Where's the Love?

I feel as though I should say something in response to dear Maggie's post. The truth is, I love me a big helpin' of Minnesota Mom every day. Every. Single. Day. She gets me. I get her. She says all the things I wish I could. And so much better.

I guess that's why I love to razz her so much. Especially when she gets all pathetic and desperate, practically getting down on her knees, begging for some affirmation, just about willing to pay people to leave comments on her pretty little blog (if only John would agree to that second mortgage).

Because to me, it seems totally obvious that she is loved and admired, that she is gifted as a writer, that she is funny and wise and has the ability to make us all wish that she lived next door, that she is inspirational in her transparency and her humility and her motherhood and her whole-hearted commitment to follow the Lord, wherever He may lead.

To me. But maybe not to her.

I am sheepishly reminded once again not to get caught up in the selfish habit of scrolling through my Google Reader like a peeping Tom, racing through as many posts as I can down in a single gulp, without taking the time to connect with the dear ladies who often pour out their souls from behind that screen. Really, what is the point of reading all of these words, words, words if I never take the time to love the hearts behind the words? How very easily the reading of blogs becomes a narcissistic feeding of self rather than the beautiful building of community it could be.

Thank you, sweet Margaret, for the reminder. If it takes you groveling to point out the slight detour from my path to holiness, so be it. It's one of the best things we love about you anyway.

Let It Go, Mags

I sensed a bit of hostility in my combox Saturday as I read Margaret's criticism of my ability to create a clever acronym, and I'm like, "hey, Maggie, where's the love?"

And then I realized that her latent anger probably stems from this post. Do you remember those days...when Margaret, I mean, Maggie, I mean, Margaret was off on yet another vacay while I was stuck at home sweating my fanny off to keep her blog stats high?

TAFKaMaTMaNMA likes to pretend that little identity crisis never happened.

Lest I be accused of being bitter, I want to acknowledge that she also said some very kind things in her comment and that she is also my most faithful commenter and a true source of encouragement. In many ways, she is the wind beneath my blogging wings, though the dearth of recent posts here does not in any way correspond to her current levels of hot air.

Anyway, why would I be bitter? Just because she's everybody's favorite blogger, speaking at major conferences, and most likely on the verge of writing a best seller...while I peaked almost two years ago in an airport lobby with a bowl of fruit on my head? Bitter? Me?

Hardly.

At least I know who I am.

Be Still, My Heart

I admit it. I am completely infatuated with Sir Piers Rudde, a noble Englishman of the thirteenth century, a virtuous knight who pledged his life and his heart to Countess Theodora of Aquino, the vivacious, unattainable sister of St Thomas Aquinas.

Interestingly, I discovered why I am so smitten as I serendipitously/providentially listened to EWTN Live this evening while I was cleaning, two things I rarely do. In describing his understanding of marital relationships, Dr. Philip Mango told Fr. Mitch that every woman longs for her husband to be a knight, to be a strong and valiant man who will protect her from all danger.

So, that explains it. But that's not what this post is about.

My daughter Elena has been begging me to read The Quiet Light: A Novel about St Thomas Aquinas by Louis de Wohl ever since she finished it last spring. It's taken me this long to acquiesce. I am so grateful that I finally did. I love this book. Not only is it the only place I could ever encounter Sir Piers (making my heart go pitty-pat), but its rich, beautiful writing weaves a moving story set in a fascinating period of Church history. St Thomas is the humble, gentle giant of a saint who emerges out of this story.

But that's not what this post is about either.

Today, I was unusually struck by a particular passage, a dialogue between Sir Piers and Mother Maria of Gethsemani, the oldest sister of St Thomas. I read it a few times over, and I thought of it later when I read this post by my dear friend, a sister pilgrim who struggles against many of the same demons I battle.

"My brother Thomas taught me to be content only with the supreme Good. With nothing less than that."

"Mother Maria," said Piers with a twinkle,"where is your humility, pray?"

"Just that is humility," said the nun simply.

He shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Think then...what does it mean to be content only with the supreme Good? In other words, to want God, God Himself, nothing less? It means that you must recognize first that you are in need, in a great and dire and terrible need of Him, so much so that nothing else matters. Then that in this need of yours you cannot help yourself at all...that you need the help of Another, of God. Then, that you have no claim on such help...none, none whatever. And worse still, that you are unworthy of that help. Domine, non sum dignus. And thus, you empty yourself until nothing is left, no desire, no wish, no hope, except for Him alone. You die to the world; there is nothing left in you but that which awaits Him; you are a vessel to be filled but with Him. Our Lord himself...as Man...emptied Himself in such a way, obedient...even He...unto death. His was the supreme humility, and Him we must imitate. But there can be no true humility unless you aspire to the supreme Good." [emphasis mine]

Later she tells Sir Piers,

"You are a most honorable man, Sir Piers, and God must love you very dearly. Most likely your life is itself the answer to your question of how a layman could follow the way I was talking about. What humility demands is the renunciation of the self and also a readiness to serve. And surely you are fulfilling both demands."

I'm not sure I can put into words exactly how this passage relates to the struggles of my friend Margaret or myself, except to say that surely we are striving to fulfill both demands. We can have the best plans and ideas in the world, and then we can beat ourselves up for not achieving them, but if they are not His plans, then what does it matter? He is present and calling us to Himself in our weakness, in our sadness, in our selfishness, and in our pain. He is holding us, molding us, shouldering us in our darkest moments. If only we could remember to turn our face to His.

To reiterate Mother Maria's words above, we must empty ourselves until nothing is left, no desire, no wish, no hope, except for Him alone. We must die to the world, until there is nothing left in us but that which awaits Him; we are vessels to be filled but with Him.

I'm praying for you.

Wordless Wednesday

The Quilting Edition

HT: Maggie

Pop on over to Michele's to see my finished square and a few other beauties designed for our virtual quilting bee this month.

(Maggie tells me italicized words don't count.)

Thankful Thursday, The Thanksgiving Edition

Yes, I know that it is Advent now and that Thanksgiving is a week old. I'm fairly sure you are aware that I have never been known for my punctuality.

This Thanksgiving I was reminded once again of just how much I have to be thankful for.

For my husband and my children. For dear family and friends. For good food and a warm home. For the security of my husband's job and the ability to afford insurance. For kind police officers. For life itself.

I must be a bit dense, because the Lord seems to use dramatic means to remind me of such blessings. Again and again.

Unlike last November, I was fairly relaxed heading toward Turkey Day. In fact, I was downright relieved. It's been an exhausting semester filled with way too many outside activities, and I relished the thought of five days of relative quiet. Plus, my amazing sister offered to host the dinner this year, and all that she asked of me were pumpkin pies and a sweet potato souffle. How easy is that?

I was feeling so relaxed that I decided to take all six of my gang to a great thrift store on Wednesday afternoon. It's forty-five miles away, way out in the country, but it really is a great thrift store, and on the last Wednesday of the month everything is discounted by fifty percent. Since gas is so cheap these days, I figured, "why not?" Actually, at the last moment, I had second thoughts...I was feeling tired and I did still have to make those pies. But rather than face the horrific reactions of five girls ready to shop, I loaded everyone into the van. I should have listened to those second thoughts.

A few hours later, we were back in the van with a trash bag full of half-price sweaters and corduroys. It was a little past six, already very dark, and the kids started snoozing. I was cruising along, listening to one of my favorite cds*, when BAM...the air bags exploded and the van swerved into the left lane before I was able to regain control and steer us to the shoulder on the right.

We hit a deer. A big one.

Needless to say, it was more than a bit traumatic and chaotic. Steam was rising from the engine through the glow of the hazard lights, and Elena thought we were on fire. As I calmly reassured her that we weren't, my mind frantically wondered if we could be and how quickly I could get all six kids out of the van. The four youngest were terrified and sobbing uncontrollably. Nastia had banged her nose hard against the side window. Thankfully, my cell phone was charged, so I called Jim, my Knightley, who calmly assured me that he would be there in twenty minutes.

Shortly after I called, the most endearing police officer stopped behind us. The kind of police officer who would soothe your nerves with a promise to take care of you in his sweet southern drawl.** The kind of police officer who would ask you for the record how fast you had been driving and you would say, "about 70," and he would say, "about 65?" and you would say, "yes, 65, thank you." The kind of police officer who would drive your husband and two daughters home because you could only fit five in your husband's Scion.*** That kind of police officer, thanks be to God.

