Jane October 25 at 8:51am

Thank you for all of that. I won’t be able to properly sit and think and write until Sunday (hopefully afternoon, but possibly evening). There is a lot to respond to. And more questions to ask, of course. I’ve got to get ready for some company today (we’re grilling, and it’s supposed to be pouring, and there will be several children not outside on my swing set but in my house, and… it’s going to be a great time, the people coming are very fun and good to be with).

Hope the parents’ weekend was fun.

More later, tomorrow, as soon as I can…

Lizzie October 25 at 10:26am

Enjoy your guests and grilling–hope it all works out despite the rainy forecast. Sounds like a blast, with kids and good friends!

No hurry–take your sweet time…keep it fun. I look forward to the Question Two dialogue

Lizzie

Jane October 26 at 9:03pm

Glass of wine/stream of consciousness writing to follow:

Wow. The part about the panic attack really resonates. Our bodies are so much more connected to our minds than we realize, huh? And what’s up with smart women so not getting themselves? That whole “I’m thinking/feeling it so it must be wrong” thing. Especially when it comes to something as important as spirituality and feeding our souls. Good for you for eventually realizing you were in the wrong place. Ten years is a long time. I hope the ramifications from within your own family (husband, kids) weren’t too harsh. As for your former fellow congregants, well I say too bad. Especially since you’d been “branded” anyway… (it is a good thing you didn’t know at the time, the anger would have been so much worse!)

You had a Jesuit trained father, mine was a criminal defense attorney prior to becoming a judge. I grew up on the witness stand, you grew up with careful arguments. Same thing. What does that say? About our confidence and self-esteem and how do we know/accept it/act on it when we are right? My head spins with that, and I hope my daughter has bigger clankers than I do. (so far, she has bigger ones than anyone I’ve ever met, but that’s another story for another day, LOL)

I loved hearing about the hymn singing in the first, Methodist church.

(BTW, What happened there? Why did you leave for the Baptist church? What made you not stay, since it sounds like you enjoyed it there.. your feeling your own love of God as raindrops on your soul, why would you leave for any other place to worship? )

The singing… There is something about singing, especially in a group, voices rising together with a common goal, that alone could bring a form of kavannah, being in the moment, ecstasy, call it what you will. Add God to that mix, and it does indeed get mighty heady. The cynic in me says this is why the “Born Agains” (please excuse the generalization to make a point) use music to snag the younger people – all those Christian Rock festivals, and such. Get ‘em all singing for Jesus… (sorry, sorry sorry I don’t mean to be offensive but that just couldn’t be stopped, it just tumbled out) I AM cynical.

Because group singing can be a fiercely spiritual, beautiful experience. On a less cynical note, think of hymns and psalms and prayer, set to music. One thing I love about learning/knowing the Friday night and Saturday morning Shabbat services is that I now know enough so if I went to Shabbat services anywhere in the world, I’d be familiar with what’s going on and be able to participate. Talk about connected. But I am off on a mini-tangent…

You also mentioned the contemplative part of worship. I love that you wrote, the Be Still and Know That I Am part of prayer. That’s what I was so surprised to find myself, although it has been too long since I’ve gotten THERE. That you recognized it as a child is amazing. Many adults never find that. Or are able to return to it again and again. What you describe about the Episcopal Church affecting you is EXACTLY what drew me in to Judaism, in Hoboken. You wrote: “It was about timelessness and stillness and music that accompanied the stirrings of the soul”. How many people search for that and don’t or can’t find it? How many don’t even search? (the not even searching… that was almost me) And we don’t even have an organ or any instruments on Shabbat, just our voices. Our own voices, it matters to me that my two synagogues don’t regularly use a Hazzan.

