I really am pathetic.

Mr Izz finished his finals today…which means only 5 months until he is DONE, and only a year and a half until we are in Ireland!!! Anyway. Where was I? Oh, right, finals. He’s done, which is a grand thing. I went and picked him up after his last one, and since he didn’t have coffee before he left this morning, he decided to stop at a coffee shop on the way home. Of course I was thrilled. I mean, I love coffee, and this particular coffee shop has the added attraction of boasting a large assortment of used books for sale as well. And I mean it when I say large assortment; they have cookbooks, trashy romance novels, classics, kids’ books…you name it, they have it or something similar to it. But even with all of these lovely categories to choose from, there is one category I migrate to more than any other (after the trashy romance novels, of course)…the Poetry Section. Whenever I am in the coffee shop, it is an absolute necessity to see if there might be anything new and exciting in the poetry section. But I don’t run over to it immediately…I try to be coy and nonchalant about the whole thing. There is no need to let on how much I adore books of poetry. I’m certain Mr Izz has no idea of how much I really do adore them, based on my nonchalance. I am very good at it…I think.

I get my coffee and sit down to hear all about Mr Izz’s finals, my coffee cup firmly grasped in both hands to warm up my fingers. I peer at him over the rim of my cup as I take a sip, as he goes on about how he should have done better on such and such an exam, trying hard to focus on what he is saying. It doesn’t take long, however, until my eyes wander over toward the poetry books…I wonder if there is anything new? I haven’t been in here for a while…is someone talking to me? “IZZ! Do you want another cup of coffee?” he asked me quite loudly. “Oh! Yes, I do. Sorry, I have a lot on my mind.” I reply. Mr Izz rolls his eyes and walks off. Now, why on earth did he roll his eyes like that? What a dork.

As he gets our coffee, my eyes wander back to the poetry section. It looks like there is a red book I don’t remember seeing the last time I was in. My interest is piqued by this time. I am half aware of my coffee placed in front of me, and Mr Izz sitting back down. Finally, he says “Will you just go over there and look at the damn poetry books? It would be nice to have you even somewhat interested in talking to me and you won’t be until you check them out.” I just stare at him for a minute. I have no idea where that came from…geeze. But, what the heck…I smile, jump up, say “I’ll be just a minute!:, and bound off to take a looksy. I think Mr Izz uttered “Be right back, yeah, right” but I’m not sure. By that time I was already at the poetry section. But he would have said it…he’s rude like that.

So, the poetry books are wonderful as always, but I have to see what that red book was. I find it quickly, pull it out, and…..oh my! It’s a book of selected poems and two plays by William Butler Yeats. Of course, I have to buy it. That’s a no brainer.

I skip back to the table in a jovial mood, take a sip of my coffee, and say: “See? I was only a minute. And by the way, I’m buying this book.”

“Another poetry book? Don’t you have enough of those?” Then he looks at the book itself. “I know you have at least one Yeats book! You don’t need another one! You’re starting to remind me of the Mel Gibson character in Conspiracy Theory!”

“I do not! You’re just being totally rude” I retort. I then spin on my heel and march up to the register to buy the book…making sure to throw a death glare his way as I walk. I swear, he’s nuts. I don’t have that many poetry books, and surely not tons of Yeats. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

We finish our coffee, then drive home, Mr Izz rambling on about his exams. And he says I’m obsessed. I walk into the house, give hugs and kisses hello to various Izzlets, and then proceed to put my new book with the other poetry books. Right next to my other books of Yeats’ poetry. Hmmmmm……SIGH! Oh well. I’m not saying a word to Mr Izz about this.

 

I’m “overly engrossed”, it seems…

I’ve been accused on a friend’s blog of being “overly engrossed” with Chesterton and poetry. I actually do take issue with this…if you are going to accuse me of being overly engrossed about something, there are far better examples you could use. And honestly, I think I read more Belloc than Chesterton…but let’s run with this. I hereby dedicate this post to my friend, Thomas, who apparently hates poetry, and has little use for Chesterton. And just to make it all the more special, I’ve put these two things in which I am overly engrossed into one neat, little package. For your reading pleasure, a poem….by G.K.Chesterton:

A Ballade of Suicide

The gallows in my garden, people say,
Is new and neat and adequately tall;
I tie the noose on in a knowing way
As one that knots his necktie for a ball;
But just as all the neighbours–on the wall–
Are drawing a long breath to shout “Hurray!”
The strangest whim has seized me. . . . After all
I think I will not hang myself to-day.

