Hello.

 

Hi, I'm Annie.

Mother of 3,
spouse to G,
writer of things,
former batgirl,
sister,
daughter,
lucky friend,
and American
living in Australia.

Basic Joy = my attempt to document all of this life stuff, stubbornly looking for the joy in dailiness. 

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On my bookshelf
Annie's bookshelf:

Mama, Ph.D.: Women Write About Motherhood and Academic LifeMountains Beyond Mountains: The Quest of Dr. Paul Farmer, a Man Who Would Cure the WorldThe Sweetness at the Bottom of the PieThe Island: A NovelThe PassageSecret Spaces of Childhood

More of Annie's books »
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Gallery

Just a collection of images that bring out the happy & hygge in me. 

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and at my Pinterest pinboards

Entries in poem (10)

Saturday
May092009

Less forest, more home


















"Sometimes our life reminds me
of a forest in which there is a graceful clearing
and in that opening a house,
an orchard and garden,
comfortable shades, and flowers
red and yellow in the sun, a pattern
made in the light for the light to return to.
The forest is mostly dark, its ways
to be made anew day after day, the dark
richer than the light and more blessed,
provided we stay brave
enough to keep on going in."
~Wendell Berry, The Country of Marriage, III

Happy weekend: here's to less forest, more home.

The boys are going camping.
{So I guess more forest for them!}
The girls are enjoying time together and walking in the March for Babies 
{feel like you can throw $5 to the cause? click here}
Various and sundry social engagements for the daughters.
Baseball.
Mother's day.

Hats off to all you mothers and motherers!
Enjoy your lanyards.

photos via JF PLS's flickr

Thursday
May082008

nine and a half

picture by Sam, today at the pond

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.
{Robert Frost, Prayer in Spring}

I kept thinking of this poem (admittedly just bits and pieces of it) as Sam and I spent the morning, thanks to a teacher work day at the elementary school, walking around Walden Pond and, later, riding bikes around our neighborhood. Spring is at its fullest today, this very minute. All the tulips and blossoms and popping buds are at their peak color and form. Another few hours, it feels like, and it will be lesser, wilted spring. On her way to summer.

Sam feels like that to me, too, these days. I'd like to keep him here in the springing of his life, just preserve this version of him for a while longer. I can't think of anything I don't like about his nine-and-a-half-year-old self. He's curious. He's funny. He's handsome in an awkward, big tooth hatching, unselfaware way. He wears his emotions right out in front, practically pinned to his shirt. He's game for whatever comes his way (except maybe too much time in the car). And everything about life is interesting to him...everything! I'm sometimes startled by the topics that are running around his head when he suddenly gives me a view in there. Here are some random topics that came up out of the blue during our walk. We'd be walking along in a companionable silence and he would burst out with:

Where does a penguin fit in the food chain of Antarctica? In the middle?

* * *

Description of a Mythbuster episode that was looking at whether Macgyver's construction of an airplane from duct tape, a cement mixer and something else could really happen (answer=not really).
Me: "Do you know who Macgyver is? Did they tell you on the Mythbuster show?"
S: "He's kind of a famous explorer."
Well, kind of.

* * *

How did the sound shhhh come to mean "be quiet"?

* * *

Intricate outlining plots of several books he's read. (I'm ashamed to admit my mind wandered a bit during some of this.)

* * *
Mom, how many sharps or flats does B minor have?

* * *

I'm trying not to do my typical mental leaping ahead "to the uncertain harvest," which for me can be anything as soon as what will we have for dinner? to distant worries like am I giving them enough to prepare them for their lives? where will they go to college? will they find both work to do that gives them joy and someone to love? I need days like today with Sam to remind me how delicious it is to simply enjoy the springing of the year. Nothing more, no agendas, no mental leaping. Just here + now.

Tuesday
Mar182008

Going green

Boston St. Paddy's parade, photo via flickr

If you're going to celebrate St. Patrick's Day somewhere besides the Emerald country itself, Boston is the place. (Quite possibly this is why Greg yesterday oddly advised the missionaries to go drink a green beer today. Or he's trolling for a release...? They laughed nervously.) Everybody claims Irishness today.

But I, must say, Maddy looks the very part today (just as green as last year) especially with her redbrown hair and green eyes (and lots of green bling):

Lastly & semi-related, maybe this would be a good day to add this favorite:

Postscript
And some time make the time to drive out west
Into County Clare, along the Flaggy Shore,

In September or October, when the wind

And the light are working off each other

So that the ocean on one side is wild

With foam and glitter, and inland among stones

The surface of a slate-grey lake is lit

By the earthed lightening of a flock of swans,

Their feathers roughed and ruffling, white on white,
Their fully grown headstrong-looking heads

Tucked or cresting or busy underwater.

Useless to think you’ll park and capture it

More thoroughly. You are neither here nor there,
A hurry through which known and strange things pass
As big soft buffetings come at the car sideways

And catch the heart off guard and blow it open.
~Seamus Heaney

My related Irish blessing: May your heart be blown open.
But in a painless, pleasant way.


last two photos courtesy of Lauren & her Ireland trip

Saturday
Dec012007

Rosetti Christmas


She cowers on the bed
as a young girl would,
introduced (by an angel, no less)
to an overwhelming assignment/challenge/blessing.
I feel for this Mary,
the initial weight of the impossible
evident in her slouch and gaze.

Moments later
She straightens her posture
and says "be it unto me" and "behold"
but I love that Dante Rossetti
paints the humanness of her
"how shall it be"?


He used his sister Christina
as his model, a writer in her own right
famous for her
In the Bleak Midwinter:
What can I give him
Poor as I am
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb
If I were a wise man
I would do my part
Yet what I can I give him
Give my heart.

Happy December, friends

Friday
Sep142007

The peace of wild things

I am a worrier. Sometimes. It's usually subterranean but every once in a while a little persistent swarm of worry bees wake me in the middle of the night and demand attention. And, in spite of the fact that I can do nothing about my kids' music lessons, or world peace, or shopping lists, or the possibility of termites infesting our house at 3:00 in the morning, I insanely indulge them. I'm going to get this poem out the next time and read those little perky worries to sleep.

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

— Wendell Berry

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