That you find beauty in a drive down a country road is pretty much what we all experience. That YOU then see God who made it beautiful, when it didn’t have to be, that’s a whole other level of awareness. That’s not so common. And I don’t think it can be found in a church or synagogue or anywhere people are trying to force you to respond in a particular way, the “only” right way in their eyes. That forcing, that molding, that one true way… That is the stuff of panic attacks, and abandoned religious practice. (I am thinking of my husband here… much to his chagrin)

I am impressed and strongly moved by the depth of your thankfulness and appreciation for that beauty, for the NOT arbitrariness of it. I am not so sure I have even a portion of that.

It’s pretty heady stuff. No wonder your journey to find a spiritual home within a congregation/church/part of Christianity is such a well travelled one. Your inner spirituality is so developed, it truly demands the right place. And I am convinced you will find it.

More later…

Lizzie October 26 at 9:33pm

Question Two Response:

Just to keep this from getting too heavy and gloomy on this subject, I’ll begin with Dorothy Parker (who, I gather, is someone whose wit we both admire):

“That would be a good thing for them to cut on my tombstone: Wherever she went, including here, it was against her better judgment.”

(Seemed to tie in well with the previous post –my better judgment that so seldom got exercised.

A couple of notes also: I chuckled over the thought of you with the Woody Allen narcissistic guy. What an interesting relationship that must have been! Sounds like you and your outlook were somewhat incomprehensible to him

Smiled also over your Monty Python intro: Thank goodness for Monty Python. You know, when I read that review of Religulous, my first thought was, “No thanks, if my religion is going to be mocked, I prefer that it be done Monty-Python style” There’s just something so healthy in ridiculous ridicule.

I wish I could be fearless and accepting of the prospect of my own death (as you are). I have always been afraid of death–even before I became fully indoctrinated with Catholic worry about not dying in a “state of grace” (i.e., that moment after confession before you’ve committed your next sin). You asked about where the fear comes from. Good question–one I’ve been thinking about. Perhaps the fear took root because all of my very early memories of my mother were overshadowed by the horrors of the final months of her life. I was five, did not know how to make sense of any of it. Remember her not being able to lie down flat to go to sleep–and crying with pain and exhaustion in her straight-backed chair during the days. (Metastatic tumors were pressing on her spine.) It couldn’t have been very many days like that, because it wasn’t very long between her giving birth to my brother Jason and being admitted to hospice care (less than 3 months). But it drilled pretty deep into my five-year-old brain. My mother who was always laughing and socializing and on her feet.

One day she was sick but with us. The next day she was carried out the front door on a stretcher. I never saw her again. In those days, the “accepted wisdom” (at least among Catholics) was not to bring the children to the funeral.

Then, not so much later, when my father remarried, it was like, we weren’t even supposed to talk about her. No pictures of her were left out in the house, and mention of her offended my stepmother. I guess i felt like death negated her life. Made it as though she had never existed at all. Just gone. Poof. It really f***ed with my head–since I was the only one of the kids old enough to have many solid memories of her at all, I remember having moment when I sort of wondered if I even remembered her correctly. There was no way to nail down the memories and sort of reassure myself that the person I thought had been my mother had really existed at all.

Later, because of the nuns who taught me catechism, I began worrying about purgatory/hell. (And, having a good imagination yourself, I’m sure you can appreciate how morbid those ruminations got) As I approached my mother’s age of death, I wanted/needed some assurance that a) there was an afterlife b) that it could be GOOD and c) that life right here actually had some lasting purpose and that everything about me wouldn’t just evaporate at the moment of my death. The Gospels told a story of atonement and forgiveness that was a gift–that one could be confident of even past the moment of confession.

You wrote about the deaths of your parents and the grief, terror, and “frozenness” you experienced in the face of those losses. My heart was in my throat reading that paragraph. I’m sorry for your losses, Jane, and I know something of that fear and grief (though only in a half-formed childish way). Having the adult relationship you had with your father must have made his death a devastating loss.

From what you’ve told me about your son’s personality and your father’s temperament, the two of them almost certainly would have formed a strong and special bond.