To-morrow is the time I get my pay–
My uncle’s sword is hanging in the hall–
I see a little cloud all pink and grey–
Perhaps the rector’s mother will not call– I fancy that I heard from Mr. Gall
That mushrooms could be cooked another way–
I never read the works of Juvenal–
I think I will not hang myself to-day.

The world will have another washing-day;
The decadents decay; the pedants pall;
And H.G. Wells has found that children play,
And Bernard Shaw discovered that they squall,
Rationalists are growing rational–
And through thick woods one finds a stream astray
So secret that the very sky seems small–
I think I will not hang myself to-day.

Envoi

Prince, I can hear the trumpet of Germinal,
The tumbrils toiling up the terrible way;
Even to-day your royal head may fall,
I think I will not hang myself to-day.

And with that, I think I’ll go and re-read Chesterton’s The Outline of Sanity, just for the heck of it. Thomas, I’d be more than happy to send you a copy. I’m sure you’d find it rather enlightening

 

To Autumn

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,–
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

-John Keats

 

October

The green elm with the one great bough of gold
Lets leaves into the grass slip, one by one, –
The short hill grass, the mushrooms small milk-white,
Harebell and scabious and tormentil,
That blackberry and gorse, in dew and sun,
Bow down to; and the wind travels too light
To shake the fallen birch leaves from the fern;
The gossamers wander at their own will.
At heavier steps than birds’ the squirrels scold.
The rich scene has grown fresh again and new
As Spring and to the touch is not more cool
Than it is warm to the gaze; and now I might
As happy be as earth is beautiful,
Were I some other or with earth could turn
In alternation of violet and rose,
Harebell and snowdrop, at their season due,
And gorse that has no time not to be gay.
But if this be not happiness, — who knows?
Some day I shall think this a happy day,
And this mood by the name of melancholy
Shall no more blackened and obscured be.

-Edward Thomas

 

More from Casa Izz…

I sometimes wonder where on earth my children get things. The things they say! I find myself on many occasions just looking at them, shaking my head in disbelief. Not that what they say is bad per se…it’s just odd, especially when it’s coming from their mouths. Take today for example.

I was sitting at the dinner table, minding my own business, and eating my dinner. All of a sudden, Éamon, who happens to sit right next to me, asks rather urgently “Can I have a drink?” Pause for a second here…had this been one of the older children, I would have first corrected them on their poor grammar (a pet peeve of mine) and then said no until they can ask nicely…given it’s Éamon, and he’s not quite 3, I let it go. Just thought I’d put that in there. So he asks his urgent question, then, without giving me a chance to respond, asks again “Can I PLEASE have a drink?”…ahhh! There’s the please! …I turn to look at him, and as I do, he says “If you give me a drink, I give you three dollars!” I was a bit taken aback. Where on earth…? But it was humourous, I must admit, so I get him his drink, set it in front of him, and then hold out my hand. He gets all wide eyed, touches my hand for a second, and then says “I have no moneys!” At this I started to laugh. It was just too darn cute for words. My laughing, of course, gets him going, and we both had a hearty laugh over the events, although I’m fairly certain he had no idea why we were laughing.

This is one of the cool things about kids. Even when you’re having a bad day and things just aren’t looking all that great, they are good for a laugh or two. It’s either something they say, or something they do, or sometimes even something they don’t do. But there it is…you laugh in spite of yourself. And, at least for me, your day brightens immediately, and the woes of the world that you are having to deal with don’t seem nearly as woeful as they had. Maybe that’s why I have so darn many of them. I love to laugh, and they make sure I do on a daily basis.

 

Easy As Pie

Both of my grandmothers were fantastic cooks. One of the joys of my life growing up was having supper at either of their houses because you always knew it was going to be something fabulous. One grandmother’s cooking had a definite Southern flair: pinto beans simmered with a huge slab of salt pork and freshly baked corn bread on the side or country fried chicken complete with “white gravy” and biscuits. Yum! The other grandmother was a whiz at “comfort foods”. Her breaded veal cutlets were to die for, and no one made Macaroni and Cheese like she did. No one. Now that I’m hungry, and have a need to raid the pantry, let’s press on….

