Green at Heart

Since Andrew has started working for Topiarius, I've noticed a different rhythm to our home: one that is more in tune with and accepting of the seasons. Each season commands a respect, has something to offer and has something to prepare us for (if nothing else, the next season). A week or so ago, I found Andrew poring over a catalog of plants and seeds, after which he excitedly (and cautiously) rattled off his plans for our back porch this spring and summer. I could almost see the visions of Tom Thumb Pea plants dancing in his head. Not long after that, he brought a bag of hibernating tulip bulbs up from the basement. He took them out of the paper bag, dusted them off and then proceeded to store them in our crisper where they will remain until planting time. (Apparently, tulip bulbs need to be kept cold for a period of time before planting, but they would be too cold outside.) And if that were not enough, I also learned that bulbs cannot be stored with fruit. So, in went the bulbs and out went the fruit. And thus I was introduced to bulb care.

Despite the ever prevalent wintry temperatures of these past weeks, the energy of spring is upon us, if no place else than in Andrew's hopeful plans. This week he has started taking Botany 1 at The School of the Chicago Botanic Garden, so I'm sure it is only a matter of time before plant taxonomy and classifications are rolling off his tongue. While it is good to accept the present, there is a time to look ahead. And I've embraced Andrew's carefully laid plans to usher Spring our way. I've enjoyed discussions about what herbs we'll be growing and Andrew's intention to grow heirloom tomatoes from seed this year. I love to open the back door and envision a porch laden with green life. I like that our refrigerator's traditional role is being disrupted, and I'm grateful that every time I go to grab a piece of fruit, I'm reminded of the sacrifices that must be made for the sake of preparations. Spring is surely coming.

Tomorrow is Andrew's birthday, and as he prepares to celebrate a new year, in many ways, so do we all.

Remembering

In preparation for our small group meeting tonight, I had a chance to reread some of the speeches and writings of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I wondered why I don't do that more often, but I'm glad I did today. These words are no less relevant 50+ years later, even on the heels of an historical inauguration.

True peace is not merely the absence of some negative force - tension, confusion, or war; it is the presence of some positive force - justice, good will and brotherhood.
Dr. King's address before the First Annual Institute on Non-Violence and Social Change, Montgomery, AL, December 1956

Any religion that professes to be concerned about the souls of men and is not concerned about the slums that damn them, the economic conditions that strangle them and the social conditions that cripple them is a spiritually moribund religion awaiting burial.
From an article appearing in the magazine Christian Century, 1960

I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in the stride toward freedom is not the White Citizens Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate who is more devoted to "order" than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says, "I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I can't agree with your methods of direct action"; who paternalistically feels that he can set the timetable for another man's freedom; who lives by the myth of time and who constantly advised the Negro to wait until a "more convenient season." Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.
Letter from a Birmingham Jail, 1963

2009

At some point along my haphazard journey to discover a hobby, I committed to paper. Not scrapbooking, just paper. Letterpress. Stationary. Gift wrap. The Perfect Greeting Card. Decorative paper with whimsical designs. And while I don't think I ever truly embraced the full-fledged art of Paper (I finally admitted that I really just liked to buy it and appreciate it, as opposed to actually ever doing anything with it), there are some things I picked up along the way that I just can't shake. Take greetings cards for instance: If you get a greeting card from me, you can be assured that it will be hand selected and not from Jewel (and if I'm feeling really inspired, I might just make it). Or gift wrap: try a paisley print or Paper Source's Colonial Indian Chinz pattern. Fonts? Texas Hero is still my favorite. And so, as you can probably imagine, the Paper Source has become a treasured merchant in my quest for creativity. When I go there, whatever little dormant dusts of inspiration I have are resurrected and I feel the sense of possibility once again. Last year, I discovered their exclusive Date Books and for the first time in my life, I felt satisfied with my chosen method of organization. Great design, eco-friendly and fantastic colors. What more could a paper girl want?

Well, I'll tell you what she wants: less planning. If there's anything I'd like to change about myself for 2009, it would be that if I ever needed to, I could throw that planner out the window (at this point, I don't ever see that happening, but it's only January 7th). I'd like to be less scheduled, more flexible and more generous with my time. While I realize that this is easy for some, I'm confronting the fact that it is very, very difficult for me. I protect my time to the point of selfishness and somewhere between Monday and Sunday I have forgotten on whom I should be spending it. And so, in a symbolic gesture, this year I bought the Mini Date Book (in persimmon red). May it be a reminder to me to not covet those blank pages, but to give of them freely. A reminder to plan less and live more.