Pure loss. That’s what death feels like. Nothing natural or okay or “circle-of-life-acceptance” about it. That only works in the abstract. And, no matter how strong one’s faith in a merciful God may be, there is nothing that can mitigate–or even touch– that loss. And it sneaks up on you at milestone events, when your kid asks a question, when you catch a resemblance in a picture of yourself, when you need wisdom badly and don’t know where to go, when you pass a cemetery with gravestones all decorated with flowers.

I’m going to stop here, because I don’t want to be all melancholy and wallow in the subject. I want to live a life of purpose and (like you) hate the thought of wasting this precious time. The preoccupation with death is something I know I should not encourage in myself–it’ll always be there to some extent. But living now and eking out meaning from it all and figuring out the best ways to give what I have to give–those are the things that I WANT to be more important. Just not altogether sure how God fits into all of that, now that I’m questioning so much that I thought was true.

L’chaim, right?

Lizzie

Lizzie October 26 at 9:44pm

wow, our messages passed each other again…funny how often we do that! Looks like I get another helping of sundae this Sunday

 

Jane October 26 at 10:45pm

I do not see that you “wallow” in the subject of death at all. No one who searches for and finds beauty as you have described is not wallowing, my friend. You quest.

I can’t imagine being five and my mom disappearing. Because for all my not being afraid of DEATH, I am (after my father’s illness, especially) afraid of DYING. I think death must have been a relief following illness, I guess for my dad and for your mom. Seeing that through 5 year old eyes… and trying to process it later in the total absence of any evidence of her. Do you see yourself as brave? And strong?

About the approaching the age her mother was at when she died, well I know it hit my mother very hard that birthday year. Can’t speak for my father, who never talked about it, regarding his own father. My mom was really afraid of that year, before it happened.

There is, for me a huge difference between dying, whether it happens in moments, or over time; and death – because death does happen in an instant. And then who knows what. But dying, the process of getting to the death part – well it seems to suck no matter how you slice it. Months of suffering – or moments of intense pain – followed by all of that just going away.

The losses, the frozenness, well I suppose that and my lovely inherited biology play a huge part in the depression I struggle with. Kind of a stacked deck, but what are you going to do? I scream to the sky about not wanting to waste this life, or even any given beautiful day, but so much of it, especially in the last four years, has been spent, wallowing and wasting. Sunny days I plunk the kids in front of the TV and erase my brain with on-line games (hey, I’m not drinking, right?); moments I can’t get back that should have been spent savoring my kids that were spent resenting them instead. So please know that the not wanting to waste time, life, whatever… It’s an ideal. Something to shoot for. Not always my reality. I am trying. Every day.

Fleeing a soul crushing spirit oppressing church is not wallowing. Getting graduate degrees and teaching jobs is not wallowing. Continuing to look for and see beauty and joy when your mother was suddenly gone and erased… There had to have been a tremendous strength in you to accomplish those things, Maureen.

My son and my dad. I wish (my son) Ringo had been old enough to really remember him. He would have made my Dad laugh. Now my daughter A, sometimes I think she channels him. He was a bit of a curmudgeon, and stubborn, and cranky, and strong-willed and knew exactly what he wanted and you hoped you didn’t get in his way… Well that is almost 4 year old daughter Lulu to a T. Somewhere he is laughing, watching me try to parent her. (so is my mother, come to think of it…)

As for the Woody Allen guy? He would be MORTIFIED if he knew I had compared him. Even in a pre-Soon Yee sort of way. Then intensely satisfied that after all this time I am still writing about him. We danced at each other’s weddings, and were friends far longer than we were a couple. But I have a feeling the lack of communication from him over the last few years was an edict brought down from his lovely bride…

L’Chaim indeed. To life. Toast it, plunge into it. It’s messy, it’s painful, it sometimes really sucks. But there are those moments of Kavannah, of beauty, of belonging and connectedness as well. (shit I sound like a freaking self help book, ugh)

L’Chaim. To the nuns, to the fertility doctors, to the shrinks, to our husbands and our kids. Where would we be without them?   :-)

Jane October 26 at 10:47pm

Oh shit, helping of sundae indeed. more like a huge dose of pain on a stick. sorry….

