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January 29, 2012


Quiet I bear within me,

I bear within myself, forces to make me strong.

Now will I be imbued with their glowing warmth,

Now will I fill myself with my own will’s resolve.

And I will feel the quiet pouring through my being,

When by my steadfast striving I become strong,

To find within myself the source of strength,

The strength of Inner Quiet.

–Rudolf Steiner

Above my desk purposely at eye level making sure to insist it not be missed is the reflection from Steiner. It and another prayer for small children are part of my morning. Though I cannot imagine I am supposed to be reading it to myself while I rush to read emails , cram in a bite to eat and  scald my mouth on too large a coffee gulp, while the chaos of morning swirls around behind me. Then again, perhaps that is the time. 

While everyone around me has gloried in the sunny 70’s weather I’m feeling a little bereft of winter. Clearly I do not want Wisconsin winter, I want California winter, you know the cliff notes of winter, grey skies, cold enough to wear my woolly socks, light a fire, maybe a little rain but not too much. An excuse to sit on the sofa read a book and sip tea. “It’s what I  really, really  want”. ( to quote a child who shall remain nameless)


Life without an oven has been life, just without an oven. But I miss it and it sits there and mocks me, sneering its ghetto chipped tooth grin at me. I’m usually willing to compromise and get it over-with but  Coach has convinced me that we should wait to save up for the big spring sales and get “you what you want”. The past few attempts at using the bbq as an oven have proved less than fruitful. However, I am well on my way to a home school example of how charcoal is made. Have I mentioned the weather? It could help out here and make it cool enough that my family welcomed each new soup with some other  response than “again?”.

Last week or somewhere around there, my father in-law finished unpacking the boxes from his life with my mother in-law. We backed the van up to his new garage to load up a few boxed items he’d packed for the girls and I.

Having moved on in a speed we around him were not prepared for , he set up house here locally with his new wife. It was disorienting to see so much of mom re-arranged and juxtaposed against someone else’s belongings as I walked around the new house.

Unpacking the lovelies I was sent home with, this plate showed up. In all honesty it is not in my memory banks of the old house nor can I remember  if mom ever used it. It is difficult to photograph because of how the glass was pressed, the words read

It is pleasant to labor for those we love.

Perhaps it should hang in my laundry room.

For now it sits in a place that like my reflective quote above I can clearly be reminded of the truth. Mom although not spiritual or religious had a certain ineffable quality of sureness to her beliefs, though I could not tell you what they were. In  quiet moments I am reassured when I see the plate that she and I  are still in conversation with each other.



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