We had planned to have Thanksgiving brunch at the home of some close friends and then make the seventy-minute drive to my sister's for dinner. What to do now, since our insurance didn't cover a rental car? Jim decided to drive half of us to my sister's in the morning and then come back to drive the rest of us there. When we called our friends to cancel brunch, they insisted we take one of their cars. That's the kind of thoughtful friends we have. When we left my sister's house on Friday (after a scrumptious Thanksgiving meal, an entertaining game of charades, and a peaceful walk through the woods), she insisted that we trade our car for her van, for as long as we need it. That's the kind of generous sister I have.

I loved that van. It was only five years old, but it had over ninety-five thousand miles on it, miles that took us across America and throughout most of Europe. So many memories locked in that vehicle. Memories of crying babies and laughing children, of beautiful landscapes and desolate highways, of songs sung and rosaries prayed. Trusting our Toyota, we expected to get at least another ninety-five thousand miles out of it. How could I be driving along one minute and then, BAM, the next minute my van is gone?

The instant after I wondered that question, I realized with fear and trembling that it could have been...BAM, the next minute my children are gone. If another car had been traveling behind us (and there had been a fair amount of traffic on that four lane divided highway), it could not have avoided hitting us. If I had seen the deer and braked too suddenly, we could have tipped and rolled. It's going to cost us some inconvenience and a lot of money to replace that minivan...big deal. The precious lives of my children are absolutely irreplaceable. My van may be gone, but my kids are here, with nary a scratch to show for it. What else could possibly matter?

This Thanksgiving I was reminded once again of just how much I have to be thankful for...for life itself and for the lives of those I love.

Thank You, Jesus.


*Sadly, the car battery died before I had the presence of mind to eject my cd. Happily, Elena had previously downloaded it onto the computer. God is good. And so are teenage daughters.

**Elena claims that I slipped into a southern drawl each time I answered that sweet police officer, but I think that she must have hit her head.

***Valya and Nastia were quite excited about their first ride in the back of a police car, especially since every word of their (captivating, I'm sure) conversation was recorded. I told them that their first ride will also be their last ride.

Someone Hearts My Blog!

A few days ago the beautiful Kimberlee with the amazing hair (scroll down) and the gorgeous rosaries passed this loving award on to me. So sweet. I don't think she ever got around to telling me...but I found it anyway, Kimberlee. I'm glad she hearts my blog---I heart hers too. And I'm ever so grateful she gave me this award, because I don't have any brain cells available for more than one-word answers at the present moment.

I answered these questions last July, shortly before I met Kimberlee and her family at Michele's fun, fun, fun conference. (There I also met the sweetheart Heather, who gave this award to Kimberlee---the love just goes on and on...) Let's see how much has changed. I will stick to one-word answers, as I feel better following directions. (Parenthetical comments do not count.)

1. Where is your cell phone? Vera (hideous mauve no more!)
2. Where is dh? sleeping (as usual)
3. Your hair color? mousy
4. Your mother? peaceful
5. Your father? brave
6. Your favorite thing? laughter
7. Your dream last night? forgettable
8. Your dream/goal? Heaven
9. The room you’re in? Elena's
10. Your hobby? walking
11. Your fear? widowhood
12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? home
13. Where were you last night? bookclubbing
14. What you’re not? extroverted
15. One of your wish-list items? land (just 54 acres)
16. Where you grew up? Ohio
17. The last thing you did? laundry (exotic, this life I lead)
18. What are you wearing? fleece (scarlet)
19. Your TV? unused
20. Your pet? Chaser
21. Your computer? MacBook
22. Your mood? content
23. Missing someone? sisters
24. Your car? Sienna
25. Something you’re not wearing? fruit (at the moment)
26. Favorite store? Panera (why shop when you can eat?)
27. Your summer? gone (can't find a decent video---sorry!)
28. Love someone? passionately
29. Your favorite color? green
30. When is the last time you laughed? tonight
31. Last time you cried? forgotten

Now comes the really hard part...choosing three blogs to nominate. How in the world do I choose just three when there are so many I love? Yet, the best part of receiving the award is passing it on---spreading the love, so to speak---so, somewhat randomly, here goes....

