by jphilo | Jul 18, 2014 | Family
With a book deadline breathing down my neck, this summer has required some difficult choices. The hardest was the decision not to attend the July Family Camp at Shadow Valley in Idaho. Another, not nearly so difficult, was to cut back on blogging. Today’s post combines the two decisions by taking a peek back at a historic moment at last year’s Family Camp.
Yesterday, this view was the backdrop for Sunday morning worship at family camp.
Beautiful guitar music accompanied the singing.
The beautiful guitar was made from wood cut from a tree that grew only yards away from where we gathered to worship.
The only missing link was Hiram, the man who made the guitar, unable to be present because of limited vacation time. But everyone in attendance was thinking of him and grateful for his gift to Shadow Valley Camp, the gift of music to a family who loves to sing.
To learn more about how the guitar was made, the story is online at First You Cut Down a Tree. As wife of the guitar maker I may be biased, but the process is fascinating. So take a look and if you like what you see, leave a comment at either blog or both. Both the guitar maker and his wife would love to hear what you think!
P.S. Our grandson is so fascinated by his Papoo who makes guitars that we are using the photos of the process to make a picture book for his birthday. He’s gonna love it!
by jphilo | Jun 29, 2012 | Daily Life
Discombobulated.
My adjective of choice after a discombobulated week that followed hard on the heels of a discombobulated month thanks to the man of steel’s back troubles. Sure, the surgeon used fancy-schmancy terms like “ruptured disk” and “disk extrusion.” But I knew he really meant Hiram’s back was…
Discombobulated.
This general term is more specific to our situation because though the doctor removed Hiram’s stitches on Monday, and said his recovery is going well, he also said the man of steel needs to be off work for at least two more weeks. So he can do physical therapy to strengthen his back. But when he’s not at physical therapy, he’s still puttering around. Which means his guitars are scattered throughout the house. Which makes me feel…
Discombobulated.
Don’t get me wrong. Having Hiram and his guitars around the house is pleasant. But his presence means I keep interrupting my work to ask him questions or tell him important stuff. Because writers take advantage of any distraction to avoid writing. Which means my daily writing routine is pretty…
Discombobulated.
My condition persists even though Hiram’s extra time off mean we were able to make a quick trip to Wisconsin to see Allen and Abbey earlier this week. Even though the extra time off means our upcoming trip Minneapolis for a baby shower won’t be rushed. Even though the extra recovery time means we can watch more episodes of Lost, which we became addicted to when Hiram couldn’t get around much. Even though I’m counting all those blessings, this creature of habit still feels…
Discombobulated.
Kinda like after we brought each of our babies home, and it took a few months to get used to the new normal. Except in this case, about the time I get used to the new normal, the doctor will say Hiram can go back to work. And I’ll sit around the house feeling…not lonely or aimless. No, I’ll once again feel…
Discombobulated.
by jphilo | Feb 20, 2012 | Daily Life
I have a bad case of blog envy this morning. It started when my husband borrowed my camera to take guitar-making pictures to post on his website. Pictures like this
and this
and this
and this
to engage the world in the construction of the guitar he’s making. Pretty cool, huh?
So cool it gave me a raging case of blog entry because guitar makers like Hiram, my friend Clare who blogs at www.NanaClaresKitchen.com, and other crafty souls – even the Decorah eagles’ nest – can post engaging, fascinating pictures people flock to see.
Writers have no such advantage. I suppose I could post pictures of a manuscript rough draft like this
and then post an update when a new sentence is added, like this
or jazz things up by highlighting de-dangled participles, like this
to get people excited about what I’m writing. But the progress of a bunch of words on a page will never be as interesting as the building of a guitar, making cashew chicken, or waiting for baby eagles to hatch. This explains why we writers are so often such tortured souls. We slave away in front of our computers, wrestling words into stories while the rest of the world makes visible progress on guitars, meals, and other stuff that’s for the birds.
But no more blog envy for me. I won’t grow bitter. Instead, I’ll spend the morning purging my manuscript of exclamation points and commas and poor grammar. It’s not a glitzy job or an easy one, but somebody has to do it.
Such is the life of a writer.
Sigh.
Beautiful guitar music accompanied the singing.
The beautiful guitar was made from wood cut from a tree that grew only yards away from where we gathered to worship.
The only missing link was Hiram, the man who made the guitar, unable to be present because of limited vacation time. But everyone in attendance was thinking of him and grateful for his gift to Shadow Valley Camp, the gift of music to a family who loves to sing.
