. We either found our fun or we moped and grumbled about boredom to an unsympathetic mother who advised we remedy it by weeding more rows. By day, we hunted for peepers and salamanders, and lightning bugs lit our rooms from Mason jar jails by night. We read books, climbed trees, played in the Indian graveyard, and explored. Summer at ten is good and simple. It can be so now, but it doesn't come as naturally, which is one reason I am glad for our children because they make it easier to be so. Unknowingly, they shed some of their sparks and newness right onto us. Of course, the same sin that roosts in me lives in them, but, somehow, through revealing the smallness of my heart, they also help to enlarge it. On the dark ride home from Nanticoke, I explained the meanings of "murky" and "emerging" to two girls who drowsily watched the moon, a thumbsmear of tawny paint behind the clouds, and through their eyes I saw a following moon who politely escorted us home.

Our garden grows. Millie is especially thrilled with the myriad colors-- the reds, oranges, yellows, and greens. She keeps a constant watch and lets me know when the tomatoes are "tomato-ing," how much her baby pam pumpkin has grown overnight, and asks, "Isn't it amazing, Mama? The corn is taller than you!" The squeak of health between our teeth is a pleasure to which we're all growing accustomed. We ward against the forgetting-- the ungratefulness of forgetting just what a wonder is a garden full of food. God sends forth the rain and sun alike, He sends forth the little root shoots and curling tendrils, He gives us swelling gourds and kernals and globes, and if we're not careful, we'll forget the marvel of it. "Summertime," says my father, "is the only time of the year when we eat as we were intended to." I think he's right. Carelessly, we saunter a hundred feet or so and fill our shirts, our bowls, our aprons with cucumbers, squash, lettuce, beans, and all else. We eat them at lunch, at supper, and at all times in between. We roast them, fry them, boil them, bake them, and eat them raw, and in all ways (except for frying, perhaps), we eat as we were meant to eat.

I come in from time spent bent in the garden with hands that surprise me. I raise my palm to the cupboard for a glass, and the scent of tomato leaf wafts by. Brushing past the tomato plants, my body takes on their scent-- a living scent, the smell of life. I dream of the garden some nights, and if I awake one morning in a bed covered with vines, I may not even blink. In summertime, all things grow.

I try not to forget, though I often fail, the beauty of this season and every season, the blessing of my healthy, happy children, the gift of serving my husband and girls with fresh food on clean dishes that have been washed and washed and rewashed. I will come back in January to read this post, to be reminded, and to be, as I should always be, grateful again.

_______________________________________________________

So, no, we haven't joined the circus, more's the pity. Truly.

Sarah
, I loved the attention you gave me in the comments section, and congratulations to you and Pete! We rejoice!

This swarm of snapshots should last you all for the next month or so, but don't feel guilted by their great number into leaving a comment saying, "I can't comment on all these, but, really, they're great!" Unless you want to, that is...I'll take any comments I can get. Honestly, I think I'll be impressed if any of you even look at them all.

I need to amend my recent habit of a posting dearth followed by a glut. It can't be healthy for either the poster (that's me) or the readers (that's you, if you're still here). Here's to never quite striking a happy medium.


So take your time; there's enough to go around. In the rare event that you need more, go to buildabelly. I've posted an ovenfu
l of recipes, with more to come, so nibble away.

10 comments:

  1. Abigail,

    I don't know if you remember me from Houghton, but I figured that it is time I confess my stalking sin... I have read every word of your blog all the way back to November of 04. I found you through Sandy, and have become an adict. I passed you along to my friend Carly, who called me today to tell me that you posted. YES, we do have problems, but I think that admitting it is the first step.

    Your children are beautiful and full of joy. That only comes from a God-centered home, and amazing parenting, so keep it up!

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  2. Abby--

    At various times and places, you have threatened to give up this "superficial, light" blog. I've meant (several times) to write to you about this, but never gotten to it. Now seems like a good time.

    You seem self-conscious about only showing the pleasant side of life, like that was a bad thing. But, like carefree children, this directs us to look at the "pleasant side" of our own lives, things that so often get taken for granted and swept aside.

    It is in no way a "superficial" or "pointless" thing to direct people's attention toward true love and happiness. On the contrary, looking at these things is often what gives us encouragement and delight through some of the much less pleasant parts of life.