Both of my grandmothers are now gone (may they rest in peace), but their legacies live on in my cooking. Many of my recipes came from them, which helps keep all those good memories I had alive…whenever I pull one of those recipes out, I think of them and have a story or two to tell about them to the Izzlets. And while their styles of cooking were vastly different, there was one area of expertise they held in common and that area was PIE. Apple pies with bits of Macintosh apples and just enough sweet and tart to create a delicious balance. Pie crusts so flaky, they’d practically break into a million pieces if you blew on them (neither of them were from Oklahoma though….don’t get it? Oh well. I do…that’s enough to make it funny for ME!). To me, as a child, their pies were the crowning glory of their culinary excellence, and the one thing I always looked forward to learning how to master myself.

The years went by, and I eventually married Mr Izz, and the Izzlets started to accumulate. The first few years of pie making were hard…my crusts just didn’t cut it (if you talk to Mr Izz, he’ll more than gladly tell you all about how many times he’s “saved” my pie crust….but he can start his own blog to tell you because I refuse to). No flakes. Or my fillings weren’t flavourful enough. It was always something. But after much trial and error, and frustration I might add, I had them down pat. Everything as it should be. My pies were sought after for family functions…”You are making the pies, aren’t you?” I had finally come into my own in the art of baking pies. I was a master!….almost. There was one pie I had yet to master, and this “lack of mastery” was like a black spot on my culinary scorecard. It was, at least in my mind, the crème de la crème…the proof positive of total pie genius. It was the Lemon Meringue Pie, and I couldn’t, no matter how closely I followed the recipe, get it right. This probably wouldn’t have been a big deal…not everyone who is an accomplished pie baker can make the perfect Lemon Meringue pie, right? But for me, it was different. My Granny (the “comfort food” grandmother) was the Lemon Meringue Pie QUEEN. Her Lemon Meringue pies were absolutely the best in the world, no exceptions (no, I am not biased). Granny’s Lemon Meringue pies were always perfect…perfect blend of lemony tartness and sugary sweetness; perfectly flaky crust; perfect everything. They were totally yummy (yummy being a culinary term, of course), and I would beg her to make them for me. And she, being the doting grandmother that she was, gladly obliged when she could. Her pies were her crowning glory (in my mind anyway) and so it only made good sense to me that I should recreate them. Perfectly, as hers were perfect. No problem.

So I set forth to make my very first Lemon Meringue pie…I had motivation too, for my father in law, who loved Lemon Meringue pie and hadn’t had one made from scratch in years, had asked me to make one with the other pies I was making for a family get together. I was excited! I had perfected my perfectly flaky crust..the lemon filling would be cake…umm….pie…oh, it would be EASY. At least that’s what I thought. I read through Granny’s recipe, gathered up all my ingredients and went to work. I mixed the dry ingredients, then the wet. I squeezed my lemons and grated off the zest. I put the egg whites to the side for the meringue, mixed everything else all together, and tasted. Hmmm…there was something way off. Too much zest, but I really couldn’t get it out now that it was in. Maybe it would mellow as I cooked it. In fact, I was sure it would. Mmmmhmmmm…

The cooking was going to be easy (snort). I just had to wait for it all to thicken. The water in the bottom of the double boiler began to boil, and my lemony mixture started to heat up. I stirred and I stirred, waiting for it to thicken. Then I stirred some more….not long now, I thought. More stirring, more checking, more glancing at the clock to see how long I had been at it. After about an hour (!), I finally came to he conclusion it wasn’t going to thicken, as the watery mixture poured off the spoon. Maybe it will as it cools….although at this point I was pretty sure it wouldn’t. Sure enough, my far too nice father in law was forced to smile and compliment the lemon zest soup with the side of mushy pie crust I placed in front of him apologetically. To this day, I still have no idea what I did wrong, but my fiasco was to the be the first of many more attempts with varying results…all bad. And since a girl can only take so much, I finally swore off them completely. Granny’s legacy would die the death. I was a failure.

Fast forward several years to the present. My 17 year old son expresses interest in baking pies for his dinner night (the child chooses dinner and dessert, and also has to help cook it all). Turns out his favourite pie is, you guessed it, Lemon Meringue, although I have no idea how that happened. It’s not like I had ever made it for him. So he tells me that’s what he wants to make. I just stare at him. “You’re sure??” I ask in a small voice. “Yeah!” he answers all too confidently. No way…I have visions of past failures flash before my eyes. There is no way this can be done. I close my eyes, sigh, and say “Sure, we can do that.” Now I was committed. What have I done??

