Friday, August 26, 2016

Ask for Chesteron on Dickens, and You Shall Receive

On Wednesday, I mentioned shopping my bookshelves for Ramona's upcoming school year reading list. Then, my friend Liz (over on Facebook) said I "should definitely read Chesterton's book on Dickens." I made a mental note and had another cup of coffee.

This morning, my girls and I were at a used book sale. You know that's always dangerous, but I promised myself that this time, I'd buy only books I truly love or truly needed, because otherwise, what was all that summer book decluttering for?

I was doing quite well. I had in my hand a Beverly Cleary that we've never read. (I didn't know such a creature existed! But it does! Muggie Maggie!) We'd also grabbed an Andrew Clements book that has long been a favorite of Ramona's. Anne-with-an-e found some Ray Bradbury, and Ramona and I thought that a science book that explained why penguins feet don't freeze was probably within our guidelines of "need." And since we don't own a copy of the Cary Grant/Audrey Hepburn movie Charade, I told Ramona she should definitely grab it. It was only 50 cents, after all, and Grant and Hepburn fall into the "truly love" category.

And then what to my discerning eye should appear?

We paid for our reasonable handful of books, escaped without spending the month's food budget, and we are all happy. No teetering, homeless piles of books this time. 

(Remember the last used book foray? Our spoil looked like this and my shelves were already overflowing:) 

Of course, the absence of teetering stacks after hitting a book sale also makes me a little sad, as it should any true book lover. 

Sorry, Marie Kondo, but that's a fact of bibliophilic life.

Thursday, August 25, 2016

Poetry Friday: Emily Dickinson's To-Do List

With a new school year approaching, I'm in list-making mode, much like my beloved Emily Dickinson in Andrea Carlisle's take on the Belle of Amherst's days.

Now I am off to decide what to wear, what to bake, and what to hide.

Emily Dickinson's To-Do List
by Andrea Carlisle

Figure out what to wear—white dress?
Put hair in bun
Bake gingerbread for Sue
Peer out window at passersby
Write poem
Hide poem

White dress? Off-white dress?
Feed cats
Chat with Lavinia

(Read the rest here, at The Writer's Almanac.)


The round up is at My Juicy Little Universe. 

Wednesday, August 24, 2016

Shopping My Bookshelves

Time to start thinking about what my year with Ramona will look like. Time to start shopping my own bookshelves. Hmmm...where to begin? Some initial thoughts....

There will definitely be art. 
Claire Walker Leslie's Keeping a Nature Journal is full of sketching inspiration. Pulling that one off the shelf for sure. I think I'd like to pull Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain out, too. 


This is one of my favorite shelves in the house. Ramona has read most of these, but I think Jane of Lantern Hill is going on the reading list for her. A read-aloud, I think. We haven't yet read the second Calpurnia Tate book! Must remedy! 


Some Shakespeare this year, of course. Romeo and Juliet?


Is there any Louisa May that Ramona hasn't read yet? Maybe Rose in Bloom. Thinking I'll wait on Cather's My Antonia for a year or two, for fuller appreciation. 


She's reading Emma with her big sister, so I'm leaving the Austen to them. I think we'll read Dickens this year, though - A Tale of Two Cities


I see some Ray Bradbury here, but where is my copy of Dandelion Wine? I guess I need to check another shelf. That's definitely another read-aloud. Also adding Fruitless Fall to her list, and some of Silent Spring


I see some good stuff here by Mike Aquilina and Peter Kreeft. (Is there any other kind of stuff from those two?) 


Alan Schreck's Catholic and Christian is like a mini-catechism, and I love it. Will choose some selections for Ramona to read. 


Oooh, I need to look more closely at some of the goodness on these shelves. 


Clive Staples! This is Ramona's year for The Screwtape Letters


Here's a small section of our poetry collection. Poetry Friday, anyone? Maybe I'll have Ramona do some of the picks this year. 


Ah, homeschooling books. 
This shelf is for me, when I need a boost.  


Tuesday, August 23, 2016

Zoom Out: It's the Big Picture That Matters

The other day in a Facebook group, a friend linked to this great, old post from Sarah McKenzie, and a few of us then talked about how important it is to keep the big picture in mind (and that applies not only to homeschooling but to parenting in general, and to life.)

I'm a big fan of the big picture. Bad days have a way of tricking us into thinking the picture is minute, localized, and doomed. Sarah's post reminded me of an old post of mine, so I shared it with my friends, and am sharing it here today.