No whipped cream in the above post. It didn’t sparkle or bubble or pop.

Posts crossing… and the fun continues…

Lizzie October 27 at 1:46am

Consequences of a 2-hour afternoon nap: wide-eyed insomnia at midnight. Oh well, I just poured myself a glass of wine and figured I might as well keep writing.

May I ask you about the fertility issues? How soon after beginning to try to have a baby did you discover you were dealing with infertility? What was that like for you, and how long did you have to try to have Zach? Same problems later in trying to get pregnant with Allie? I’d like to know more about all of that if you are okay with discussing it.

Regarding our fathers: Jesuit-trained logician and financial guru; criminal defense attorney and judge. Substantively much the same….

As for what you wrote back to me about worship/beauty/appreciation, thanks for reading and understanding my version of “kavannah” (which is a word that is already near and dear to my heart). I think some of it just goes with the “INFP” territory. (and ENFP as well I love the opening line from Gerard Manley Hopkins poem, “The world is charg’d with the grandeur of God.” Yes, it IS.

You asked why I would have left a church (the Methodist church) that was so full of good things. The reasons are complicated, Jane, and it all kind of goes back to the fear-of-death thing. Very brief summary: John and I led the senior-high youth group for five years. Near the end of that time we had a very troubled group of kids. We loved them like family and spent hours each week with them (for some, more than their parents). Our own kids (just Sarah and Gina then) were very little, and they came along on almost all of our activities with the teens–and loved them also.

Long story short: over the course of two years, three of the girls attempted suicide, two of the boys went to juvie b/c of pyromaniac crimes, one girl who babysat regularly for my girls died of alcohol poisoning. It’s not as though anyone ever blamed John and me for these kids being so sad and desperate and crazy and self-destructive. But I feared for them and wondered if I could have done more to help them. It shook me to the core that two of the suicidal girls had asked to come by my house to get some theological questions answered about assurance of salvation (i.e., how to be sure of going to heaven when they died). They never showed up at my house that day, because their suicide-pact note was intercepted at school, and the school psychologist intervened. Their plan had been to get good and sure of going to heaven and then to go to one of the girl’s houses to OD on sleeping pills and alcohol after leaving my house. I hope I would have been wise enough to see what was motivating their questions and get them some help, but of course I don’t know for sure…..

Anyway, all of these events, one after another, got me to a place where I dreaded going to church b/c I wondered what new tragedy I’d hear about. What new self-destructive act had been done by someone I cared about and had only wanted to help? At the same time as all of that was coming to a head, I was going through all the crap with the headmaster of the Christian school where I was employed. I was also pregnant with Baby #3 and severely anemic. I remember feeling tired when I woke up each morning and tired until I went to sleep each night. It all felt like too much, and I wanted to be left alone to just get through the difficult last trimester.

So…I visited some other churches while I tried to decide what to do about the Methodist congregation that I had once loved to be a part of. In the meantime, we made the decision to move 45 minutes away. Which meant that the whole landscape changed within 6 months of Anna’s birth.

I was also homeschooling, once the baby arrived–and I wanted to connect with other homeschoolers. For 3 1/2 years we attended a nondenominational Christian church that had a large homeschooling community. (It was an odd place–they did weird things there, like once when I was on nursery duty one woman actually NURSED one of the fussy babies–not her own! I never formed any close ties there.) Then, we switched to the Baptist church because the girls were entering public school and this church had an excellent youth group and was 5 minutes from our house.

For the first several years, all was well. Yes, it was conservative–but we ourselves were conservative. And the youth pastor and his wife were just wonderful to Sarah and her peers. When Sarah was in 9th grade, the youth pastor was fired by the senior pastor. From that point on, the sr. pastor just kept getting more and more gloomy and chastising. More and more convinced that we had it all wrong and that God was not pleased with us. As I’ve said, it was a frog-in-the-kettle experience.