Communi-tree

We put our tree up this past weekend and we wondered how simple trees with simple trimmings can look so beautiful. Several years ago, for our first Christmas as a married couple, we invited our dear friends over to help us fashion the ornaments for our first Christmas tree. We purchased some materials, poured some wine and laughed over what would soon become cherished symbols of friendship, creativity and a new life together. Every year, Andrew comes up with some newfangled tree topper, usually using something from around the apartment. So far, it hasn't been the same twice.

I like what a Christmas tree represents: light, change, preparation, nature, creation, memories... And specifically, I like that our tree represents a taste of our community, of those we hold dear - those of our past, our present and those yet to come.

Alternate Routes | Advent

I first saw this on Barbara and Nathan's blog. If you haven't seen it already, you should take a look. Andrew and I have been thinking lately, how can we "do" Christmas differently? How do we best embrace Advent, I mean, really embrace it? Not just by singing some carols and lighting some candles, but rather, how should we change our practices to prepare ourselves for the coming Christ? I'm sure at first thought, we could all rattle off a few things: give more to charity, spend more time in prayer, savor those quiet nights of anticipation, read the Christmas story with more expectation. To be sure, those are all good things. But I think the story of Christmas, and indeed, the life of Christ, requires more. For me, this video excites the imagination and so I find it pretty apropos for Advent, but why stop there? The more I entrench myself in a different kind of Christmas, the more I find that the Christian life requires not just a change of shopping habits in December (although it does indeed require that), but a comprehensive change of lifestyle. Year round.

And so the question becomes, how do we "do" life differently?

This question in particular has been hounding me lately. A lifestyle change requires not just deeper pockets (that would be easy), but it requires broader perspectives, freer schedules, trusting hearts, a relentless commitment to each other and our neighbors, and hardest of all, resistance to the idols of prosperity, security, comfort and safety. I've given this much thought, but not too much action. And while at times I berate myself over this fact, I am also realizing that perhaps big change takes some big preparation. Of course, maybe that's just an excuse. But either way, Advent is the time of preparation and I will take advantage of it.

Crikey!

Like the new movie, Australia (more on that later), I think our Thanksgiving had it all: fantastic company, plentiful food and drink, good conversation, relaxation, thankful hearts, and the space to know and appreciate those around us. Mom and Dad Daigle drove in from Connecticut and it provided a wonderful opportunity to share our Chicago lives with those closest to us. Isn't it interesting how out of town guests give you new eyes in which to view old and familiar surroundings? Suddenly, our apartment and neighborhood evolved from a place to live into a place to explore. We showed off our Lincoln Square favorites, visited the Field Museum and sampled some of Chicago's varied cuisine.

And, yes... we saw Australia.



The movie, like our Thanksgiving, really did have it all: action, adventure, romance, you laughed, you cried, you get the picture. (And you won't be disappointed.)

All in all, it was a time to indeed be grateful... for dear family, for God's provision, for our city's endless entertainment and for the chance to pause to give thanks. Many thanks to you, Mom and Dad, for your generosity, curiosity and graciousness in spending a Thanksgiving in Chicago. We are truly grateful.

Meat in a Tube

Last Saturday evening we participated in our first annual Sausage Fest, that is, a collaborative effort with friends to crank out approximately 50 POUNDS of potatis korv (potato sausage). That's right, 50 pounds (although it's still a toss up as to whether there was more sausage or bad jokes). This extremely entertaining and messy endeavor was hosted by our dear friends, Barbara and Nathan, and not only did they sacrifice their time, energy and equipment to get everything prepared, but also... their kitchen. Sausage making is not for the faint of heart, nor for those who cringe at the sight of dribblings on their stove... or floor... or cabinets. Barbara and Nathan had split up the grocery list and we each brought our allotted ingredients, and after all was said and done, we all had more than several pounds of sausage to bring home. Last night, Andrew and I cooked up our first few links, accompanied by horseradish garlic mashed potatoes, and I realized that we had been initiated into a tradition much cherished by our Swedish friends. And it was delicious.





*Photos and statistics courtesy of Barbara and Nathan.

At the Close

Over Labor Day weekend, we opted for one of those newly touted "staycations" and paid a visit to Milwaukee and then to St. Joseph, Michigan. We had been to neither and it proved to be just right for making the most of our long weekend. Our first stop in Milwaukee was the Miller Brewery, which, other than the free beer, left much to be desired. Actually, it was pretty embarrassing compared to other brewery tours I've experienced. I'm chalking it up to an "off day". In any case, at least Andrew got some good photos.




