Alison Hodgson

Expert on the etiquette of perilous times.

Not quite the prairie…

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Our friends have friends who own a buffalo ranch in Northern Montana, just east of Glacier National Park.  The weather wasn’t supposed to be that great and so Sherry was concerned about all of us making the several hour drive for “nothing.”  Paul and I knew that we would have a good experience just getting there and that staying at a buffalo ranch would be a thrill, whether or not we made it to Glacier or even if we saw any buffalo.   We headed North after church and then stopped in Missoula for supplies.  By the time we arrived it was after dark.  The drive had been beautiful and the ranch house was wonderful.   Sherry and Andy were feeling especially saintly and split up to each host a Girl and Boy Cabin, respectively.  Andy’s dad, Tom, Paul and I were all in the main house.  

Eden and I are now reading “Little House on the Prairie.”   I didn’t plan to read it the first night at the ranch, but Eden wasn’t sure about sleeping without me and requested it, craving a little of our home ritual.  I was thrilled to see a copy on the dresser in the girls’ cabin.  All the girls, Sherry included, tucked into their sleeping bags and listened quietly while I read.  The next morning the girls were up early and ran out to play before breakfast.  Eden pulled on her shoes, but that was all.
The day was cool and, sometimes, overcast, but that didn’t keep this Carrie/Laura (depending on who was around) from having a wonderful time.
This tee pee is not not just for show.  In the summer children often sleep in it.  Because of the cold, our kids just played in and around it.  I felt so filled up just being under the big sky with the mountains in the distance.  And the green, green of the grass flowed in some sort of I.V. right into my spirit.  Sherry was still clucking about wishing we could see Montana when it’s beautiful, but we just looked and laughed.

Happy Monday

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I’m sitting in a dark kitchen and the only things I can hear are the hum of the fridge and the sound of birds singing.

I always know it is really and truly Spring, regardless of what Michigan’s weather is doing, when I wake and notice the birds.  Yesterday was the first morning.
It’s been a long winter.
We had warm weather over the weekend and blue skies, but almost everything is brown or a dull green.  Eden and I played I Spy on a family walk and I swear one of the things she picked was a “darkish brownish green.”  Since there aren’t a lot of houses where we walked we were pretty much limited to brown (dead leaves, dirt, tree trunks), dark green(patches of old, ice burned grass), grey (embankments and pebbles) and black (the path itself and the road beside) so we were desperately looking for the underground utility flags and bits of trash.  Finally I picked the sky just to say something blue.  But we had fun and spring is here, even if we don’t have all the proof.  
The kitchen is still quiet.  I’m going to do this more often.  I need time to myself when the house is still to think and to write and to pray.
Happy Monday.

Happy Monday

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Paul’s in the country.
I’m in town.
School’s almost complete.
Thanks to Paul, we’re all caught up on laundry.
Eden’s in the tub.  (I can see her, from where I write, so put down the phone.)
The sun is shining.
We are going out to lunch.
Happy Monday, indeed.

Press Release

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Have you heard the press release regarding the latest study on laundry? It was an analysis of whether or not, given enough time, laundry would wash itself.   I can’t say a lot, but I can tell you I was one of the participants.    

Regretfully, the findings were that laundry does NOT wash itself, this was concluded after exhaustive analysis.  Because of the nature of the study, I had to sign a confidentiality agreement.  It wasn’t easy all these years, keeping silent and watching the laundry pile up, filling out my forms, hoping and hoping, but letting the data speak.   This was one of those times that you know you are a part of something larger than yourself, that your own sacrifice of pride is worth the possibility of something great.  
I’ll be honest, I’m disappointed.  I had really hoped that laundry did wash itself.  But as time went on the results became obvious.  I’m no scientist, but I began to put it together, even before the study was completed.
It’s published now and  you can read it for yourself.  If you don’t feel like trudging through all the technical jargon, I’ll just tell you, in addition to not washing itself, laundry, does not fold itself, nor will it put itself away, no matter how long it is left in a basket.  However, it was determined, in homes where the participants were married, that the spouse outside the study would some times pitch in and “help” the participant.
I know that there were thousands of people in this study, who gave their time and floor space for YEARS in the pursuit of knowledge.  It was certainly a relief to come out to my family and I would love to hear from any other participants, now that we can speak.

