The couch was blue corduroy at one point, I believe. The carpet was light colored. There was a pool table in the room for a long time. A fireplace. A sliding glass door and wall of windows.

The family room in the house where I grew up. It was off the kitchen, and the kitchen had an enormous table tucked into another wall of windows, by the door that led to the backyard. The backyard, of course, held the pool.

I’ve been swimming with the kids this year after last summer not seeing a pool even once. Maddie was too little last year, the heat to strong and my body not quite feeling friendly toward bathing suits.  This year, though, we’ve decided that we will swim even if we have to sneak into friend’s yards and jump into their pools. There is something about being in water that changes the day.

I love the holidays and winter time to evoke wonder and memories of times as a family spent forming traditions.  Summertime, though, brings out the nostalgia in me for some reason. There is something in walking about the house in shorts, barefoot, that stirs memories in me. Memories of padding around my childhood home after swimming all day. That feeling of contentment physically and satisfaction emotionally.

Vivid memories are stirred….images and even the taste of eating 5 bologna sandwiches in a row after swimming all day one summer day. Memories of family spending unhurried time together. The picture is of myself with my beloved Uncle Jerry who passed away a few years ago and his son Ryan.

There is a peace that slows things down in the summer, and although there are more children in the house as friends hang out and the noise level seems to grow…there is a contentment that saturates summertime. The lack of schedule, the lack of homework and deadlines….the sounds of laughter and splashing in the pool, of eating outside and letting our voices stay in outside mode.

The charm that is part of childhood. Summer seems to bring it out in me. I’m thankful. I’m not even bothered that I haven’t written for a week when I had hoped to write every day this month. I have read books and I have splashed in pools and I have walked around barefoot most of the time. That doesn’t always provide great fodder for blog posts, but I hope it instills memories that will sneak up on my children when they find themselves swimming with their children some in some distant summer in the future….

I didn’t post anything the last couple days because the computer died. Well, to be more precise, the power cord died and I was unable to power-up the computer. This caused a slight hiccup in the daily routine, and I found myself a few times reaching for the computer when needing information and realizing I had to go through the arduous task of looking for the information in the phone book.

Yes we still have one.

Then I read this post from my friend Michael Newnham on FaceBook:

“We are an exceptional model of the human race. We no longer know how to produce food. We no longer can heal ourselves. We no longer raise our young. We have forgotten the names of the stars, fail to notice the phases of the moon. We do not know the plants and they no longer protect us. We tell ourselves we are the most powerful specimens of our kind who have ever lived. But when the lights are off we are helpless. We cannot move without traffic signals. We must attend classes in order to learn by rote numbered steps toward love or how to breast-feed our baby. We justify anything, anything at all by the need to maintain our way of life. And then we go to the doctor and tell the professionals we have no life. We have a simple test for making decisions: our way of life, which we cleverly call our standard of living, must not change except to grow yet more grand. We have a simple reality we live with each and every day: our way of life is killing us.” – Charles Bowden

I know that as I move through my day when I am simply focused on the tasks that have to be done I treat people differently. They are in my way, or they are a commodity to help finish my task. I do not notice the things around me, I am impatient and irritable. I am self-focused.

The comment above about how we no longer raise our young…that has sat with me over the last several hours since reading this. It comes on the heels of reading an article about raising our children to be spoiled or responsible. The fact is, often I find myself just existing with my kids and not raising them. I do too many things for them rather than teaching them to do the things, and they then expect me to simply do everything for them.

It goes deeper, though….not just teaching them to be responsible and be part of taking care of the home and the family, but teaching them about the stars and the phases of the moon. Teaching them that when the lights go off we are not helpless. To do too many things for them means stealing their wonder and their creativity and creating instead a mind that waits to be entertained rather than exploring and imagining.

Teaching them that there is wonder and imagination is as important as reading…although sometimes reading leads to imagination. Teaching them to live, not to simply exist.

In teaching them this, in raising them with a view that the world is to be watched and interacted with and participated with, we are teaching them as well that they are not alone and others are important. People are not commodities or annoyances, they are part of the Creation of a Creative and Loving God who has called us to participate in this life, not to simply consume.

Oh, and this morning I was greeted with this and it seems to tie in nicely:

Yep, growing things in the garden of our mind.

All of this is still percolating in my mind. It’s finding its way into the thoughts about homeschooling and about family and about life. I am not completely sure how it will all play out, but I am sure that these things were needed in my thinking this week. And I am sure that the computer going down sometimes is a good thing.

I’m trying to lose weight. It’s that 20 year college reunion that is hitting me and making me realize I have some work to do on this body.

One of the things I am trying is to walk a few miles a day. Usually this entails walking the loop of our cul-de-sac multiple times while Maddie is napping and the boys are occupied. Tonight, though, I walked the neighborhood with Maddie in her stroller while the boys were playing with Steve.

I spoke to a few neighbors I know by sight, and I met a new person…new to me. He was coming toward me with a big German Shepherd off leash, coming at a pretty quick clip. I watched and noticed him speak to the dog and instruct the animal to move to the man’s other side so he wouldn’t be coming straight toward Maddie.

When I got close enough I asked how old the German Shepherd was. He told me the dog was 4. He immediately relaxed. I knelt down and the dog came and greeted me. I told the man how we had lost our two Shepherds over the last two years.

That did it.

We were bonded. I spoke with him for about 15 minutes and can tell you that he has a grandson who just turned 1 a week ago, he had a collie who passed away last Christmas. Oh, and I can tell you his address and his name and that if I ever need anything at all I can go and knock on his door and he would help me. I have no doubt that he would prove true to that offer.

A walk through the neighborhood. A new friend met. A new human who connected with me and who I could turn to if I was in need.

Neighborhood.  I have to admit…I miss out too often on walking and being physically present in this place God has placed me, meeting people and speaking with eye contact and physical connection. Babies and dogs tend to be great additions to break the ice. In a world that tends to offer fear and confusion and hate and distrust and anxiety, it is good to know that a walk through the neighborhood can still mean conversations and connections that simply cannot be had any other way.

Yes, yes, I know….I missed posting yesterday. Off to a roaring start on this month of writing!!!

Actually, I have a very good reason for not writing yesterday.  Yesterday was the day we celebrated Madeleine as a family. We had Steve’s folks over and one of his brothers with his wife and kids. It was a wonderful time focused on a baby (not so much!) girl.

She was rather taken with all the attention.

And we were rather taken with her.  She laughed and charmed us and we responded in kind.

Today, though, I was caught by the moments of simply being with her. The moments of rocking her quietly, of watching her when she is still. The moments when she is at peace just being with us.

Yep. those kind of moments. When there is no performing, just being.

I spent some time reading today, A Train In Winter. This is one of those books you have to read slowly and carefully. It is not meant to be sped through, and honestly it does not grab you from the start. It is, however, a remarkable story of friendship and of resistance and of courage.

It is, in other words, a deep story. I found that I have to read it in quiet moments when I can soak the story in.

Some things are not meant to be experienced in frivolity or distraction.  Birthday celebrations are meant to be joyful and loud and frivolous.

The wonder of holding your baby should have moments of quiet and clarity to let the wonder seep in to who we are.

Deep things come quietly.  They sneak up on us a bit, when we are still enough to pay attention.

I know I need to be still more often…and hopefully this time of writing will aid that pursuit. We shall see, for now….off to rock a baby and contemplate courage and friendship.

Blessings on you as you settle in for the night….