Michigan was our final hurrah of summer. Beaches. Sunburns. Swimming. Reading. Picnics. Perfect.

We bid Summer adieu, and while I will miss the long, warm days, Fall is my season and I beckon it with anticipation. I recently read a reflection by someone who thought Fall should mark the New Year. I couldn't agree more. There is a newness in the crisp air... a chance to start over... again.

Quatorze Juillet

Daigle is French... I think... (right, guys?), so I thought I'd be remiss if I failed to give homage to Bastille Day in light of my new heritage-by-marriage. As I'm sure we all remember from our history lessons, Bastille Day commemorates the storming of the Bastille, a prison that was symbolic of the absolute power of Louis XVI's regime. The storming of the Bastille was to the French what signing the Declaration of Independence was to the Americans: a cry of Revolution.

Prise de la Bastille, by Jean-Pierre-Louis-Laurent Houel

I found this picture here and, well, what can I say? I thought it was cool... and curiously disturbing. As gruesome as it may be, it reflects the reality that revolutions are an expensive business indeed.

We Remember Thee Most Fondly

Tis the birthday of our dearly departed Shakespeare.

"From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing
That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odor and in hue
Could make me any summer's story tell.
Or from their proud lap pluck them while they grew;
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
These were but sweet, but figures of delight;
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play."

Sonnet 98

Just because it's St. Patrick's Day...

A man stumbles up to the only other patron in a bar and asks if he can buy him a drink. "Why of course," comes the reply. The first man then asks, "Where are you from?" "I'm from Ireland," replies the second man. The first man responds, "You don't say! I'm from Ireland too! Let's have another round to Ireland." "Of course," replies the second man. Curious, the first man then asks, "Where in Ireland are you from?" "Dublin," comes the reply. "I can't believe it," says the first man. "I'm from Dublin too! Let's have another drink to Dublin." "Of course," replies the second man. Curiosity again strikes and the first man asks, "What school did you go to?" "Saint Mary's," answers the second man. "I graduated in '62." "This is unbelievable!" the first man says. "I went to Saint Mary's and I graduated in '62 too!" About that time, in comes one of the regulars. "What's going on?" he asks the bartender. "Nothing much," replies the bartender. "The O'Malley twins are drunk again."

Cheers, Love

A Drinking Song

Wine comes in at the mouth

And love comes in at the eye;

That's all we shall know for truth

Before we grow old and die.

I lift the glass to my mouth,

I look at you, and I sigh.

-William B. Yeats

Advice to a Big Sister

We spent a wonderful Christmas in New Hampshire and Connecticut feasting and celebrating with family and friends. One highlight was meeting our new nephew, Ian, and lest anyone forget, he has a big sister... Charlotte. Believe me, she is far from forgetting it. And so, my dear Charlotte, this is for you as you embark on big sisterhood.

To Charlotte, The Big Sister:

Charlotte, I too am a big sister. My brother is just 2 years younger than me, just like Ian is 2 years younger than you. So, I thought I’d share some words of wisdom, advice and tricks of the trade. It’s great being a big sister. You’ll experience a lot of things first (except for exclusively boy things, but I don’t think it’s our loss) and so Ian will be looking to you to pave the way. It’s great when little brothers are still little, because they’ll do just about anything you say. So feel free to ask him to help you clean up your toys, get you a glass of milk, change Darla’s diaper… you name it, he’ll probably do it. (But remember, he’s your little brother so you should always be nice!) When it comes to playing together, play his games too. Forts, cops and robbers, Legos, baseball in the back yard, and building tree houses are all great games that boys like to play. Of course, many girls like to play these games too, and if anyone tells you that they are boy games only, don’t believe them! It’s important for girls to know how to play these games and they are fun! And later on, boys will appreciate that you know how to play baseball. Plus, since little brothers will do just about anything you say, and since girls are so practical (boys can be too, of course), you can always make sure that your fort has a kitchen and a bed for Darla.