All of the years in conservative Evangelical churches HAVE left some scars in our family relationships. My older girls express their outrage from time to time about some of the ignorant things Sunday school teachers said to them. (Including some racist and anti-Semitic remarks that I did not know about at the time) They criticize me (rightly, I think) for taking them to a church where women were 2nd-class citizens. I think H. has come to the other side of that now–where she has enough distance from it to appreciate some of what we were trying to give her during those years. And she knows we love her every bit as much, even though she claims to have rejected Christian faith. My A. is very private, and I hear her criticisms mostly when they come back to me through other people. That is especially painful. I’ve tried to take responsibility for the things I did that were clearly mistakes, but I do grieve over the parts where I feel wrongly attacked and blamed.

I think you’re entirely correct in your observations about singing and how Christian rock festivals work to get teens excited about Jesus. I’m not offended. I have supported those kinds of things, and Sarah went twice to Creation-Fest (b/c she wanted to go with peers) . But I do think that some of it works to manufacture an emotional experience with not much substantive behind it. I do love singing my heart out with others who are singing their hearts out. But I’ve seen it all turned into a slick, manufactured, on-demand ecstasy. (That is when I hear my dad’s voice in my head warning me away.)

I haven’t even really gotten to your other message, but I did want to tell you that I appreciate your sensitivity, appreciate that I don’t have to be careful of every little thing I say. Thanks for giving grace in every part of our discussion. In so much of this, I hear your own struggle loud and clear. And I see that the battle with depression gets dark and gritty for at times. Your empathy and humor are beautiful and finely tuned…I wish there were a better tuning instrument than pain. Depression is a mugger in a dark alley, and I’d walk 10 miles out of my way to avoid that dangerous place.

Hugs,

Lizzie

Jane October 27 at 6:36am

Didn’t want to start another post with “Wow” but Geez, Lizzie, you sure did handle that last missive of mine (the dark and depressing one) with (and I’ll toss your own word back at you) grace.

Gotta go wake up my boy, but you know I’ll continue more later.

Lizzie October 27 at 9:45am

I didn’t find that last message so dark and depressing, Jane. I was touched by your encouragement. Encouraged by your encouragement, even

First, re wallowing or whatever it is that I do to invite/deny/defy/examine/flee death. Thanks. Just, thanks for what you said. It made me cry a little bit (in a good way). Once, when I was shoulder-deep in the depression pit and everything looked gray and I felt like a big under-achieving loser, my therapist Mike told me something that got my attention. He said that most people he’d worked with over 25 years who had backgrounds similar to mine had far messier lives: addictions, disabling depression, string of failed marriages, PTSD-like symptoms, difficulty keeping same-sex friendships. He chalked it up to strength and humor. And (being a fellow Christian) to the mysterious grace of God.

I guess I could pass a little bit of that same sentiment on to you. Just look at what you’ve been able to do and give and share, Jane. Despite growing up with complete unpredictability and a mother who was really crippled. (And who, I’m just guessing here, could be cruel in her pain. Or at the very least, oblivious to the needs of a young girl). I don’t know what the worst days are like for you, but I know that you’re trying to give your children good things: love, faith, protection, stability, traditions, community. A good bit of that on your own. (Quick flash of Pip’s sister from Great Expectations, “Brought ‘im up by ‘and, I did!”)

If your mothering seasons are anything like mine, you will find that having both kids in school a full day (not too far off now) will allow you to find more of a balance between mothering and pursuing your own goals. Which will, in turn, give you more excitement about the mothering time/duties and fewer moments of resentment. There is no doubt that I am a happier person and better-natured mommy because of the public school system! Oh yes, and b/c of house cleaners and prepared foods in the supermarket deli.