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I awoke at three this morning with the realization that I had failed to refrigerate the vat of chili  we had for dinner last night.  Fortunately Paul had, but I was wide awake.  I tried to read for a bit until Paul asked me to turn out the light.  I got up and tidied the kitchen and a bathroom then retired to the couch to read.  Finally at seven I passed out only to wake after eight to Paul sitting down to put on his shoes. 

 

 I felt terrible, tired and disheveled with a sore throat to boot.  Paul handed me a cup of coffee and prayed for both of us.  For me he prayed for that I would have strength and energy and that there would be an extra measure of grace in our house today.
Once Paul left for work, I decided my best bet to get going and beat back the angst and dread was to workout.  Unfortunately as soon as I started  Jack began jumping spastically, having hit his own wall of winter angst and need for exercise.  Since the wind chill was far below zero I stopped and rounded up the kids to take him to doggie daycare.
One of my colleagues pitched a fit and tore off her shirt (it was not comfortable!) and socks (they were there and easier to rip off than her jeans) refusing to leave.  I left with the other children and the dog to call Paul from the van.   Since I was finding just about any form of abuse reasonable, distance seemed prudent.  I got Paul’s voice mail, but by then I was calm and went back inside under the pretext of having forgotten something.   My colleague was slumped in a chair.  I got her dressed, spoke firmly but calmly and ushered her into the van.  She apologized sweetly for pitching a fit and being disobedient and I forgave her.
Having dropped off Jackie Boy we returned home and started school.  It went well enough until we got to math and another one of my colleagues had a meltdown because she couldn’t understand the assignment.  I patiently worked through the problems, but she DOES NOT UNDERSTAND MATH!  I told her to go jump on the trampoline for five minutes.
While she was jumping and sobbing another of my colleagues said something to inflame her.  I pulled him aside and told him to go get his math.  He spent several minutes looking for it and teasing my smallest colleague who was quietly watching a DVD.
I got my other colleague back on her math, continued to work with her, using cookies as manipulatives, did some more written problems, and then let her work on her own.  Soon after she had a breakthrough.  “You know, this is actually pretty easy.”   We talked about how she had a very similar experience last week, yet again with math and how, if we give our brain a chance to think and observe (rather than tell ourself we can’t understand and give up) we are able to learn most things.
Meanwhile my other colleague was not looking for his math but putting snow down our remaining colleague’s back.  She was calmly eating it, having spent her piss and vinegar early today.  I set the timer and informed my recalcitrant colleague that he had five minutes to find his book.  After four minutes and fifty or so seconds of crying, yelling, begging and running around, he found it.  I gave him the assignment and he sat down to work, cheerfully.
I went out into the living room and pulled a chair into a patch of sunlight, closed my eyes and concentrated on breathing.  I thought about that extra measure of grace that Paul had requested for me.  When he prayed I pictured a peaceful day.  I didn’t get the peace, but I was given grace.  I wanted it on the front end with the kids for me.   All three of them were astonishingly needy, but with each one of them I was given the grace to be focused and patient.  It is so easy, under great duress, to either verbally abuse or disengage to avoid that and neither choice serves anyone of us.
Two things that are coming up for me every where are the notions of God helping me and me obeying him.  Every where: sermons, casual reading, committed reading, assignments, verses sent by friends, you name it.  So far there hasn’t been anything on a bill board, but I should probably say yet.  I want to hear what he is trying to say to me.  
I love the verse that says, “He gently guides those with young.”  I felt gently guided today, led, helped.  Too often I forget to slow down, to take time and think about what my children  need when they are being their most difficult.  This is unfortunate, since that is usually when they feel the worst and their need of me is the greatest.  The thing is, my task, my call is to gently guide them and, at times, I feel alone in it, as if it’s all up to me and I’m not up to it.  
Because he’s in the country, I’ve been calling Paul at work a lot this week,  and because he’s been out of it so much, all of us are struggling.   He’s not always there when I call, but just taking the time to call calms me and gives me space to deal with my kids appropriately.  When Paul is two miles down the road, although he is busy at work, and not always available he seems more approachable.  God can seem so far away.
But, this is what is becoming clear, my mission, is to teach my children that God is near, that he is a present help in trouble, that when I call to him he will answer me, that he will gently guide me, that he will help me.
Theology in the abstract is so easy.  It is an amazing and exhausting thing to live out my faith day in day out for my own trinity of witnesses, but I am in this too far to settle for platitudes when there is truth to be had, when there is help to be given. 
Help me to receive.

https://alisonhodgson.com/2008/02/537/