    Just because this isn't a comprehensive study of every facet of your life doesn't mean its worthless or meaningless. There is nothing wrong with sounding a distinctive note---"Even things without life, whether flute or harp, when they make a sound, unless they make a distinction in the sounds, how will it be known what is piped or played? Likewise, there is nothing wrong this blog simply being a study of your joy, nor is that an unbeneficial study. Joy is often misplaced.

    I'm not sure if the comments section was the best place to share my views on it, but your post made me think of it. Actually, you said most of it yourself:

    "Unknowingly, they shed some of their sparks and newness right onto us. Of course, the same sin that roosts in me lives in them, but, somehow, through revealing the smallness of my heart, they also help to enlarge it."

    "I try not to forget, though I often fail, the beauty of this season and every season, the blessing of my healthy, happy children, the gift of serving my husband and girls with fresh food on clean dishes that have been washed and washed and rewashed. I will come back in January to read this post, to be reminded, and to be, as I should always be, grateful again."

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  3. Abby, so happy to see you back. I have missed you! Whenever I read your words, I feel refreshed. And happy. A great deal of that, comes from knowing you personally, and knowing that this blog is a direct reflection of the trueness of your life. It is not pompous or exaggerated, it is real. It is you.

    I hope someday, you get the idea out of your head about leaving blogdom. Because, really, there would be a HUGE void left for me to try and fill...and I know I never could.


    Titi~I am glad, very glad, that you wrote it in comments, because I enjoyed reading it too. And hope beyond hope that it affects her as it did me. Thanks!

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  4. Oh yeah. Also forgot to say:

    I have read and reread this post. I enjoy every single word. You are an artist not only in your drawings but your speech. You kindle a whole new enthusiasm in me just by writing down the eloquent words drawn for our imaginations.

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  5. Laura McElheney! (Did I just butcher the spelling of your last name?) Introduction to Psychology with Dr. Paul Young...yep, I remember you! You were friends with Heather Spencer and walked through the Campus Center as two tall beauties- one dark, one light.

    It's funny that you've trawled through the whole blog; I've been tempted many times to delete the earliest entries written back when I wasn't intending to blog at all, but I've refrained, which is good for people who want to outrageously waste time by reading them. I'm so glad you read, and I'm even more glad you commented. It's a fun surprise to know that completely unexpected people follow shotsnaps when I post, and it's good that you're hooked, because that means you'll be back! :) Oh, and I laughed when I read that you received a shotsnaps alert; I should hire her to call all the readers when I finally post after a month's absence!

    Titi and Rebecca,

    Thanks for your encouraging comments. I was glad to read them. (And, thanks, too, Rebecca, for your kindness!) Briefly ('cause I could, but shouldn't, go on forever), though I do sometimes mope about the nonsense, I truly don't believe that all the good things reflected herein are fluff. Real joy is substantial, mightily so, and even the memory of it can sustain one during famine. I've told John several times that one benefit to chronicling these moments I would otherwise forget is that when I look through them months later, I am lightened by the memory of them. A blog that is nearly completely comprised of the beauty of the ordinary encourages me when I'm up to my neck in the repetition of the ordinary (though that has its own beauty, too, to which I'm often blinded).

    Two catalysts to my mopes are as follows:

    The first I wrote about here. I've run across several blogs in which there are stunning pictures of so-and-so's beautiful children, but I want to ensure my blog doesn't become the same. Why? Because the blogs seem to be a showcase, and the children seem a little too staged and a little too self-aware of the camera and their own beauty. I don't want to manipulate life in order to "capture" a great moment; I'd rather live that genuine moment. So, when I find myself leaning toward that showcasing, I squawk about my fluffy blog and want to end it.

    Two:
    Over the past two years, several women have emailed me to thank me for my blog. They've written undeservedly kind words about my role as mother and have said that this shotsnaps life has served to encourage them in their own roles as mothers. That, I am undoubtedly glad for. In a few of those emails, though, I got the sense that they thought our home was absolute perfection, since shotsnaps only shows the good. I don't often write about fits of temper or depression or laziness or apathy, but that doesn't mean that we don't have to fight against them, too.

    My blog isn't a personal journal or a debate forum for matters of theology, philosophy, parenting methods, or diaper choices, and it likely never will contain anything other than a glut of snapshots. I'm fine with that, as long as it doesn't give a false picture of our life-- a picture that may make others feel that they don't measure up.