His dinner night approaches far too quickly, but it’s too late to back out. So, I read through Granny’s recipe…it had been some time since I’d done that…then read through it again, just in case. I then gathered up the ingredients and we went to work. My son squeezed the lemons as I separated the eggs. We mixed everything but the egg whites together and began to cook the whole mixture on the stovetop in a double boiler…it was almost like déja vu. I cringed as he stirred, preparing myself for the worst that I was sure was to come at any moment. After about 20 minutes, he asked “Is this thick enough?” I hesitated, then looked at the spoon in his hand, and surveyed what was in it. I turned the spoon over…and almost all of it stayed on the spoon. Let me reiterate that bit…the mixture stayed on the spoon! I started to get excited and took another spoonful just to see, and got the same result. By this time I as laughing giddily…my son thought I was daft, if the look he gave me was any indication. But it had worked!! We poured the pudding-like mixture into the pie crust…gleefully, at least on my part. As it cooled, we made the meringue, put it onto the pie, put it into the oven to brown, and I am happy to report, it came out PERFECTLY. We had done it! I know that Granny would have proud of me, and I know that I am more than proud to carry on that part of her legacy. Maybe someday my grandchildren will call me the Lemon Meringue Pie Queen.

So as I eat this last piece, and it brings me back to Granny’s kitchen, smelling those wondrous smells, I am happy. Happy that I tried again; happy that I can share my memories with my children in such a delicious way. And mostly, I am happy that I had such a grandmother that would take the time to give me some of the best memories of my life. So as I sit here, it’s almost like I am that little girl in my grandmothers kitchen again drinking a cup of tea and having a slice of her famous pie. Thank you, Granny….this one’s for you!

 

Technology and the quest for the iPhone

I am not too terribly into techology. I like my computer, but I’m lucky if I even know how to turn it on, let alone use it. It’s a good thing I have a Mac rather than something incredibly difficult to use….like a PC…anyway, onward with my story. Not only am I unable to use my VCR (yes, I do still own one. You see how backwards I really am…), but I have absolutely no idea how to use the remote control for the cable box. I can hit the button to change the channel, but that’s pretty much it. Of course, the older children like this for it means they always have ultimate control of what we watch.

This lack of technological know how also has manifested itself in the area of cellular phones. I hate talking on the phone in general, so having a mobile has never been a priority for me. When I did finally get one, it was one of those pre-paid ones with nary a bell or whistle to be had. I was fairly content with this, for I only needed it to call home and make sure everyone was alright, or see if we needed anything else from the grocery store. That’s it. No bells or whistles required. But as of 11 July, that was all going to change. Not for me, mind you…at least not entirely…but for Mr Izz. Why 11 July, you might ask? 11 July was the day millions of people, including Mr Izz, were awaiting with bated breath…it was the day that Apple’s iPhone 3G was to make it’s much anticipated grand entrance into every Apple and AT&T Store in the country. Mr Izz had been counting down the days…wait, no. The hours…until he could go to our local AT&T Store to get his. For months we had to deal with his excitement and endless reminders of “how much longer.” The week before it’s debut was all about the press releases, and based on what I had to hear, it seemed like everyone and their dog was writing about the new iPhone.

When 11 July did finally arrive, he was like a little kid, all excited about Christmas. He wanted me to go with him at 8:30am to the AT&T Store to get his phone, so after a quick cup of coffee, I went…I had no breakfast, by the way. But since I was assured that we’d be right in and out, I didn’t need to worry. Bad move on my part…very bad.

As we pulled into the parking lot, I noticed the line of about 20 or so people that had gotten there earlier than we did. Apparently one guy had been there since 5am…at an AT&T Store in our little podunk town. OURS!! Unbelievable…I did, at this time, express my concerns in regard to how many people were ahead of us, but was very quickly informed that every press release he had read said not to worry…each store would have more than enough. Right…

We take our spot in line, and Mr Izz tells the AT&T guy which phone he’s getting. We figured he was taking a count to see if he’d have enough, but no. An hour and a half later, he comes back out (after 5 or so people had gone in to get theirs, I might add) to tell us that all of the phones Mr Izz wants are now gone. An hour and a half! We waited in line only to find out he wasn’t going to get it. “Why not take the 8G instead of the 16G?” I ask. “Why get something I don’t want?” he replies. I heave a sigh as he relinquishes his spot in line, and reluctantly follow him to the car.

“What are you going to do?” I ask. “Go home, and wait until tomorrow when we’re in Watertown and get it.” Now, this is where I made a huge mistake, and where the Quest for the iPhone truly begins. I said to him: “But they’ve almost run out of all the ones they had here entirely. By tomorrow, there probably won’t be any in Watertown either.”

