One of my sons plays Pokemon. It has become a new world of interest and verbal exchange. The other day he was showing me all of the characters in his book of cards.

"See Mom, I have this one, and this one, and this one, and this one, and--"
"Wait, what's this one?"
"Hmmm, I don't know. But look, I have this one and this one and..."

He trailed off, but I held the page open long enough to read the name of the card: Mom's Kindness. What an honor, to have a card named after something so special. Every warrior can take refuge in the warmth of their mother's arms. The card is termed a 'Supporter'.

I got a nice dose of 'Mom's Kindness' today, as well as 'Aunt's Kindness'. After a flurry of family and in-law visits, the kids have all spent the last 24 hours with a stomach virus, throwing up. The piles of laundry today have been comical. At five am, after two hours of helping the kids, we were fresh out of clean warm blankets. Even the sleeping bags lay in the queue next to the laundry.

I am so thankful to have my loving family nearby, with so many ready to help out. I was raised within this helpful, loving environment. Along with making each other laugh, helping is one of the things we do best.

My youngest sister just had her first baby. I look forward to being there for her, in all of the ways in which she was there for me. It is a currency of love and care.

"Some years ago at Abercrombie and Fitch I bought a cattle caller, an
automobile horn manipulated by a lever with which nearly all cow emotions can be imitated, from the sweet lowing of a romantic heifer to the growling roar of a bull in the prime and lust of his bullhood. I had this contraption on Rocinante, and it was most effective. When its call goes out, every bovine within hearing distance raises its head from grazing and moves toward the sound."

---from 'Travels With Charley' by John Steinbeck

"I'm not taking a poll, but how does the election seem to be going around here?"
"I wish I knew," he said. "People aren't talking. I think this might be the secretest election we ever had. People just won't put out an opinion."
"Could it be they haven't got one?"
"Maybe, or maybe they just don't want to tell. I remember other elections when there would be pretty peppery arguments. I haven't heard even one."
And that's what I found all over the country---no arguments, no discussion.


---from 'Travels With Charley' by John Steinbeck

"Calpurnia appeared in the front door and yelled, "Lemonade time! You all get in outa that hot sun 'fore you fry alive!" Lemonade in the middle of the morning was a summertime ritual. Calpurnia set a pitcher and three glasses on the porch, then went about her business. Being out of Jem's good graces did not worry me especially. Lemonade would restore his good humor."

---To Kill A Mockingbird


It sounds like Cal really had a nice routine going. My Grandmother raised her six children with the help of a German girl. Every morning she would come over and work with my Grandmother on the laundry, cleaning and child care. I remember asking her how she managed the expense of domestic help, living off of my Grandfather's military pay. Her response was this: "Every southern woman has money in her budget for good help."

Summer Reading

..."Thereafter the summer passed in routine contentment. Routine contentment was: improving our treehouse that rested between giant twin chinaberry trees in the back yard, fussing, running through our list of dramas...Thus we came to know Dill as a pocket Merlin, whose head teemed with eccentric plans, strange longings, and quaint fancies.

But by the end of August our repetoire was vapid from countless reproductions, and it was then that Dill gave us the idea of making Boo Radley come out."

---from To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee


Every summer, in the heat of July or August, I read this book. I wait until the weather mimics the never ending Alabama heat that is present throughout most of the story. When there was no AC to cut the humidity, and when the screened in porches were used for sleeping. There is something so magical about transforming one's state of mind through surrending to a story.

During the pregnancy of my third child, I announced that if the baby was a girl, she would be named Jean Louise, though refered to as 'Scout'. Oh, the protests that my other kids gave:

"Mom, that's a dog's name! And besides, when are we getting a dog?"

"You can't name the baby Scout! That's too confusing--the Jean Louise thing."

Needless to say, we had a boy. I could have pressed for Atticus, though it sounds better suited for a middle name. Jem, as well as Dill, were never considered.

Every year I notice a new layer of the book. There are 31 chapters, though they are really more like vignettes or observations lasting from three to five pages long. Seen in that way, it makes writing a book appear more managable. What elements make this book a classic? What are the classic books being written today?

Creative Work by Julie Goldstein

New Adventures

Long time no blog. Last week was the 4th of July. I was at the beach with my family in-laws, creating great memories. Every year we gather at their family home on the shores of Long Beach Island, New Jersey. The festivities culminate with an annual block party thrown by the neighboring families. A tented dance floor is set up for a band that plays three sets! Fliers and tee-shirts are designed by the owner of the graphic arts firm at www.freemandesign.biz. The street is taken over by kids on bicycles and scooters, along side games of paddle ball and frisbee. It is the perfect kind of wildness and play.

What is it about the ocean that makes you forget about every little thing besides the next wave that is coming towards you? Just when you think that you've had enough of being tossed around like a stringy clump of seaweed, you are ready for another underwater tumble. The water was soooo cold--the coldest I had ever swam in during the summer. It was numbing at first,and then numbing some more, and yes, still cold even while swimming around. I'd take it again though, any day over jellyfish, strong undertow or riptides.

We arrived home to a living room filled with water. Apparently the washing machine malfunctioned. It may take up to a week for the wooden floors to dry out. We'll see if the floors, along with our sanity, can be preserved! The house is turned upside down, with five industrial de-humidifiers set on full blast. We are staying at my parents'--it has been a fun adventure.