    So, thanks for your comments. They did encourage me, and I'll try to freeze my fingers next time I want to type "superficial," "light," "fluffy," or the like. If I do slip into it, though, cut and paste those comments so I can read them again!

    And that's one long reply...

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  6. Rebecca, I'm glad you appreciated it. When I write long comments I feel like I'm taking up too much public airspace!

    Abby, as far as your reason number two, I think that's something we all struggle with, though it's a problem we (the observers) have more than a problem with the presenters. We all---you included---are inclined to compare ourselves to others to see how we measure up.

    For example, why on earth, when we were blueberry picking, did you say you "respected me as one who is always on top of things"? I certainly never tried to give you that impression. It was very kind, but undeserved. It made both me and my family laugh.

    I suppose it must be because I find my times of scatter-brained, behind-the-times, and not-keeping-up to be un-noteworthy. I only tell you about packing away over 300 lbs of blueberries because it was noteworthy. It's a time consuming struggle to get that many. And I don't tell you about the weeds in my garden that are over my head, because that's not noteworthy. That happens every year! (And I don't even have to try or put any effort into it to make it happen!)

    But it wouldn't make any difference which I happened to note, except that you---just like the rest of us!---compare yourself to others to see how good of a job you're doing. I think that it is more a struggle on behalf of the hearer, than a fault of the one who speaks. We are admonished not to compare ourseleves to other, but to seek where He has called us. Not are all to be hands and not all are to be ears, but all are to be obedient to what they were called to do.

    If your blog makes us consider where we fall short from where He is calling us (and we all fall short), I think it is a good thing. Calling us to self-examination is helpful.

    If, however, it makes us check to see how many pints of pickles Mrs. Shotsnaps Lady has canned, so we know if we've been productive enough or not. . .well, that's our struggle, not your fault. Canning less pickles or not talking about pickles wouldn't help the fact that we were using you as a standard, which we ought not do.



    By the way, how many pints of pickles have you canned so far?

    ;)

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  7. Right on. I agree completely.

    And DID I say that?!?
    :)

    Certainly, though, making Mrs. Piggy-Wiggle in less than a week's time means that in some areas, you are most certainly "on top of things." Even if other areas languish while you do so (or in the case of the garden weeds, thrive!), you can whip a sewing storm around me! I admire the final product and the seamstress. So there!

    I assume that my comment was in reference to you also missing strawberry season, which DID make me feel good in my own misery. In the areas of berry picking, freezing, and consuming, you and yours are nearly always on top of things, and to know that I wasn't alone in my berry failure made me feel like, well, less of a failure!

    p.s. I'm canning them mostly in quart size, but, as of last night, I have the equivalent of 54 pints. If my plants keep producing and Mopsy shares more of her bounty, I'd like to can a minimum of 50 quarts. Last year, I canned 40, and we could have eaten twice that over the course of the year.

    I leave you with a crunchity crunch...

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  8. Holy moley!!

    I have not canned half so many pickles.

    Of course, I got my cucumber (and squash) plants in the ground waaaayy too late, so my cukes are just beginning to come on. I don't remember how many I canned last year, but I rest peacefully in the knowledge that regardless of how many I can, it will all be eaten.

    Quickly.

    Usually before any snow flies.

    I did can 40 pints of blueberry jam. 20 pints to a day. Actually, with the boys' help, we did 20 pints in two hours!!

    Misery loves company, and I'm glad to keep you company in yours. I will even grudgingly admit that I am on top of some things, though I wouldn't even admit to such a sweeping title as "In the areas of berry picking, freezing, and consuming, you and yours are nearly always on top of things" Except for maybe the "consuming" part, which I'm pretty sure the boys have a monopoly on.

    Let's just say that at any given time, there are usually a few things I am on top of. . .and on the other side of the scale, a much larger pile of things I'm not on top of.

    But you know what? Being on top of everything is not nearly as important as people make it out to be. And in one sense, the hard part isn't really being on top of something, it's knowing which things are important enough to be on top of.

    For me, anyway.

    By the way, you still owe me pictures of the aforementioned Mrs. Piggy-Wiggle!

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  9. have you forgotten us, dear Abigail?

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