What I said made sense. I knew it did, and so did he. So when we got home, rather than go to his office to work, he gets a few items (we can call them Quest Items…it makes it all sound far more exciting, don’t you think?) and informs the kids that he and I are going to Watertown. Amid protests and general whining from the Izzlets, he ushers me away from the cupboard where I am about to get a bowl of cereal, and drags me out to the car. Still no breakfast…SIGH! We pull out of the driveway and set off on our Quest, all the while hoping it’s not in vain.

The drive was pleasant enough. Boring, but pleasant…at least until I got us lost in downtown Watertown. We ended up way south of where we needed to be, so we had to back track. Not that getting lost was in any way exciting, but at least it broke things up a bit. Too bad I am unable to foretell the future…back tracking would have been unnecessary.

We finally pull into the AT&T Store in Watertown and the first thing I notice is the lack of a line. At first I was happy we wouldn’t have to wait again, until it dawned on me that no line more than likely meant no phones. Sure enough, as soon as we walked in we were informed they had sold out half an hour ago. So close…”Oh well! At least we tried! Let’s get going home…” I said. But going home was not the order of business. “We’re going to Syracuse, to the Apple Store” he informed me. Syracuse?! That was another hour and a half away! This really was starting to seem like a quest. Mr Izz and the Quest for the iPhone 3G. Movie material? Probably not, but it was enough of a quest for me to wish I had my Indiana Jones hat and whip. At least then I could pretend. Besides, that hat is way cool.

Next to the AT&T store is a Starbucks, so Mr Izz graciously offered to buy me a mocha or something. Yes, I do know he was trying to bribe me into caffeine induced happiness to counter my Quest induced grumpiness, but I’m not strong enough to resist such a temptation. Besides, it was the closest I was going to get to breakfast for at least another couple of hours. So after a quick pit stop in the ladies room, and a raspberry latté to go, I quite willingly climbed back into the car to continue on our Quest, Part III.

There isn’t much to say about the getting there, so I won’t. But get there we did, Mr Izz’s eyes shining with hopeful anticipation…even when he saw the line that went around the railing in front of the Apple Store, which was on the second floor of the mall. “Another line…” I sighed. More standing and waiting…perhaps to come away with nothing once again. But Mr Izz was ecstatic. “We get to be a part of the whole iPhone experience this way!!” he said gleefully. “Oh yay” I said, obviously not convinced.

Remarkably, waiting wasn’t all that horrible. The people in line around us were fun to talk to. You see, our Quest was shared by all there…we were all comrades on a mission, and that camaraderie forged a temporary bond of friendship. The people walking through the mall wondering why we were all in line didn’t understand, as they walked away scoffing and shaking their heads at us. But our comrades did understand…we all celebrated when one of our comrades hit a waiting milestone: when one of us reached the escalator, or when one of us rounded the corner, or finally when one of us was able to sit on the blue bench in front of the store. As each of us hit a milestone, there was an air of jubilance over the achievement. For we all understood…we were in this together until the bitter end. Although, I had warned Mr Izz that the end had better be anything but bitter. I must admit that even I got caught up in it all to a certain extent. We all talked, laughed and expressed our excitement…because of this, the time flew. Before too long (2 hours to be exact) we were the next to go in. Almost there…Mr Izz could hardly contain himself. The last leg of our iPhone Quest was upon us!

When they called us into the store, Mr Izz bolted in. He gave his “order” and was presented with the cutest little bag which contained his new toy…erm…iPhone. We then had to be connected with the AT&T network…this is where the big problems…well, the NEXT portion of the big problems…came into play. AT&T decided to try to thwart our efforts and prevent us from finishing our quest. For whatever reason, we were unable to connect to the network, therefore the phone was unusable. Over and over we tried, but we were continually rejected. But their evil plan of nonconnection was futile…after an hour and a half of trying to get it all up and running, his iPhone was fully functional. He walked out of the Apple Store with it in his hand, and the biggest smile on his face. He had completed his Quest, despite all attempts to prevent him from doing so. And while I sat int he restaurant (breakfast at last! At 5pm….SIGH!), watching him play with his new toy, I was happy. Yes, happy because it was finally over and he had his phone, but mostly because he was happy. Despite all the hassles, it was kinda cool to be one of the Quest seekers; to live the whole experience. I’m sure it’s something I’ll tell my grandchildren…or not.