Does Happy Homeschooling = No Worries?
(I originally posted this October 18, 2010 -- my girls were 16, 14, and 8.)  

The short answer is no. The long answer is a blog post.

I am a happy homeschooler. But "happy" is not equivalent to slaphappy or to sporting a perpetual smile.  I was thinking about this today as I batted a few worries around in my happy head. I wasn't feeling particularly chipper as I thought about:
  • math
  • ACT scores
  • teaching cursive to an eight-year-old
  • balancing my unschoolish approach with my husband's English teacher ways
  • a daughter taking online classes at the community college
  • a daughter who suddenly cares about a grade
  • a daughter who rightly and admirably cares about her grade
  • a daughter who isn't 8 years old anymore
  • needing bifocals (me, not the daughter)
  • trying to be everything to everyone every day
  • feeling that there's never enough time for all my roles and that I want to hire a stunt double
Let's be clear: homeschooling is not perfect. It can inspire cloudbursts of anxiety, worry, doubt, insecurity and fear about the future. (I suppose parents who send their kids to school could say the same thing? That any parent could say the same thing of parenting?) Homeschooling sometimes feels overwhelming, and then I begin to  wonder if I'm up to it, if I can give my kids all that they need.

Then, I remember that we are to pray, "Protect us from all anxiety." And so that's what I pray:

"Protect me, Jesus, from the fear that I can't do it all. Because I can't. That's why I need You."

As Scripture tells me:
Have no anxiety about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
-- Philippians 4:6-7
It also helps to have a husband who listens, friends who listen, a confessor who listens. St. Francis de Sales knew that:
The heart finds relief in telling its troubles to another, just as the body when suffering from persistent fever finds relief from bleeding. It is the best of remedies, and therefore it was that S. Louis counselled his son, "If thou hast any uneasiness lying heavy on thy heart, tell it forthwith to thy confessor, or to some other pious person, and the comfort he will give will enable thee to bear it easily."
                            -- Introduction to the Devout Life

St. Thomas Aquinas also apparently knew a few homeschooling mothers:
Sorrow can be alleviated by good sleep, a bath and a glass of wine.

Being a happy homeschooler does not mean I'll never feel sorrow, anxiety, worry or dread. I have. I do. I will.

It does mean knowing where to turn when those spectors try to haunt. Jesus gives -- and He is -- the best of advice.

Happy homeschooling for me is not a mood or a mindless game or a steady, even course. It is a way of living, though -- of trusting, and of getting up each day and starting again, knowing that I'm not in charge.

Friday, August 19, 2016

Poetry Friday: Wendell Berry

This lovely, short Berry poem is speaking to my heart today. 

Be Still in Haste 
by Wendell Berry 

How quietly I
begin again 


The Poetry Friday round up is at Dori Reads. 

Thursday, August 11, 2016

School Supplies, Serendipity, Ice Cream, and Tears

Last night I told my sister a story she'd never heard before. We were talking about the ways God sometimes seems to drop someone into your life at the right time, and about how beautiful and surreal it can feel, how it often leaves us speechless.

The following story is from ten years ago this week. Anne-with-an-e was 12, Betsy was 10, and Ramona was 4.

Enjoy ... and cry ... and hold very close someone you love:


Yesterday we went shopping for school supplies. After picking up a few essentials, and because we were celebrating the fact that none of us had any cavities (this was a known fact, not just a guess, as we'd been to the dentist in the morning) I decreed it to be an Ice Cream for Lunch day.

We stopped for our treats, and settled down to enjoy them. As the girls were slurping their way through Oreo and Reese's Peanut Butter Cup-laced concoctions, an elderly man approached our table.

"I just wanted to say," he said rather slowly, "that you just have some very nice girls there, and you all remind me of our family a number of years back. We had three girls, too."

I responded with something like, "Isn't that nice?" and said it was kind of him to compliment the girls. Then he went on to say, "I've got kind of a sad story, though ...."

Oh, no, I thought, who are you, and what's coming next?

"We, um," he said, looking troubled. "We lost our youngest daughter to cancer."

Oh, my. I was jolted, but managed to relay my shock and sympathy. I asked when it had happened, thinking it must've been years ago.

"Just last month," he said, tearing up. "She was 41. I was there when she died. And it just ...."

He trailed off, as tears filled his eyes. (Mine too.)

"I'm so sorry," I said feebly. I looked at Anne, who was also tearing up.