I don’t think I’ve told you one of the special and very healing things I got out of the move to my current house (which is, I’ll be honest, a McMansion that I had great moral qualms about buying). I didn’t want to move out of our modest 4-BR tract home, worried that people would look at my house and not at me, blah blah blah.

There is a library in this house with floor-to-ceiling built-in bookshelves (with hand-carved moldings!) on three of the walls. I salivated over the library when we first saw the house. It had “sanctuary” written all over it. It became my special room when we moved into the house. Nobody is allowed into it without my permission. I made it into my “life-giving place.” Filled the shelves with my books, with pictures of the people I love (including my mother). The little trinkets and owl collection I inherited from my grandmother. A little antique Victorian tea table on ivory casters. A “fainting chair” for the friend who needs to come for tea and sympathy. If you ever come visit me, I’ll fix you some Earl Grey and give you the fainting chair. And we will close the doors and lock them and talk. Oh joy.

Jane October 27 at 12:08pm

This is not the first time I’ve thought to myself I am working up quite the “girl crush” here. You have qualms about buying the McMansion (luckily it’s so not in my budget but if it were, I’d have the same fears) and what sells you on the house is the library. Seriously, I love that…

In a few months, hopefully we will have our upstairs guest room cleared out and my daughter moved in. Then I will take what is now the nursery and make it into the guest room – library- Jane haven. Seriously. You say sanctuary, I say haven.

(this is where in a valley girl voice I tilt my head to the side, and go, ”Oh. My. God. Lizzie….”    cuz that’s so me…)

Fainting chair. You freakin kill me. I’d love to come and laze on your chaise, ma’am. But I’ll be hoping for something a bit more, um, potent than Earl Grey. (evil laugh) And I will propose a toast to your mom, and perhaps set a glass in front of her picture. (remember the Dia de los Muertos altars I wrote about earlier?)

I am so glad she has a spot in your happy place. It’s a wonderful thing…

Last night’s ramblings were cut short in the knees. I slashed and burned, it was much darker and I just didn’t want to be there, so I stopped. Edited probably to my detriment, I realized as I re-read. I think I left words out. Oh well you got the gist.

And one thing that is saving me is Ringo being in school all day. And Lulu’s in until 1:30 three times per week. It helps, oh holy shit, does it help. Now I just have to stop running when I don’t have them, out of habit. Oy.

Well more good news is I just found a new hair stylist and colorist and am happily once again a red head. Gotta love hair color. I already feel better, knowing I look a bit brazen and bolder. Must go update my status on my Facebook profile.

Will write more later, today is hub’s bday and he is not working. He is noodling around in his office with his bass as far as I can tell, all day. Good for him. (and thus, good for me…)

One more quick thing: Therapist Mike had it right. Adjusting his statements to include myself (ha!) I will say we both could have wound up far worse. Far more injured and broken. Intelligence and strength, even when it was undiscovered, won out however. And so we thank the universe, or God or whatever, and hopefully remember to thank ourselves. Without whom none of this all would be possible.

Lizzie October 27 at 12:46pm

Oh, I love your red hair. It’s a great profile pic. (Reminds me how badly I need to get my hair cut/highlighted!)

Awww….blushing to my gray roots be the object of a girl-crush. Right back atcha, fellow bibliophile and overcomer. Come get the vapors in my library…sink into the welcoming embrace of the fainting chaise. (The Ethan Allan decorator said it was her favorite project of ‘06 and even came for tea!) And you, my dear, may have a splash of something bracing in the rose teacup. (Stronger than Earl Grey can always be arranged….)

Can’t write much more now, since I’m in the midst of planning a wonderful lesson on outlining/mapping a text.

Lizzie October 27 at 3:13pm

I understand about “not wanting to be there” and cutting oneself short. Always a valid choice! Mental health first–sometimes the words/reflections just have to be stopped.

You made me laugh with your Valley Girl exclamation over my fainting chair. Yes, this is who I am. So glad I freakin’ kill ya with my eccentricities

I hope you get your haven–and soon! I’m rooting for you hard with that one. Just knowing you have your own place to go to makes a huge difference in outlook. (At least, for me it sure does.)