You might wonder how this whole saga got me into the 21st Century…how it all ties in to my initial paragraph. Let me explain…Mr Izz’s getting an iPhone meant I had to get a mobile as well (family plans are cheaper and all that). A real one, with bells, whistles and cool ringtones to boot! Oh, and a camera. Plus, it’s pink, which is coolness all in of itself. I’m so hip now, I can hardly stand it. So, while it’s not an iPhone, it’s still cool. I mean, come on! It’s PINK. Need I say more? I now just have to figure out how to use it…maybe the kids will teach me. Hmmmm…..

 

And I’m off…

last post for the next 10 days or so. As of this time tomorrow I’ll be flying across the ocean on my way to distant shores of Emerald. Unbelievable, isn’t it? I’ve been preparing myself as well as the rest of the clan for days now….well, actually weeks, but who’s counting? My stress levels have been off the charts (and still are to a certain extent…), and I feel like I may just burst from the excitement of it all, but there is still a part of me that is in a state of disbelief. I suppose it will take getting onto that plane to make me a believer.

Ok…I have those last few things to throw into a suitcase so I can actually be ready to go. Wish me luck! Hopefully I’ll have lots of tales to tell upon my return. There will be pubs to visit, music to play and listen to, and many, many things to see and take in…that should be enough fodder for many a post for quite some time to come, don’t you think?

 

Delinquency

Yes…that is exactly what I have been guilty of as of late. Delinquency. When I first starting this blog, my goal was to write a post a day. That goal, obviously, has fallen by the wayside as I work on a blogless second month. It’s not that I have a lack of things to write about. It’s just I never seem to find the time. Time, where hast thou gone?

A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting at my computer trying to play a horribly elusive jig…Geese in the Bog (I’m still kind of wondering why they need to be in the bog to begin with…wouldn’t on the lake be better? I’m sure it would have come much more quickly had it been a lake. Or a river. Or a pond….anything but a bog. Oh well….I’ve ventured off topic again, haven’t I? SIGH! ). My window was open, and a soft breeze was blowing through, bringing with it the most wonderful fragrance of lilacs from the bushes in the yard. For about 5 minutes, I stopped playing and just savoured the delicious smell…I’m certain that if heaven has a smell, it would closely resemble lilacs. It was truly glorious, and I really was wishing I could bottle the smell in a jar, and open it at my leisure. But now, like the time, they too have passed very quickly. It’s amazing how one moment I’m sitting and taking in the wondrous scent and the next it’s gone. Just like how time seems to be zipping by with such rapidity that it seems like only yesterday I wrote a post here. SIGH!

I suppose I’m a bit dismayed at how quickly things are going. My eldest is now 18, learning how to drive and will soon be off on her own adventures. My baby is 2…talking and acting so much like a big boy; his babyishness has gone by the wayside, much like his elder brother’s did not too long ago…or was it far longer? I think I’ve lost track.

Amidst all of this, a dream of mine that has been long in coming is finally coming true. Next week, I will be boarding an airplane bound for Dublin, Ireland. This is one area in which I’m very glad that time is flying as quickly as it is. I’ve waited for this my entire life, and now it’s almost here. I can hardly contain my excitement…I tend to dance around the house quite a bit in anticipation, and break into some Irish tune or another at the oddest times. The kids think I’m weird, I’m sure, but that’s what they’re supposed to think anyway, right? In this case, all I can say is it’s about time! I’ve waited a lifetime after all…

I’m not sure what else to say. I have Izzlets trying to talk to me every few seconds, which of course is ruining my already compromised train of thought. I do feel badly that it’s taken so long for me to write. I have a few things banging around in my head that I’d like to sit and write about. Soon…..hopefully. But rest assured that when I do return from my trip, I’ll have a plethora of material to put into written form and enthrall my audience which I’m sure have been waiting with bated breath for my next posting. Well…maybe not, but I know I’ll have loads to say by then. If only I can find the time….aye, there’s the rub….

 

As Heard in Casa Izz…..

Catechism 101…Izzlet style!

Me, to the littles: “Does anyone know what the 8th Commandment is?”

Several hands go up (although I’m smart enough to know that not all
of them know the answer)…picking one out of the sea of hands:

Me: “Alright, tell me”

Unnamed Izzlet: “Thou shalt not….ummmmm…..wait! I do know
it…..ummmm….oh YEAH!!! Thou shalt not bear false witness against
thy neighbor’s wife!!!” (with a very pleased look upon their face, I
might add).

So there you have it. You can lie, so long as you don’t lie to your neighbour’s wife. And remember, you heard it here first!