The Road Not Taken

Did you ever notice. . ?  The line everyone loves to quote from that poem is "I took the road less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."  Yet the title of the poem is The Road Not Traveled.  If the difference is a good one, why does the title dwell on what was and is now lost?

What if a decision I make today significantly steers the course of my life?  We only get this one lifetime, and it's alarmingly short.  If I choose one thing, does that mean I sacrifice another?

I've been thinking a lot about my photography.  It brings me a lot of joy, and a lot of discomfort.  I'm a perfectionist of the worst sort, and feeling bad about my photographs can put a gloom over the day; feeling good about them can put a skip in my step.  It's just the way with art, isn't it?  The artistic drive, under which pressure the great works of mankind are forged.

I really want to gain more technical knowledge in photography, and it is an expensive hobby.  As a career, it hardly pays for itself.  With digital photography making it more available to the masses, the market is over-saturated (though, I am happy to report, wildly supportive of each other).  So I can't exactly rationalize further expenses and forays into the field for the sake of wealth.  It will have to be something I do because I am passionate about it and find it worthy of sacrifice.

Then I wonder if one of the things I will be choosing to sacrifice will be writing.

I haven't written in over year, nor published in as long.  Some days, I feel like being a mother to young children for the time being fills that creative void in my life.  Other days, I feel it like a stopped faucet or a clogged drain, there's this pressure that isn't being relieved, and I wonder if I would have less anxiety and tendency toward depression if I were writing more, or writing at all.

I've talked with John on a couple of occasions about doing an online degree in photography and design.  I actually (very briefly) considered a photography major in college, at the (surprising!) suggestion of my photography professor, but dismissed it in the end because--get this!--I thought it wouldn't pan out as a career, so I stayed with this obscure English Writing degree instead!  At the time, it would have been a subject for a degree I would be getting anyway.  Now it is just a hunger, for a deepening knowledge in a craft that is part of my everyday life and which I may choose to cultivate.

But cultivate at what expense?  I've gone on before about how I'm a Jill of all trades and mistress of none.  It's something I'm not at peace with.  I want to excel, and I want to do everything at the same time.  Above and beyond even that, I want to be a storyteller with everything in me.  It's just that right now, I don't have the solitude, the time, or the space to write as I need or should.  Photography is a little more instant-gratification, a little more child-friendly and concrete and attainable.

What do you think?  If I chose to steer my life toward an expertise in photography, do I risk loosing that time I should be using to nurture my writing craft?  What would you choose?  Have you ever faced a decision like this?  Is this a first-world problem or what?

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For further reading:

• My Dream of Being a Feminist Housewife
• untitled

#7QT: autumn chill, charity shop finds, and Saint Rosalia

-- one --

We turned the heater on for the first time last night, on a low setting.  The temperature hasn't peaked into the 60's (fahrenheit) since {September arrived}.

(Pictured above: back when it was "summer" in Wales.  Ha!)

Fall and winter are my favorite seasons, though I'm apt to think of the season I'm in or about to start as my favorite.  Still, this Halloween-lover is stoked to see September unfold in a part of the world where the trees put on their fall finery.

Then, at the end of September, Roan and I are going back to the States for me to photograph a wedding and for John to get my immigration started.  Prayers for a smooth and speedy application appreciated.

-- two --

There's this little cat named Rosie who belongs to the couple living below us.  She always sits in the same exact spot of green lawn in the garden.  Just sits there, looking out into the little world that is her back yard, with her paws curled beneath her.  I don't know why, but it makes me happy.

-- three --

I pilfered seven!!! well-kept articles of used clothing for Roan this week at the charity shop.  For 1.75 pounds.  Good old British charity shops!

I also found the complete set of Beatrix Potter books--in their original children size formatting!--for under 5 pounds total!  They're a 1990's printing, in box sets, in pristine condition.  At a different charity shop.  Ever since listening to the {Read Aloud Revival} episode about building a personal library, my spidey senses are heightened for bargain classics.

-- four --

Afon is starting school next week!  We're meeting with the head teacher today to discuss uniforms, etc.

I always give a lot of thought to educational methods this time of year, and I have some thoughts half written out about Waldorf education, a style which has mystified and intrigued me for several years now.  Hope to get that up on the blog sooner rather than later.

-- five --

Today is one of my feast days on the liturgical calendar.  Saint Rosalia was my confirmation saint.  And while I chose her, at the time, for the way her name would sound with mine, I'm since convinced that there was providence in our meeting.  In another life, I could have been a hermitess.  I think about how she withdrew to pour her all into her vocation, and I can envision a parallel world where I live in a tiny studio apartment, poor as dirt, and write.

So, some pink moscato and a rosy cake for today's name day celebration?

Santa Rosalia, ora pro nobis!