Now, I must warn you that there will come a time when little brothers will all of a sudden stop doing what you say. This usually happens around age 12 or 13. Believe me, it’s not fun and a complete blow to your ego. They will start saying things like: “You can’t tell me what to do!” and “You’re not my mom!” Unfortunately, this is all true and they are just now realizing it. As much as you may resent the fact that the tables have turned, and the little brother who once always looked to please you now seems to be looking for every opportunity to displease you, you must allow him his space and not get too upset. Try not to take it personally. And be honest, there were probably very few times you were willing to take orders from him, so shouldn't he be allowed the same independence you always had? I know, this is difficult to swallow and it took me a long time to get over it. But there are great rewards! Eventually, he will come to realize that you always had good advice and he will once again look to you for wisdom. (Be warned: this could take awhile… about 10 years in my case.) But just hang in there and remember that boys, on average, tend to mature slower than girls (of course there are exceptions). While this can be frustrating, and you’re wondering what in the world could be taking so long, remember that they were specially designed, just like you, and there is truly a reason for this (really, there is). And no matter how it may seem, he still loves you even if he won’t play Barbies anymore.

There are so many other things you will learn about being a big sister and having a little brother. But above all, remember that you will have a lifelong friend, someone to look after you and someone to look after, someone with whom to play, talk, fight and make up. Ian is a great gift to you, and you to him. So have fun and rejoice in the special role you have as The Big Sister!

Reverent Times

Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
The bird of dawning singeth all night long;
And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad;
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm;
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.

-Shakespeare
From Hamlet, Act I Scene I

Anticipation

This past Sunday marked the first Sunday in Advent. Every year, I look forward to the Christmas season, and every year, come January, I wonder where it went. That seemingly unending march toward Christmas ended long ago, only to be replaced by comments such as: “I can’t believe it’s December already!” and “I only have 2 weeks to do all my shopping?!” and “Where did this year go? Nevermind this month!” Indeed, time has been racing by while I've been making futile attempts at recreating that “Christmas feeling” I remember so well as a child. And I've realized that over the past several years, I've started to enjoy the anticipation of Advent more than the season itself. The anticipation harbors more hope, more promise: this year will be different, I’m sure of it. But every year I seem to be disappointed. Santa and gifts don’t do it anymore, and even the lights and music can become routine. I've outgrown the Christmas of my past. It’s time to recreate what Advent means to me, time to discover in what way I can most appreciate and reflect the spirit of Christmas. I don’t know what this will look like. New traditions? A new attitude? A new intentionality? Whatever it is, I must stop looking to the ghosts of my Christmas past to satisfy that desire to really experience the Advent season. After all, Advent itself implies a hope, a look to the future. And Advent deserves a renewed vigilance on my part, for at what other time can we sing,

Come Thou long-expected Jesus
Born to set Thy people free;
From our fears and sins release us,
Let us find our rest in Thee.

-Charles Wesley

Rite of Passage

It would be wrong to say that we, in America, have no rites of passage, but I find it challenging to see our lives demarcated by dramatic, cultural, coming-of-age events like they once did, or like they do in other cultures. Sure, we have things like First Communion, marriage and the birth of one's first-born, but these are common to many cultures. They don't seem to be as culturally specific as Dokimasia, which was the process in Athens by which a citizen's eligibility to engage in public rights and duties was ascertained, or the ceremony of Poy Sang Long in Myanmar and Northern Thailand in which boys between 7 and 14 take novice monastic vows and participate in monastery life for a designated period of time.

But I think I've stumbled upon a specifically American rite of passage since I've been married, one I was not expecting: the ability to cook Thanksgiving turkey. Indeed, the first question posed to me after I explained that Thanksgiving would be at my home was "Are you making a turkey?". And then, inevitably, "Is this your first turkey?", as if to count it among the many important firsts in our lives: first words, first day of school, first home. Don't get me wrong--I'm not knocking it! I felt that to successfully prepare Thanksgiving turkey was to be successfully initiated into... something. I'm still not sure what that something is, other than now I know how to cook a turkey (hey, at least it's useful). And I think that's good enough for me.

We had a wonderful weekend with my parents and brother--a weekend of feasting, relaxing, napping, and being showered by my parents' tremendous generosity. I am so fortunate to have parents, both mine and Andrew's, who give us room to grow, to explore, to succeed, to make mistakes, to make our lives our own. With each rite of passage that comes our way, no matter how big or small, they gently encourage us, sometimes by holding on and sometimes by letting go. And on this Thanksgiving, I am truly thankful for them.

(Happy Birthday, Dad!)