I hearby bestow the I Love Your Blog award upon :

***Sarah of Recapturing Our Catholic Patrimony, because she writes some really amazing stuff and because we share a love for the same parents;
***Rebecca of A Gypsy Caravan, because she is brilliantly funny and tenderhearted and because we share a love for the Indians and the Buckeyes; and
***Margaret of Minnesota Mom, because she makes me laugh and cry and pray and because we share a love for constant affirmation. :)

Congrats, Ladies, I love your blogs. Here are the rules, should you choose to accept:
* Display your award.
* Link back to the person who gave you the award.
* Nominate at least 3 other blogs.
* Put links to those blogs on yours.
* Leave a message on the blogs of the people you’ve nominated.
* Enjoy your award!

I'm off to bed and all linked out!

Egads, where'd my baby go?

It seems as if only yesterday my little girl, dressed in a size 3T pink leotard, was giving us private recitals in the living room. Now here she is...hitting the big stage...and loving every minute of it.

Last September we were blessed to find a wonderful group of Christian homeschoolers, called Stage Lefters, who meet weekly throughout the school year to create a theatrical production. This was their seventh season, and it was their most ambitious project, The Music Man, complete with exuberant singing, enthusiastic dancing, and a real live band. Elena won the part of Zaneeta Shinn, the mayor's daffy daughter who runs around with the town badboy. Let me tell you, she played it just a little too well for her daddy's taste. She lit up the stage with her radiant face.

I had one mom tell me, "Your daughter is so good at being a ditzy flirt." Why, thank you. I think.

She's been in productions before, but this was the best and most fun, and now she is firmly convinced that her future belongs on the stage. (Egads!) She can't quite figure out what second degree equations and present participial phrases have to do with that future...just bring on the music and drama. Oh yes, we know all about drama in this household with six females. Oh yes.

After the high brought on by four spectacular performances earlier this month, she was facing nothing but a long, lonely summer of catching up on a few subjects and counting down the days until the first rehearsal of the next play. So I sent her off to a week of choral camp, followed by her first high school youth conference at Franciscan University. She's in Steubenville as I write this, hopefully fast asleep. (She'd better be.)

Ten years ago, I escorted a group of kids, including my youngest sisters, two cousins, two nieces and a nephew, to one of those conferences. It was a life-changing event for my sisters, who both embraced their faith deeply that weekend and later graduated from FUS, where they also met their amazing husbands. Elena, who was only five, joined us for the closing Mass of the conference, and I remember thinking that someday she would be old enough to attend one herself. Someday seemed so far away. It wasn't. I'm praying that the Holy Spirit touches her soul in a meaningful and lasting way this weekend as she continues her journey of becoming a beautiful young woman.

The night before she left, I sat in her bedroom as she was packing, and she gave me one of the sweetest gifts I've ever received. Excited and a bit nervous, she was peppering me with questions about what to expect, when she suddenly looked me in the eyes and gently said, "I wish you were coming with me."

Be still, my heart. I don't suppose there are a whole lot of high school girls who wish their mothers would accompany them to a weekend away, where there are bound to be a plethora of cute Catholic boys. Whoever said they didn't enjoy the teenage years never had the blessing of raising my Elena.

Gosh, I'm going to miss her. And I'm not just talking about the rest of the weekend.

True Beauty

Do you know Ann, who shares her heart at Holy Experience?

If not, you want to. Trust me on this one. I could link to her every single day.

Ann has the exquisite gift of being able to view life---in all of its simple and grand moments---through the eyes of Faith, and then being able to describe her visions in a poetical way that playfully wrestles the mind and gracefully stirs the heart. Her beautiful words gently chasten me and powerfully inspire me to draw closer to the One for whom I was created.

Spending time with her is a Holy Experience indeed, a refreshing oasis for this weary, imperfect soul of mine. How blessed I am to have her as a companion on this journey toward Home.

I encourage you to read her touching reflection on beauty. And then go offer your loved ones a truly beautiful you.

How Sweet It Is...

...to be loved!

When I returned home from an impromptu visit to my sister's house yesterday, I received the sweet surprise of finding an unexpected package waiting on my doorstep. A very thoughtful Honey out there read my post on Tuesday and had this lovely gift delivered the very next day! I am just so touched by her generosity and kindness---true love in action. Thank you, my dear, dear friend.

The most amazing thing that resulted from my great leap of faith in baring my soul is the discovery of so many women who have faced similar experiences. Some are women I have never met. And some are women I would never have thought could struggle like this based on their outward appearances. It makes me realize all the more how the evil one tries to deceive us into believing that we are alone in this battle, how badly he wants to cut us off from the healing power of love and friendship.