-- six --

Lately, on Everything to Someone:

• my {baby bonnet obsession} reaches an all-time high with autumnal hues.
• I think (don't hold your breath!) I've discovered the three techniques I need to master in order to have {a good start to the day}!
• my friend Caitlin indulged my curiosity and tapped out a guest post about how to be sensitive, as a blogger, to {readers who don't have children}.
• our {life in Wales}.
• and what's {in my makeup bag}.

-- seven --

Quick and interesting clicks!  Check out:

• this intriguing {saint calendar with original portraits} commissioned by some sort of Italian fashion magazine.
• chic graphic design freebies and printables from {We Lived Happily Ever After}.
• these insanely {trendy and chic Catholic jewelry} pieces.

Linking up with Christy! this week for {Seven Quick Takes Friday}.

#7QT: In My Commonplace Book

Lately, I've been trying to keep a commonplace book of some kind.  I used to do this before I knew what a commonplace book was, so I'm sort of an old hand at it.   Here are seven examples of what's been populating the ole' notebook lately.

-- one --

{The Cloister Walk} by Kathleen Norris

Liturgical time is essentially poetic time, ordered toward process rather than productivity, willing to wait attentively in stillness rather than always pushing to "get the job done."

-- two --

{The Magician's Nephew} by C.S. Lewis

For what you see and hear depends a good deal on where you are standing: it also depends on what sort of person you are.

-- three --

{Dad Is Fat} by Jim Gaffigan

All moms seemed simultaneously tireless and on the brink of exhaustion.

-- four --

{Charlotte's Web} by E.B. White

People believe almost anything they see in print.

-- five --

Children pay better attention than grownups.

-- six --

{The Sword in the Stone} by T.H. White

Education is experience.  And experience is the essence of self-reliance.

-- seven --

[To learn] is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting.

∆∆∆

Some good inspirational sources for getting in the mood of keeping a commonplace book, or just finding material worth collecting, are {Cold-pressed}, {Holy Sparkle}, and {Amongst Lovely Things}.

Do you keep a commonplace book or something like it?  If you're curious, do a google image search for some beautiful historical examples.  Also, {my new favorite movie with Simon Pegg and Rosamund Pike} has a really neat commonplace book/journal example!

Linking up with Kelly for {Seven Quick Takes}!

On Living Intentionally

(Note: This post was written in July, before coming to Wales.)

The knowledge of my limitations has been growing especially this past month.  With all the driving and sleeping--things necessary for the successful and healthy/happy functioning of myself and my children for the other parts of the day--I have less time than ever.  Therefore, I have had to become extremely intentional with how I spend that time.

Aside from sleeping, eating, bathing, driving, the chores of laundry, cooking, and dishes I try to tackle as they come; but they can be put off for a while.  This is carefully considered taking into account whether or not I have enough clothing, food, and clean cutlery to function for the rest of the day, and whether or not I will have enough of a time slot to accomplish them in the foreseeable future, before I do run out of them.

I'm doubling the use of my time by listening to audio books during the long drives.  And even during short ones.  I take naps whenever I can get them, drink a lot of Starbucks Refreshers, and run errands as they come up--like going to the bank or the grocery store.  Maybe a brief outing or a sweet treat for a feast day.

Skyping with my husband is important but not immediate.

The rest I have had to weigh in order of importance and value.  Value being the amount of joy, rest, or spiritual refreshment I get from the task or activity.  Because spiritual food is just as important as physical.

Right now, my intentional living must include the following: reading (or audio books), blogging (writing), playing with Roan (this can be in chunks scattered throughout the day), and bed-time routine/reading with Afon.  Those are the non-negotiables.  If I don't whip up a three-course dinner, answer my friend's email, or do my makeup one day, I'm okay with it.  Some things need to make way in order for the things of greater importance to get done.

This translates to the bigger picture, at least during my child-rearing years.  I know I won't be able to try, much less excel, at the {all of my interests}.  If I had to choose only a handful to focus on for the rest of my life, they would be these:

Writing  //  via blogging, poetry, journaling, or storytelling.  I would drop all other hobbies in order to preserve this first and last love.

Photography  //  it is important to me to capture the little daily wonders and the to document the blossoming of my children.  It is also greatly relaxing for me to sit back and edit/process photographs at the end of the day, or when I need a mental break.

Liturgical living  //  aside from prayer, Mass attendance, and the other obligations of the practicing Catholic, I strive to be aware of the liturgical calendar and incorporate the rhythms of the Church into daily life.

What about you?  Do you struggle to live intentionally?  What are your non-negotiable necessities?

Journaling

I used to keep journals. Not regularly. Usually when I traveled. Rome. Ecuador. Wales. Those were the times I wanted to clutch experiences like fireflies, to dash out my first impressions before they could lose their glamor from examination, familiarty, and staleness.