Back from vacation, we headed straight into another kind of vacation. There are new things to enjoy here too, while the days go by. My parents live in a neighborhood, and the kids think the sidewalks are simply amazing. Last night we walked to the park. We didn't have to pack up and drive. It really wasn't a big production. Oh, and everywhere I drive takes like, ten minutes less to get there. I could get used to this kind of life.

Friday Night Routine

Friday is the day of the week that feels the most like summer. This is the day when I try to take it easy; you won't see me washing windows or tackling some domestic project. The mornings are left open for backyard play. In the afternoon, we go swimming at the pool and have pizza delivered there for dinner. I let the kids get popsicles from the snack bar. We go home all fed and tired out from swimming, get changed and then watch a movie. I take some time for myself at the kitchen table, sort the mail and write out the week's bills. I make a cup of tea and read a magazine. There's no rush or bedtime hurry. By nine o'clock the movie is over and the kids have brushed their teeth. I wonder, can every night be this simple?

But really, this smooth sense of mothering is no easy task. Did I fail to mention that our youngest child cried for nearly half an hour because he didn't want to go to bed? He has been staying up so late, sometimes until eleven, and the child rarely naps! It can be exhaustive, dealing with his amped up behavior. I understand him, I do, as I too am energized by the cool night air. I have become an expert at the ten minute power nap. I wonder, what would life be like, living fully rested?

Lonesome Wholesome Goodness

I made a box of muffins for breakfast the other morning. Typically, the kids squabble over who gets to add what, whose turn it is to mix and who gets to spoon the batter into the tin. For this lovely batch, I did it all myself. It was no easy feat, distracting them with orders like:

"OK, you guys can pour yourselves some drinks."
"Now, who is going to get out the jelly and a small spoon?"
"Sweetheart, could you set out the plates please?"
"I think we need a fresh stick of butter."

When it was all said and done, the breakfast was simple and delicious. I cut up some apples and sat back with a nice hot cup of peppermint tea. I ignored the soaking dishes, and I pretended not to notice that the floor was speckled with drifts of flour. A sweet calm surrounded me and a veil of acceptance draped over my shoulders like a pair of sparkling fairy wings.

As a mother, I will never escape this lovely cycle of nurturing. It is my one truly obvious purpose in life: to care distinctly for my offspring. As the female head of household I must remember, the soup that I make for my family is intended to nourish me as well.

a backyard mushroom

a photo taken by my daughter

Here is an example of a very young cluster of paw paw fruits. Paw paws are North America's largest native fruit.

Testing, One-Two-Three

I am attempting to transfer photos from the camera onto the computer. Though I've made it this far, I wish I had an assistant.

Weekends in Early June

There is a heat wave coming on. I can feel my mind preparing for it. Tomorrow my body will begin to adjust. I think of how I can protect my offspring from getting too feisty in the heat. I think back to how I kept cool as a child. We had a clubhouse set up in our garage. The floor was a concrete slab, and the walls were made of grey concrete block. We would open up the bay door and sit on metal chairs inside the shaded structure. There were piles of National Geographic, and so began my love of other cultures. We would sit and read for hours, all the while drinking lemonade from paper cups and crunching slowly on the ice.

I long to replicate that structure. I imagine myself marking out a spot in the backyard, right alongside another shed. I would have to clear the land of any brush and vegetation, dig the footing with a shovel, dig and mark the foundation, set a series of plumb lines (is that what they are called?), check that the excavation is level, mix up some mortar in a wheelbarrow, put on some masonry gloves and lay the block foundation, score the seams evenly and check every side with the level. There are probably some other steps in between. It is fun to imagine all of the work that it would take to make a little concrete building in the shade.

Every year a few key discussions about coping with the heat are had:

"Should we get an air-conditioner? Just a little one, for the upstairs bedroom? "

"No, the window fan set on intake pulls in the cool valley air just like AC."

"Should we join a pool this year?"

"Yes, definitely."

There's talk of camping in the back yard. The kids want to light a bonfire, melt chocolate and marshmallows, stay up late and run around. I'm open to the possibilities of the summer.

I'd Like A Blog Too, Please

First things first, this is my premier blog entry. A friend of mine writes the Backwoods Boogie column (I know, I am supposed to refer to it as a 'blog'). Not only is she sharing her stay at home mama perspective from the southern Chester County hillsides, she is sharing her beautiful photography as well. In essence, I want one too. True, I will have to learn some essential blogging skills such as uploading media, choosing fonts and blog designs.

Being a creative type, I wonder how I've made it this far not ever having made or maintained a blog. I think I'm going to have to think up another term besides 'blog'. It sounds a bit too 1983. I 'll have to set some posting ground rules as well; this blog may not interfere with my established night owl tendencies. Too late on that one, it is past midnight already. Blogging while thirsty puts me at a risk for dehydration. Anyone else ever feel like managing their thirst is a part-time job? Always blog with a fresh glass of water nearby. Refill glass when empty.

Most importantly, I think this blog will help supply a sense of creative accomplishment. Life is full enough with survival tasks and endorphin diversions. Who will wash the dishes in the sink tomorrow, if not I tonight? Is the task not the same, bleary eyed as the French press bubbles or weary eyed as the nighttime tea steeps? Perhaps a time niche will develop, an hour or two every week will appear, and I will respond creatively. We shall see!