It is so very important to make the connections and nurture our relationships when we are feeling well and strong. Because when the dark thief enters, it is too late. For years, I lurked around the Internet, reading the inspiring words of beautiful women, feeling that I'd come to know and love them, but never giving them the chance to know and love me. These lovely women all seemed so connected to each other---why would they ever want to know me? Why would they care to hear my story? I am a shy, somewhat insecure person, and it is just so much easier for me to take it all in quietly than to risk opening myself up and facing the possibility of rejection. Easier, yes, but ever so much more lonely.

I really want to encourage anyone who has felt alone in her struggle with the darkness to take a chance and reach out. Share the real you, sadness and all. Write a post. Leave a comment. Send an email. Ask for a phone number and a good time to call. Plan a visit with someone you admire even if you are terrified you won't have anything to say in real life. There may be some with whom you just don't connect---it may not be the right time or the right personality match---but keep trying. God will bless your faithfulness.

There is nothing more soothing to a troubled soul than the unconditional love of a true friend, nothing more uplifting to a weary heart than knowing that someone cares.

God bless you.

Hope in the Body of Christ

I write a lot of posts in my head that never make it onto the screen. Sometimes I never find the time to transform my thoughts into words. Sometimes I steal the time, but the words just aren't there. I found this so frustrating when I first started blogging. Now I simply see it as God's way of weeding out some of the stuff that doesn't need to be recorded. My best received posts flow out almost effortlessly. I don't want to read too much into that---I surely can't claim to know or understand how much the Holy Spirit is involved here---but I don't think it's coincidence either.

When I started writing yesterday's post about my struggles with the dark thief, I really had no idea where it was going or why I was writing it. The images came, and so I narrated them. Last week I faced a few dark days of depression---a battle I've been fighting on and off since my youth---and the heaviness was still very fresh in my mind. I hesitated a bit before clicking on that orange "publish post" button, and to be honest, I considered deleting it all when I awoke this morning. Wouldn't my readers rather receive light, upbeat posts, and shouldn't I wait until I had one to give them? Who would want to be challenged by such a heavy, painful confession?

In risking my heart, I discovered that I am not alone in my experience with the darkness, and I learned that those lies whispered by the thief---of being alone, unloved, and unlovable---truly are lies. Some of those who stumbled upon my writing yesterday discovered the same. I was humbly overwhelmed by the tender, encouraging love notes I received from brave and beautiful women who shared their hearts and their suffering.

Suddenly I knew exactly why I wrote that post.

We are not alone. We are broken and battered, weary and worn. We have been tested and trampled and torn into tattered pieces. We have been robbed of our joy in spite of our blessings. But we are not alone.

We are bound by the Love of One who carries our crosses with us. Though we may not feel His presence in our most terrible moments, He bears the greater weight of our pain. We could not endure it without Him.

He offers us the healing gift of each other, a broken Body made perfect in its weakness.

Grace. Mercy. Love.

Happy Birthday, Sweet Maria!

I'm coming out of my unplanned holiday hiding to wish my dear friend of the heart a very special day...


Happy Birthday, Maria!
I had the sweet privilege of meeting Maria this summer during our cross-country journey. Within minutes, I felt as though I had known her all of my life and was spending time with a cherished friend. Let me tell you, that is a rare occurence and unexpected gift for someone who is as shy and introverted as I am. But it speaks volumes about Maria.

She is warm and beautiful and genuine and filled with an exquisite joy that bubbles over to those around her. Her laugh is so generous and heartfelt that you can't help but feel good and loved in her presence. Being with her is like walking in sunshine. Truly.

I am so blessed to call her my friend.

Please Pray!

Even though I'm sure that almost all of my readers visit Minnesota Mom long before they come here...

I want to ask you to offer some prayers for my dear friend Margaret and her littlest one. Margaret has become a very special blessing in my life, and this time of uncertainty---waiting, wondering, daring to hope---is undoubtedly difficult.

If you have already prayed for Margaret, may I beg you to pray once more? Let's storm Heaven on her behalf. It was Jesus himself who taught us to go to our Father with all of our requests.

"If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!"

Matthew 7:11

Thank you. May our dear Lord bless your day.

