A circle of quiet

Sometimes when I sit down to write for this blog, my mind reflects an appalling blankness at me. What to write? I know that we've just lived through another week (habit is a great thing), but what is there of that week that's worth recording? What is there funny, profound, insightful, tragic? Some weeks, there doesn't seem to be much of any of these, although I suspect it's more the fault of my faulty memory than actual events.

This week is one of those weeks. We seem to have a lot of these weeks. And when I thought about this idea, the first thing that popped into my mind was the phrase, "we live lives of quiet desperation" (from our friend H.D. Thoreau's Walden). But I don't think that's true. I think our life--at this point anyway--is more reflective of an idea that L.M. Montgomery put into many of her novels: the happiest people, like the happiest countries, have no history. And so I'll take our lack of excitement as a sign that we are living in a blessed circle of quiet right now. In saying this, I'm not trying to tempt fate--only to acknowledge that it is, in fact, a blessing to live a quiet life.

Having said all this, there are a few moments that stand out to me.

After finally starting to rejoice at the advent of spring, Thursday morning we woke up to snow flurries that, by mid morning, had turned into a near white-out blizzard. Within an hour we'd received at least two inches of snow (not lots, I know--it was more the intensity of the snow). To give you an idea of how bad it was--if briefly--Evelyn and I ran some errands while Andrew was in preschool, and when we came out to our car in the parking lot, the wind and snow combined were so fierce that we literally could not breath when the wind blustered our way. Also, I had two students email me that day to say that they would not be in class because of the aftermath of car accidents (one student rolled her car several times and said she was lucky to have walked away). Of course, by Friday the snow was only a faint memory in a few shadowy areas of our lawn.

Saturday we went down to SG where the kids were able to enjoy the balmy weather with their Grandparents and Dan and I went to the temple. We happened (not entirely accidentally, but not exactly on purpose either) to be in the same session as Dan's cousin's eldest daughter, who was taking out her endowments before her marriage next week. Somehow, knowing that she was seeing everything for the first time helped me appreciate a little more the symbolism of the ceremony. Mostly, though, I was mildly entertained by watching the three sets of engaged couples in our session, who were sitting across the aisle from each other. I couldn't see the girls, who were in front of me, but I had to smile at the expressions on the faces of the boys, who would occasionally look across the aisle as if someone had given them the greatest gift in the world and they couldn't believe their good fortune. (And maybe they had. And couldn't.)

This week I've been working on a wreath for Bubby, for a birthday present. (Lest you fear that I'm spoiling her surprise by writing about it, let me add that this was her request when I asked what she'd like). Andrew was inspired by my wreath-making to make this wreath for her. (Unfortunately, it has since been recycled into something new, so this is the only view Bubby will actually get of it!)

On a side note, I was saddened to find out when we went to our local Roberts to pick up supplies for the wreath that the company is planning to close this store. Since this is the only craft goods store in the area, I'm not sure what exactly all of the Mormon women in this town are going to do once it closes! I also apologize for the weird angle of the picture--Blogger kept automatically rotating the picture for me and I couldn't figure out how to stop it.

More pigtails on Miss Evelyn, for church this morning. (We'll see if they survive her nap).

Yesterday, Dan came home to find that his house had been taken over by a couple of monkeys. Literally. Here's one flying through the air; below you can see the two of them creeping across the floor.