He continued. "She had the Lord as her Savior, and she told me that. She said she wasn't afraid ... so, you know, that's my consolation. But," he choked, "it just tears you up inside."

"I can't even imagine," I whispered.

The surrealness of this scene didn't occur to me at the time. Somehow it seemed perfectly right that I was sitting here, listening to this stranger who stood next to my table as he shared his grief with a family who was willing to listen.

He shook his head, as if to collect his thoughts, and said, "I just ... I really wanted to stop and say something to you, because I just saw that you look like such a nice, happy family. I saw your three girls talking and laughing, and I thought, 'Why there's Suzanne and Maureen and Ginger!' Just like my girls ...."

He shook his head again, and since I seemed unable to say anything at that point, he finished up by saying, "I just wanted to say that you all just reminded me of our family, and I could tell that you have somethin' special. You know, not everyone has that these days ... it's a rotten world, and not everyone has what you have ... and so, I just wanted to say that."

Through a few more tears, I thanked him. I told him again how sorry I was that he had lost his daughter, and that I appreciated his kindness at taking the time to stop and talk to us.

"God bless you," I said softly, feeling once again that my words were sorely inadequate.

When he left, Anne-with-an-e was crying. I comforted her, and said that although his story was a sad one, and that he missed his daughter very much, it was comforting that they had their faith (and that we have ours.) I told the girls I was glad we were there -- glad we could listen to a man who needed to talk about the daughters he loves so much. But, also, his little visit to our table was a blessing for me, I said. I was touched that he could see how much we love one another, and touched that he took the time to say it.

When we got home, I told Atticus about it -- about how it felt as if an angel had stopped to talk to us. This angel reminded me of our abundant blessings, our abundant love for one another ... of all that's really important.

Then, Atticus said, "Do you remember that last phone call we got for the Rosary Crusade? It was about a month ago. They asked us to pray for a couple who had just lost their 40-something daughter to cancer."

I had forgotten, but Atticus was right.

Though I can't know for certain, this stranger -- this "angel" -- who had felt compelled to approach an ice-cream-eating mother and her three daughters was quite possibly the man for whom I had prayed anonymously last month.

And once again, I feel awed by and unworthy of the love and mercy of such a God as we have. He intertwines our lives in ways we cannot predict, often do not see, and most certainly cannot fully comprehend on this side of heaven.

Serendipity? It's such a lovely and whimsical word for grace.

Friday, August 05, 2016

Poetry Friday: Genius, by George Bilgere

George Bilgere today, just because he's so much fun. 

by George Bilgere

It was nice being a genius
worth nearly half-a-million dollars
for the two or three minutes it took me
to walk back to my house from the mailbox
(Read the whole thing here, at The Writer's Almanac.) 


The round up is at A Teaching Life.

Thursday, August 04, 2016

Recent Reading: Wendell Berry, Esther Ehrlich, and Another One From My Daughter

I dropped this beautiful book and marred the cover with a pronounced crease.  Somehow, though, that seems more than okay. 

I finished Wendell Berry's Hannah Coulter last week and discovered for myself why my friends, when the title comes up, gasp and seem to rise from the planet for a moment as they relive their own experiences of reading it. When they circle back down to earth and are able to speak again, they always mention underlining and highlighting and the lyrical beauty of the writing. 

They are right. And I have joined their ranks. 

Title character Hannah Coulter, now in her 70s, is looking back over the many years of her life. Hannah shares her history with us in prose that is both simple and reflective. I don't think it's a spoiler to share this passage, which comes very early in the book: 
When you are old you can look back and see yourself when you were young. It is almost like looking down from Heaven. And you see yourself as a young woman, just a big girl really, half awake to the world. You see yourself happy, holding in your arms a good, decent, gentle, beloved young man with the blood keen in his veins, who before long is going to disappear, just disappear, into a storm of hate and flying metal and fire. And you don't know it.
My copy, with its creased but lovely cover, is full of such underlinings. I read with pencil in hand, marking passage after passage, ripe plums that I wanted to preserve and remember forever. I read Hannah quickly and slowly: flying through the pages, but savoring the words of a world that has passed into memory.


I read Nest, by Esther Ehrlich, in just the last couple of days. 

Nest, deliciously set in 1972, is narrated by eleven-year-old Naomi Orenstein, nicknamed Chirp, after her love of birdwatching.