And then some day years later, perhaps when you are cleaning house or looking for something to do on a rainy day, you pick it up and turn through the pages, and it is is a delight to discover little swatches of time and memory tucked between the pages.

Do you (or did you) keep a journal?  What sort of things do you (or did you) write about?

Yarn Along

This little hat and card arrived yesterday, just in time for mama and baby to come home from the hospital!  I was impressed that it went half way round the world to Alaska in such good timing.  Anyway, it means I can post pictures now without spoiling the surprise.

I more or less made up the pattern for this little crochet hat.  Nothing complex.  I wanted it to look like a little white flower with a green stem.  The recipient won't be able to wear it for a while, but as she wasn't yet born while I was making it, I didn't want to risk the chance of making it too small, so I opted for baby rather than infant/newborn size.

Afon and I are reading The Wind in the Willows aloud at bedtime.  It's a first for both of us, and even though I know he's not really paying attention except for the sparse pictures, I want it imprinted in his memory for when we come to it again.  It really is very much a summer story, something to cuddle up to with the window open and the hint of late evening light lingering in the sky.

I welcomed the Jehovah's Witnesses into my home for their second visit today*, and during a frenzy of cleaning, found these verses from before I was even married (but after I was engaged, as the scrolling signatures practicing my married name attest).  This leaf of paper recently occupied space between the worn pages of my Morte d'Arthur but has since been removed and kindly ripped in three by Sir Afon.  The first lines go like this:

Wales, in places, bares its bones
to wind and time.  The tattered homes
of ancient heroes, nondescript absences
where grass won't

and then were promptly abandoned.  A few lines down, a new stanza beginning a new poem:

Golden Guinevere of the summer wood,
voluptuously ripened in kingdom's plenty.
Echoes in crags of riverbeds sound
the crowning bloom of Arthur's kingdom.
Sweet, full, much for one mouth to contain.
She is honey, stickily clinging to that she touches.
She is the hum of crickets at days end,
a raucous, soothing signal of ending.
She is queen.  She will carry them over,
the flower and the tree.

And then there are some doodles of arrows and leaves.  It was either mid- or late summer when I wrote these lines, not late spring/early summer like it is now, but being here, in Wales, the feeling of what it was to write them is very present to me.  It's interesting to see where my mind was at the time, deeply immersed in writing my Arthurian thesis, in the sun-soaked summer of Wales, mild and fertile.  Looking at them over an expanse of years is eerie and nostalgic, like glimpsing the other side of a riverbank through the fog in early morning.

*Yes, I'm aware they're trying to convert me, even though they say they aren't.  But they don't know that I know.  And they certainly don't know that I'm trying to convert them back!

Today

Feeling // worn out from not one, but two trips to Bangor this weekend!

Seeing // the streaks of gray rain outside the window, first real rainstorm since March!  And this past weekend, the lambs and sheep!

Smelling // rain.

Tasting // lingering baking soda from the scones from breakfast

Listening // to Afon's happy chatter as he draws.  He is a thoughtful artist and pauses occasionally to hold the pen up to his chin or in his mouth.

Reading // The Wind in the Willows, a first time for me and Afon.

Praying // for friends with difficult relatives, friends going through crises of faith.

Working // on the second chapter of the second draft of The Spinning Wheel.  And just finishing a much-loved crochet project!

Grateful // for a safe labor and delivery for a friend's third child.  Welcome, baby Alice!

Hoping // for a productive week.

Where We Write

I rotate between the bed and dinner table; but regardless of where I'm writing, I need a lot of space to spread out all my books, papers, notes, and bric-a-brac.  My work space is always expansive, whether writing, cooking, crocheting. . .

Ideally, I would write on the cliff overlooking the seal-sea, about a mile's walk from home . . . or in the Fairy Glen by the by the riverside, shaded by spring leaves.  But it's difficult to transport all I need into a temporary outside office, so I often end up just jotting down little notes and inspirations, taking a photo or two.

A writer's space is sacred, and I've come to appreciate Virigina Wolf's "A Room of One's Own" more than ever.  I've never seen myself as a feminist, and I despise the second- and third-wave feminisms.  They either reject the feminine altogether in favor of "masculinity" or diminish womanhood to its lowest common denominator, making her little more than a bitch in heat.

But there is still a double standard, especially in the writer's lifestyle.  A male writer is less likely to be frowned upon for his untidy home, and a woman with children is too often expected to sacrifice her identity and her creativity to attend them.

Terri Windling turned me onto this curious and thought-provoking film, titled Who Does She Think She Is?:

I'm intrigued.  Maybe if a few people are interested in it, we can do a little viewing and discussion group.  (And buying through the link above generates income to go toward my own copy, so thank you!).

Still, the most positive and most hopeful outlook on the writing mother was provided and beautifully expressed in this article in Dappled Things: "The Mother's Vocation and the Writer's Life."