BE the flame-haired vixen!

Lizzie

Jane October 27 at 8:59pm

Gotta love Facebook. A friend from Jr. High, who never even went to MHS, but to Newark Academy, just friended me. Too funny! That’s why I love Facebook.

Yeah, I am rooting for that room to happen soon. And I figured out the perfect motivation to get it done (insert evil laugh here):

See, my darling musical husband Landeaux needs a place to rehearse his various bands. And although he has a nice little studio set up in the basement, they can’t rehearse at night ‘cuz of sleeping kids. Well, last weekend they rehearsed during the day, and I figured out that if both kids’ rooms are upstairs (Ringo’s room is now, Lulu’s will be when we swap her room) then they can sleep and the band can rehearse and it’s just not all that loud. He gets his rehearsal space (and I’m sure a bunch of new equipment to go with…) daughter gets a new room, both kids get their own space upstairs, and I get my guest room/haven. PERFECT.

Speaking of which, will you definitely be in NJ next weekend? We need to firm up our plans!  I am looking forward to having a conversation with you in person!  We should talk and plan.

I am off to read my FB wall and all the fun compliments about my hair. Yay!

Lizzie October 27 at 10:32pm

What fun it is to be gawgeous!

Yes, let’s see about firming things up for a little visit on Sunday of that weekend. I’ll get back to you some more on that tomorrow.  I’m glad it looks like it’ll work out.

Jane October 27 at 10:35pm

are you up? I was going to call around 9:30 but thought it would be too late… I am looking forward to seeing you!

Lizzie October 28 at 5:36am

I wrote you that just before turning in, Jane. Clicked send and shut down the laptop. What a day! I finally finished writing three online tutorials for a descriptive writing thing AND a text-mapping strategy I’m doing in my classes this week. My developmental writing students are actually beginning to write pleasing sentences (well, some of them, at least), so I’m looking forward to doing description and had a major brainstorm yesterday afternoon on how to throw our boring-as-sin textbook aside and get them to do just a bit of creative experimentation. (It may bomb, as do many of my ideas for “making grammar fun”–but then again, we may all have a good time being writers together this week!)

I’ll be home from teaching around 2 today, at which point I will begin baking challah bread and making chicken-corn chowder. (The pastor of the Pres. church and his wife are coming for dinner, and I’ve opted to actually cook for a change!) Feel free to call while I’m being all domestic.

Looking forward to seeing you too!

Jane October 28 at 6:22am

Wow, sounds like a busy day. Baking challah, huh? It’s not even Friday… LOL

Good luck!

I figured it was late when I messaged back, and logged off soon after that. Didn’t go to sleep, much to my chagrin this morning. But I did catch The Daily Show and Colbert Report which is always perfect for a few laughs.

Heard anything first hand about the Palin rallies in your neck o’ the woods?

Lizzie October 28 at 7:30am

Running out the door–just picked up everything for cleaners. I will come home to a clean house today! (But at the moment just feel like I’m running in too many directions. Will respond later! I do have a couple things to tell you about the Palin visit)

L

Jane October 28 at 7:58am

I love coming back to the clean house after it gets cleaned. It’s very satisfying.

Can’t wait to hear about Palin’s visit…

Lizzie October 29 at 8:05am

The room arrangement you described does sound perfect. If your husband and his band get their space/equipment/practice time, then you certainly ought to have yours. So, you’ve got the space thing figured out. As for equipment, hmmmm, let’s see. foot spa, lace curtains, upholstered furniture that you can sink into, built-in bookshelves, Bose iPod sound system, antique writing desk, good wireless signal. Have I left anything out? Oh, silly me. Deadbolt for the door and secret stash of Dove chocolates to go in bottom desk drawer!

Would you like to hire me to be your space planning consultant? I’ll have you up and running in no time.

Jane October 29 at 8:46am

You are hired!