Chirp has an awful lot going on at the moment. There's something wrong with her beloved mom, but the doctors aren't sure what. Chirp's older sister, Rachel, is going to weird parties ("Something feels funny; like they're all on one team and I'm on the other.") Chirp's next-door-neighbor, Joey, comes from a family that Chirp's psychiatrist dad says has "significant issues," so he might be scary or he might be nice…it's hard to tell, when a boy has a rock in his hand, just what he plans to do with it. Chirp's haven is Heron Pond, where she goes to look for her favorite bird, the elusive red-throated loon, which can be extremely awkward or immensely graceful, depending on where it is and what it's trying to accomplish.

I loved this book so much. Ehrlich's writing is iridescent; it shimmers like the sunlit water that has been part of Chirp's world since she was born. And that gorgeous writing serves well a story that is full and weighty. Sadness, deep pain, grief, and love mingle with insight and hope. Bring the tissues.

My only caveat is that it's billed as middle-grade fiction -- it could be too much for very sensitive children, as it covers extremely serious issues.

Read it for yourself, because it's worth the grown-up read. Then you can decide who you'll share it with.


Finally, I've mentioned NaNoWriMo before, but who knew the craziness was encouraged in July? Camp NaNoWriMo is November madness in the middle of summer. Betsy, who has completed five NaNo novels in the past, did another one last month. She finished 60,000 words before the end of July, let me read her first draft (that almost never happens), and she made my cry with one of her plot developments. Reading doesn't get any better than that. 

Ramona set herself a goal of a 10,000 word story for July and met it. She hasn't let me read her story yet, though -- not sure when she'll release a draft to me. And Anne-with-an-e is trying a longer work for the first time ever, so I'll keep you posted on future Edmisten-Daughter books, and whether or not they make me cry. 

Friday, July 29, 2016

Poetry Friday: A Ramona Original

We got back yesterday from an overnight in a cabin at a beautiful state park, and I was reminded of the first time we "camped" (it's not really camping when the cabin is like a hotel room, is it? But that's the only way I camp) at this spot:

Ramona was almost five on that trip. Back then, she brought Mr. Potato Head along and looked like this: 

After hearing a whipporwhill, she was enchanted, and composed this poem, which I love as much today as I did nine years ago: 

It's so beautiful here.
If only insane, 
I could be a whip-poor-will.

So much has happened in nine years. My family has grown up, our vistas have expanded, scenic views have changed. But one thing will never change, and that is the sheer, utter joy I take in spending time away from the world with Atticus and my three girls. 


The round up is at Reflections on the Teche.

Friday, July 22, 2016

Poetry Friday: Prayer at Sunrise by James Weldon Johnson

This is so lovely and speaks for itself on this July morning. More of James Weldon Johnson can be found here, at

Prayer at Sunrise
James Weldon Johnson

Now thou art risen, and thy day begun.
How shrink the shrouding mists before thy face,
As up thou spring’st to thy diurnal race!
How darkness chases darkness to the west,
As shades of light on light rise radiant from thy crest!
For thee, great source of strength, emblem of might,
In hours of darkest gloom there is no night.
Thou shinest on though clouds hide thee from sight,
And through each break thou sendest down thy light.

O greater Maker of this Thy great sun,
Give me the strength this one day’s race to run,
Fill me with light, fill me with sun-like strength,
Fill me with joy to rob the day its length.
Light from within, light that will outward shine,
Strength to make strong some weaker heart than mine,
Joy to make glad each soul that feels its touch;
Great Father of the sun, I ask this much.

("Prayer at Sunrise" is in the public domain.)


The round up is at Books 4 Learning.

P.S. Check out the comments for another gorgeous poem from Johnson. 

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

Why Do We Homeschool?

Note: I first posted this two years ago. It popped up as a memory on Facebook today, and I thought I'd rerun it, to catch any new, homeschooling readers! 


When I recently spoke at a homeschooling conference, I wanted to be sure I had enough to say, so of course I over-prepared. There was a section of a talk that I didn't even get to, so it comes to you now as a blog post. Yay! Double-duty writing!


My relaxed methods of homeschooling prompt another question: Are we being academically challenging and rigorous enough?

That gets us to the core questions about why we homeschool in the first place: for academic excellence? For spiritual reasons alone? Do we homeschool to get our children to Heaven or to Harvard?

Personally, I’ve never really asked myself the "Heaven or Harvard" question. In our state, we have to report/declare our reasons for homeschooling by claiming an exemption for either academic reasons or religious reasons. We claim the religious exemption because we do firmly believe the Church’s teaching that we are the primary educators of our children, i.e., that we have the right and responsibility to educate them as we see fit, or to contract out their education to schools if we so choose, etc. But, the academic exemption has always been right in front of us, too, and we could legitimately have chosen that option as well.