Where do you write?  Go here to link up with Masha at Cyganeria.

The Flower of the Imagination: a Case for Dragons

{Please note:  This is a Catholic-interest post, I'm afraid, but that doesn't mean non-Catholics can't chime in and/or enjoy.  Just keep in mind that I write from a heavily Catholic perspective and that a suggestion to dismiss moral value in the arts will be a bit irrelevant to the conversation!}

I've been troubled by a literary trend in the Catholic community that draws severe lines of categorization regarding moral archetypes.*  Harry Potter is the obvious example, an engaging albeit imperfect series with some beautiful moments reflecting Christian truth and values.  But the mere mention of the word "witch" cause some to banish it from their bookshelves forever, without even cracking open the cover.

There is more witchy to Harry Potter than the word, I'll grant, but what about other stories that rename symbols or use the imagery from another culture or civilization?  What about the well-loved A Wrinkle in Time, which merely uses the word "witch" tongue-in-cheek to stand-in for celestial beings, perhaps even angels?  What about the wizard Merlin who appears as a sage and a Christian in C.S. Lewis's That Hideous Strength, who is allowed to use the last bit of pre-Fallen Earth's command of nature to save the world and then to pass on?

In the same type of severity, dragons are dismissed as evil in all literature, and any treatment of a dragon as good is an inversion of truth.  As Catholics, we believe that what is not true comes from the Enemy--that is why he is called the Father of Lies.  But are all symbols so iron and non-negotiable?

In the east, dragons are wise and often benevolent, associated with luck and prosperity.  It's hard to say that this is an inversion, since the civilizations of Asia are far older than those of western Europe, except in the sense that they're symbols are opposite ours.  Which would only make sense, as we are on opposite sides of the globe.

But, people argue, in the Bible the serpent is cursed by God, and should always be associated with evil. Well then, say I, what about Moses's use of the snake on the staff--not even a real snake, but a seeming idol!--to heal and perform miracles?  With this task he was charged by God Himself.  It seems that even in the same cultures, sometimes symbols can be inverted.

There's a similar case for witches.  According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the word witch first appears without any negative connotation; it's not until several centuries later that a second usage appeared that was more or less synonymous with the idea of witches we have today--devil-worshipers or evil spirits (citation as soon as I get back to the library).  Even then, the clear-cut dichotomy of magic being always evil did not exist** and in fact didn't become the majority belief until the {late Middle Ages}.  Before then, the belief in the supernatural other than God lived side-by-side with a deep devotion to the Church.  One need only look at Ireland as late as the first half of the twentieth century.

I have a theory that the reason why no one saw a problem with this apparent hypocrisy was because it was kept in the proper order: God was Lord.  And the other creatures or ways were rendered impotent, with the sign of the Cross or a a consecrated Host.  Dracula illustrates a superb example of the sovereignty of Christ.  Modern supernatural thrillers would be over a lot sooner if they'd just call the exorcist to bring in the Eucharist.

Vampires are another archetype enjoying a great revival at the moment.  Though as far as I know, vampires have in every time and place been on the evil spectrum of archetype, I have no problem with the modern obsession of redeeming them . . . so long as it is done believably and does not indulge in what Flannery O'Connor calls "sin against art."  I think clinging to the original archetype of the vampire as something dangerous, depraved, and hungry for redemption (John 6:54, anyone?) is what makes him so attractive to modern readers--not that the archetype is inverted so that vampires now appear good rather than bad.***  Our generation is all too familiar with the attractiveness of evil . . . aware of the that strong, thin thread of the Holy Spirit, calling us to salvation.

When I was younger, I used to believe that there were far more absolute truths than there actually are.  Absolute truths about what is {beautiful and modest}, what is the proper form of worship, who is in the right and wrong on particular political and philosophical issues, even {absolute truths in parenting}.  But experience and gentle discipline from God have taught me otherwise.

That is not to say that we shouldn't approach our reading material with caution: {those with sound formation have a far greater chance for sifting the truth and beauty from the trash and poison in modern literature}.  Those struggling or with young children have greater need for discernment.  But if we sweep all stories with non-evil dragons, benevolent witches, and less-than-saintly protagonists into the same off-limits categories, we risk experiencing the deepness that is the story of our Redemption.  We skip to the Resurrection at expense of the Cross.  

We must find a way to kill the weed without uprooting the flower.

∆∆∆

*  For further reading, see {A Landscape with Dragons} by Michael O'Brien.  (Kindle version available {here}.)
**  I've twelve months of post-graduate study on Arthurian literature and a Master's thesis under my belt to affirm the ambiguity of the magical figure in the Dark and Middle Ages.
***  I speak with limited knowledge on the subject, as I have not read the grandam of supernatural romance, the Twilight series.