Birthday Wishes

Today, October 2nd, the feast of the Guardian Angels, marks the 61st birthday of one of my favorite bloggers and a dear friend of the heart.....

Margaret, the Minnesota Mom herself!

I know that Margaret has been making all of us suffer with her fast from blogging, but let's go over there anyway to wish her the happiest of birthdays and give thanks for another year of her precious life.

I love you, Margaret!



(She really doesn't look her age at all, does she?)

The Cold, Hard Truth about Me

It has come to my attention that my lovely cyber buddy Maria has nominated me for a Rockin' Nice Blogger award. I had the blessed privilege of meeting the Ladybug Mommy and her beautiful children this summer in their hometown...and what a treasured meeting it was! That day will be remembered fondly in my heart forever because, well, Maria is simply that amazing. Oh, she rocks, to be sure, and she goes beyond the upper limits of being nice. If I had to use one word to describe her, it would be effervescent. Not because she smelled like the soda pop that Benedict had just spilled on her, but because joy and love bubble out of her at every moment. Within seconds, I felt as if I had known and been loved by Maria all of my life. It's a gift, I tell you, and I love that in a person.

However, as much as I love and respect dear Maria, I'm afraid that my conscience will not allow me to accept this nomination. It is a reflection of her sweet ability to view me through her loving, generous eyes and has no basis in reality whatsoever.

In the first place, while I'd like to think that I am pretty darn hip-happenin' (for a Catholic home educating mom), it would be a stretch to say that I rock. Yes, I do listen to K-LOVE and WOW 2007, but most of my rockin' takes place in that brown chair up above. It's okay. I came to terms with my squareness several years ago.

More significantly...and I'm sorry, Maria, for any false impressions I may have given you, but...I am definitely not nice. At least one of my kids reminds me of this on any given day. For example, I won't let Charlie have candy for breakfast. I make Jacinta brush her hair at least once a week. I won't let Mei Mei make phone calls after 9pm. I make Nastia walk, rather than gallop or canter, in the house. I won't let Valya use money from her college savings to buy an Ipod. I make Elena eat citrus. What can I say? I am a mean mommy.

Given that these little souls are the ones to observe my behavior 24/7, I must defer to their assessment of the degree of my niceness. I'm sure they would have a few (uncomplimentary) things to say about my ability to rock as well, if I dared to ask them. I'm afraid I just don't cut the mustard for this award.

In declining the nomination, I'm pretty sure I also surrender the opportunity to nominate others (which is actually quite convenient, since I can't figure out who has already been nominated elsewhere and I hate to name names and leave anyone out). But I hope you will indulge me with just one consolation nomination for the dual award of Rockin' Nice Blogger: my friend Marianne at Catholic Moonlight in Vermont. This post alone makes her the perfect candidate for the Rockin' bit, and she always leaves me the Nicest comments. I can't wait to visit her and her family in Vermont someday.

Thanks anyway, Maria, you sweet fountain of love.

I'm Back!

…but only for a minute. And if my dear mother-in-law, who sentenced me to an early bedtime, happens to notice the time of this posting, I will be in deep, deep trouble.

Isn’t it funny that as soon as I pass my free trial month of blogging and officially start paying for Typepad to make it easy for me, I can’t think of a single thing to write? Isn’t that just hilarious? My accountant definitely thinks so. I’m sure he does.

Well, hopefully I will be a little bit inspired tomorrow and find some time (before 1am!) to write a few thoughts. But tonight, I really want to send out belated (of course) Thanksgiving blessings to all of my dear friends who come to visit me here. I am so very grateful for the love and encouragement you have poured upon me during the last month. You have made every late night, every word I anguished over, every pot that boiled over…so worthwhile. What a special blessing you are to me, knowing that I am not alone in this journey. I give thanks and offer prayers for each and every one of you. Merci.

Note to My Readers

After ten days of blogging, I have the following observation to share.

Although I only have a small number of readers (and I think I rather prefer it this way), I'm sure I have gathered the kindest and most generous ones. Thank you so much for visiting and for taking the time to leave a note. Your encouraging comments motivate me to try to find a way to fit this whole endeavor into my busy life. And you remind me that when I read the blog of a friend, I should not just peek in the windows...but instead, find a moment to knock on the door and say hello.

Merci, mes amies.