When we wanted to pull our eldest daughter out of school it wasn’t because we were afraid that she was being spiritually tainted. She had a sweet, kind Kindergarten teacher (who later quit working outside the home and began homeschooling her own children) and she had made friends with some very sweet and lovely children. But I couldn't bear some of the other stuff: I couldn’t bear that she wasn't allowed to read (in school, I mean) the books that grabbed her. I couldn't bear that her love of learning was being dulled with handwriting practice and pre-reading worksheets. It made me mad, actually. It made me realize that I knew my daughter better than anyone else did, and that I could provide stimulating days and a vibrant education for her at home.

Certainly our goal was to raise our children, spiritually speaking, as we saw fit: saturated in our faith, living it every day. We wanted to provide a particular kind of lifestyle that allowed for exploring the liturgical year rather than the school year, for going to Mass when it worked for us, not just on Sundays, for a holy half-hour in the middle of a "school day" and for digging into a saint's life story if that's what we felt like doing.

But such a lifestyle and accommodations for our faith don't negate or ignore the desire for academic excellence. Atticus and I have always been dedicated to providing a strong and stimulating education for our girls.

On the other hand, we may not define academic excellence in exactly the same way that the world does. Allow me to elaborate. Of course we want to be the best teachers we can be and we hope to provide our children with the best possible education. But that doesn’t mean we're interested in churning out cookie cutter versions of human beings. Not everyone wants to attend a particular university or even a particular kind of university. Not everyone wants to pursue a particular type of profession, either. For us, academic excellence -- the kind that takes into account the very specific needs, gifts, passions, interests, strengths and weaknesses of each child -- will produce everything: plumbers, engineers, nurses, doctors, landscapers, secretaries, stay-at-home moms, stay-at-home dads, computer programmers, salesmen, philosophers, respiratory therapists, Spanish teachers, and ... on and on. An academically excellent homeschool considers the fact: the world needs all kinds of people and all kinds of jobs.

When it comes to raising and educating human beings with souls, paying close attention in a loving home to our individual children and what they need is every bit as important as an isolated, rigidly defined, supposedly objective standard of academic excellence.

I have never found and have never believed that there is one method, one cookie cutter ideal, one fixed rule, or one predictable outcome to homeschooling.

There is just this one thing in our homeschool: we need to figure out what this child needs at this moment, this week, this month, this year. Homeschooling, for us, is about finding what works, and then doing it.

Excellence, then, while it is about tailoring the academics to our particular children and their needs, isn’t about proving to the world that we can raise the smartest, most stereotypically or predictably "successful" kids possible. As a matter of fact, homeschooling isn’t about us at all.

Should we repeat it? Homeschooling isn't about us at all.

Sometimes we homeschooling parents forget that. There’s so much pressure -- from the world, from family or friends, from interested observers and critics --  to prove that we haven’t definitively messed up our kids. We feel compelled to confirm that we made the right choice, the best choice. And then we forget that it isn’t about us or about how we look. 

It’s about our kids. It’s about cooperating with God in this endeavor. It's about raising the people He entrusted to our care.  It's about helping them to become the people He wants them to be. Sometimes our kids will fit every preconceived notion the world has of success and sometimes they will look as far from it as is humanly possible. And everything on that spectrum is conceivably perfectly okay, as long as we keep on asking ourselves the question, “What does this child need next?”

That's why, for us, it's not "Heaven or Harvard." It's Heaven and Harvard and not-Harvard and everything in between. It's about letting a Kindergartener read Little House books all day if that's how she best learns. It's about letting a high schooler write a novel the entire month of November if that's where her passion is. And it's about having her do some math, too, because that's a practical part of life that we have to address. It's about faith and books and being excited about learning for the rest of our lives.

It's about individual human beings, it's not about me, and it's about a life lived authentically. And that's going to look different for everyone.

Tuesday, July 12, 2016

I Finished A Canticle for Leibowitz

So, I recently finished A Canticle for Leibowitz. I can't believe it took me this long to read it (30-some years? When did you first recommend it, Jack?) Beautiful, horrible, gut-wrenching, and thought-provoking, it delves into the connections among faith, reason, knowledge, science/technology, church, state, and man's ever-predictable penchant for overreaching and destroying himself. 

"Ask for an omen, then stone it when it comes -- de essentia hominum." 