Fall

I'm realizing that ever since I was 4 or 5 years old and started going to school, I've always associated fall with beginnings and newness--new school year, new friends, new sneakers, new pencil case, new schedules--a new season. Logically, I thought those associations would end once I finished school, but I'm finding the opposite to be true. Somehow, those 20-odd years of schooltime anticipations have worn a deep rut in my expectations for fall, as if I had written them on a chalkboard 100 times. There have been a number of mornings, on my way to work, that I have longed to be cracking a new textbook or trying desperately to remember my locker combination. Now it must be understood that I'm not wishing to be back in junior high, high school or even college. And if I try to look beyond the hazy glory of new sweaters and unmarked notebooks, I will remember that all of this excitement usually wore off by mid October, when we all couldn't wait for Thanksgiving break. But that's beside the point. What I am finding now is that I can't escape the energy of fall--that anticipation of new beginnings. I'm energized by the change in season, the newness of cooler weather, new colors. While I may not be immersing myself in another year of academic assignments, I am inspired to start projects, take on new responsibilities, learn a new hobby (yes, mandolin), commit to renewing myself and changing some attitudes.

I do love fall. And for some reason, I've always felt some kind of ownership of it, as if it were my season. Perhaps it's because my birthday is in September, or because I'm from New England, which, let's admit, has the corner market on fall colors. Or maybe it's because when I was younger, my mom had our personal "color palates" analyzed, and it was determined that I looked best in fall colors. And now, as we prepare to celebrate our first year of marriage this weekend, I am realizing how fitting it is for our anniversary to be couched in the energy of fall. What better time to commit to the celebration and renewal of our marriage... this year and every year to come. I hope we will always harness some of that fall inspiration to remember, reflect, and be grateful for the gift we have in each other.

We were given some great advice from my pastor, Dale, who married us. During our pre-marital counseling, he told us that for the first year of our marriage, we were "off the hook", so to speak. For that first year, he explained, we need not feel pressured to take on new responsibilities or commit to new endeavors. For that first year we were to just be--be with each other, learn about each other, and learn what it means to start living out our vows. Great advice indeed.

And I'm realizing that it may not just be the advent of fall that is infusing me with newness and energy, but that it may also be the product of a year of nurturing our infant marriage. A year of intentional thought and planning regarding who we want to be as a couple and what that may look like. A year of learning how to love and support the other as we each explore who we are individually in this relationship. It's been a year--a year of getting ready to go.

So now I'm feeling ready, and while I look forward to what Year Two will bring as we continue to find our footing, continue to grow and shape our marriage, and as we begin to put some plans into action (no, this does not mean children), I will not forget nor abandon the lessons of Year One. Because no matter how inspiring the back-to-school sales might be, there must always be time to just be, to allow God to breathe life into our souls, into our marriage.

Happy One.

Dog Days

Every summer I try to adopt the mentality of living in the present. Summer arrives and the fun begins and then, before you know it, it's over. So I try to soak up every moment and be conscious of each day. Sometimes I succeed; sometimes I fail. But it's always a good reminder for me to look back at the summer's events and remember that we did indeed take advantage of those dog days. I know we still have some summer left, so all the more reason to be conscious of what we did and what we have left to do.

Celebrating Cristina's birthday in June

Fourth of July fireworks in Grant Park

A game of Cornhole (there have been lots of those)

Go Cubs!

Applying tattoos at our church's neighborhood block party

The Butterfly Conservatory at the Nature Museum

(Even the best of us can have an identity crisis)

The butterfly mating dance

Venetian Night at Monroe Harbor

National Flag Day

Ok, so maybe this is a stretch for a post. But I feel like I owe it to Flag Day to at least acknowledge its historical claims, since I've always poked fun at it as a sort of pseudo-holiday. In the United States, National Flag Day is celebrated on June 14, the day on which the flag of the United States was adopted by the Second Continental Congress in 1777. It wasn't until almost a century and a half later, in 1916, that June 14 was officially proclaimed Flag Day by Woodrow Wilson. An Act of Congress established National Flag Day in August of 1949. You can look up Title 36 Sec. 110 of the US Code to read the official statute on Flag Day.

If you are so moved by this holiday, you could visit Troy, New York, for the largest Flag Day parade in the country. Or, if you prefer to just read more about the history of the day, click here.

Memorial Day Weekend

We had a wonderful visit with my parents over Memorial Day weekend. It was the first time we hosted "extended" visitors in our first home together, and we couldn't have had better guests! We spent Saturday downtown trying to negotiate our sightseeing with the sporadic thunderstorms. All worked out just fine and we ended our evening with The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee. The show is well worth seeing. On Sunday, we explored our neighborhood and played dress up at a toy store. You know, the usual things one does. We visited the Chicago Botanic Garden on Monday, followed by a barbecue at our place. Thanks Mom and Dad for making the trip out! We had a great visit with you and we look forward to next time...