Do you want to discuss? We'll start it in the comments, so as to prevent spoilers, of course. 

(I've got a busy couple of days coming up, so if I don't get a chance to jump right in, please be patient with me...I will get back to the discussion!)

Friday, July 08, 2016

Poetry Friday: In Which I Manage to Talk about Anne Porter, Woodward and Bernstein, Jen Fulwiler, and Gracious Husbands Who Care About Poetry

Jen Fulwiler is on my mind at the moment because I'll be on her radio show later today (details here), and poetry's on my mind because it's Friday and I'm breathing.

As I sat here, mulling over what to do for Poetry Friday, I remembered a post from a few years ago in which poetry and Fulwiler-y things came together on this blog, so I decided to rerun that post. It's mostly about the inimitable Anne Porter, a poet I love dearly, but it's also about not being able to talk without quoting movies, and about husbands who send their wives (and others) all the best links.

So, without further ado, a peek back at a panoply of poetic stuff (and be sure to click through and read some of Porter's poetry):

(from February 11, 2011)

Sometimes, Atticus and I talk in movie lines. You know what I mean -- the stuff that becomes part of your family lexicon.

One of our lines is from All the President's Men. Bernstein goes to see Jane Alexander (I can't remember her character's name) to pry some information out of her. She won't talk, but he leads her to confirm things they already know, such as some initials (but not full names).  The thing is, they don't actually know all of the names on that first visit, but she did confirm that one of the names starts with a P.  Later, they go back and because Porter was on their list of suspects, when one of them says, "Who is P?" the other says, "P we know is Porter," and then when she admits Porter received money, they've got what they want. The scene ends with Jane Alexander saying, "Who told you about Porter?"

None of that has anything to do with today's post, other than the fact that I like to imitate Jane Alexander and when I want to sound confused, I say, "Who told you about Porter?"

There is one thing that the story has in common with today's post, and it's the "P" connection. Today it's not about political crimes but about poetry. And Anne Porter.

The other day, I heard from Jennifer Fulwiler's husband.  You know the wonderful Jennifer of Conversion Diary*, don't you? I feel a kinship with her because we both know what it's like to be an atheist who gets gobsmacked by Catholicism. But that's probably where the comparisons end because, of course, Jennifer is much taller, hipper, smarter and funnier than I am. Anyway, "F" wrote to me (F we know is Fulwiler) because Blogger was not allowing him to leave a comment on my last Anne Porter post (and if it does that to you, will you let me know? I may compile a list of grievances) and he wanted to share this link:

A 95-Year-Old Poet Finds Her Muse and Literary Praise

He rightly clued me in to the fact that no list of Anne Porter links is complete without this article, and I now agree with him. Visit the link to see the article that initially spread the news about the amazing Anne, and read more snippets of her poetry there.

So, the answer to, "Who told you about Porter?" is:

The Writer's Almanac
Janice Harayda
The Poetry Foundation
Archives of American Art 
The Gracious Mr. Fulwiler

Thanks to all of the above, and -- sorry, Woodstein ... you got scooped on this one.


Back to 2016: The Poetry Friday round up is at The Logonauts


Thursday, July 07, 2016

I'll Be On Jen Fulwiler's Show on Friday... talk about her new (free!) ebook, The Our Father, Word by Word

A few years ago, Jen put together a series for her blog in which a variety of writers took turns reflecting--word by word, of course--on this ancient prayer. Now, Jen has pulled all the posts together and published them in an easy-to-read ebook format. You can get a free copy of it here, at Jen's website. 

I'll be talking with Jen tomorrow about my contribution, "Name." 

Tune in to The Jennifer Fulwiler Show, SiriusXM satellite radio, Channel 129, on Friday, July 8, at 2:20 central time to join us! 

More details about Jen's show and how to listen are here

Wednesday, July 06, 2016

On Morning Air Today, Talking About the Liturgical Year

I'll be talking with Glen on Relevant Radio's Morning Air at 8 a.m. central this morning. We're going to talk about incorporating the liturgical year into fun, summer activities, such as the bonfire party for St. John the Baptist that we recently attended.

Helpful resources for activities and recipes that we'll talk about:

Catholic Culture

Catholic Cuisine


The Year and Our Children by Mary Reed Newland

A Continual Feast: A Cookbook to Celebrate the Joys of Family and Faith Throughout the Christian Year  by Evelyn Birge Vitz

Feast by Haley and Daniel Stewart

Feast Day Cookbook by Katherine Burton


(Photo credit: