The Dregs…

Happy 2009!

Winter is upon us in full force in Ohio. I have never liked winter. In fact, I would go so far as to say that I loathe winter. But as it began this year, I decided on a better attitude, and I made what amounts to a truce with winter: I would find small things to celebrate about the winter season (hot teas, soups, baths, candles, and my giant Slanket) in exchange for a sunnier disposition.

Things were humming along swimmingly until a few weeks ago when I slipped on an icy sidewalk and landed on my backside at the university, causing great pain and humiliation. Five days later, my car slid off an even icier curve in the road and narrowly avoided hitting a tree and rolling into the creek below. (I drove by the spot again today and shuddered at how close a call it was.) So all bets are off this year! I will not say nice things about winter and will continue to wish it a swift death.

There are, however, some nice things to be said about our family as 2008 closes and 2009 begins. We have reached that enjoyable family stage when all of the kids are independent but fun to be with. Christian (15), Ian (13), and Sophie (10) are all responsible, and even though they may whine a bit about taking out the trash or doing the dishes, they work hard — especially in school and music. Here’s the lowdown on each of us.

Christian is a freshman in high school and is an avid band member, landing second chair in the trumpet section. Spanish and speech have been welcome electives in school, and his advanced math class leaves him with just one more math class (calculus next year) to take before he is forced to walk across the street to the the university for higher math. He spends a good deal of his free time writing computer programs for his website on our Macintosh computers and is currently waffling between computer engineering and school music teaching as career paths. Christian is also anticipating the day in April when he can get his learner’s permit.

Ian is in eighth grade and, like Christian, is an excellent student. Ian’s focused passion, though, is on jazz music and percussion. Generally speaking, he is either listening to his iPod or drumming on drums or on anything that won’t get him into trouble. He is also in the high school band and won second chair, ahead of many older students. This year marked the beginning of Ian’s place in our Irish band, the Demerits, where he plays the bodhran (Irish drum) and constantly amazes us with interesting rhythmic accompaniment and solos.

Following the Mortensen model, Sophie is a gifted student, although she does the bare minimum when it is something that does not interest her. (Hmmm — sounds like one of her parents whose initials are JM.) She has also begun playing the trumpet this year and has astounded us all with her aptitude for the instrument. She was so excited about playing the trumpet that she was planning to use her own money to buy one before we told her that we would get her one. Aside from school and music, Sophie spends a lot of time with friends outdoors building forts, catching toads, playing in the snow, or whatever the season will allow. Her other big interest is reading. She tears through books just like I did when I was her age, and we hope her interest in reading will continue.

John continues to teach piano and run the keyboard department at Cedarville University. He has had a very active performance schedule at home and abroad recently and has been fortunate over the last couple of years to be invited to international festivals. Two summers ago, he judged a music competition in Italy, and last summer he gave a recital in Yeysk, Russia just before hostilities between Russia and Georgia erupted. Aside from classical music, John continues to enjoy arranging, writing, and playing Irish music. A mandolin is the latest addition to his collection of musical instruments. It joins two grand pianos, bagpipes, button box accordion, Irish flute, banjo, guitar, and countless Irish whistles.

I (Linda) have continued to dabble in many different things. In addition to working a few hours a week for CU, I have subbed at the K-12 school that my kids attend and especially love working with the special ed kids. A friend and I started a business making and selling market style bags from repurposed fabrics in an effort to encourage the use of chic reusable shopping bags and cut down on plastic bag usage. We currently have bags in two stores in our area. And as if that’s not enough, I will begin working a few hours a week at our town library. I figured that I may as well work there since I spend so much time there.

For all of us, Midtown Christian Community has been a central part of our existence. Our small church plant is not so small anymore, and we are excited to have not only more stable families helping with the difficult ministry but more individuals and families from the neighborhood around the church as part of us. The church sent John and me to the Christian Community Development Association’s annual conference this fall in an effort to obtain more tools for developing a ministry that empowers those in urban poverty to become full participants in their world and in the kingdom of God. Our next challenge, however, will be to find another building in the neighborhood that can house our food pantry, kids’ programs, and weekly services and meals as our current building is falling in around us.

As we head into the new year, we continue to be grateful for our extended families and relieved that significant health problems seem to be resolving for John’s dad, after two major surgeries, and my brother, after developing an unusual form of Hepatitis A. Our parents and siblings and their families have brought us countless joy as we’ve spent time together, and we hold ourselves very fortunate, indeed, to have the kind of relationships with family that most of our culture can only envy.

We all send our warmer-than-winter wishes for 2009 and look forward to hearing from you.

Cheers!

Linda, John, Christian, Ian, and Sophie Mortensen

A couple of weeks ago I had my annual resurrection experience.  When the weather warms up for a couple of days, things begin to green, and the light of the sun grows noticeably longer, I come out of the shroud I’ve been living in and live again.  I rise from the dead every year as the daffodils begin to bloom and signs of leaves appear everywhere.

I have picked the first asparagus of the season in our garden and noted with great delight that some of the blueberry bushes are laden with buds.  My dwarf lilac (moved from a non-nurturing spot in the yard) has its first blossoms ever after having been mowed over too many times to remember.  The peonies are almost at their height and have begun to form buds.  Our spinach and lettuces are up, and soon it will be time to plant the warm weather crops.  My heart sings as I surround myself with life.

I could never live in Alaska.  With the long, dark winters, there would be so little time for me to actually live.  Ohio’s winters are too long as it is, but I’m happy for the days of life it affords every year.

The last couple of days have started the season of Cold Pants when it becomes painful to sit down after walking in a cold, brisk wind.  It was about a year ago when I put forth my Cold Pants Theorem and proved it.

Honestly, when I go out in a cold wind, I can’t believe that my pants will ever be supple enough to bend with my body when I need to sit down, especially when I’m wearing jeans.  They hardly move while I walk either.  It’s as though they are frozen into one position, like the proverbial dirty pants that one can stand up in the corner on their own.

One of my delights this month, however, is a beautiful bluish vintage jar full of Paperwhite Narcissus bulbs given to me by my brother-in-law and his wife for Christmas.  It sits on my kitchen window and has been in bloom now for about a week, defying the grays and browns of the landscape and the wind whipping through our backyard as if it is late for a soul-selling appointment with Mephistopheles.

In the winter I find my little joys wherever I can: flowers in the house, candles, tall mochas, and warm cinnamon scones.  It need hardly be said, though, that I would trade these quickly for the coming of spring and summer.

Yesterday we woke up to a white world and a gray sky.  The kids got their coveted snow day, and it proved a good call because it snowed nearly all day.

Sophie went out in the snow several times, and Ian joined her in the afternoon to go sledding at the local park.  Christian, who just got out of the cast on his ankle, still cannot walk on uneven surfaces lest he refracture it.  We took pity on him and let him play video games a large portion of the day to make up for the loss of snow fun.

Today the world was sunny and sparkling.  If only one didn’t need to walk through it and be chilled by it, the snow would make the landscape quite tolerable.

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it dozens of times (John would probably raise my estimate to thousands), and here I have the opportunity to broadcast it to all, be they near or far: I HATE WINTER!!!!!! The only good things about winter are soup, hot tea, mochas, and my Slanket. The wind is bitter, the days are mostly gray and ugly, and the oft slippery roads and sidewalks are treacherous.

My idea of hell on earth is waking up to discover that I’ve been transported to the North or South Pole with snow and ice as far as a pair of eyes with 20/20 vision can see and no hope of escape. I think I’d be forced to start a fire and throw myself in.

I feel so much better getting that off my chest… at least until the next time I’m forced to go out into the shockingly cold wind.

Brrrr… chatter… and in conclusion, another brrrr.

This afternoon marked the beginning of Slanket Season.  While I have used my Slanket throughout the year, as I curled up on the couch with a cup of tea, my Slanket and a good book, I noted that this time it felt different.  My Slanket felt more essential to life today, as though no common blanket would do.  Perhaps it was the persistent and unending rain or the cold, damp air.  Maybe it was the darkness of the day.  Or possibly I have an internal calendar set specifically to register the official onset of Slanket Season.  I’m not sure.  But I do know that I will once again be driven to figure out how I can spend the next five to six months wrapped in my Slanket and will probably tell myself (quite futilely) that this time I won’t soak the sleeves while doing dishes in it.  But maybe this time I really won’t…

We are headed into the fall which, in general, I love. The cooler temperatures, the warm colors of the foliage, the light that turns a golden hue: I love all of these.

But as if there were an evil force out there seeking to destroy my enjoyment of autumn, yard decorations begin popping up all over the area.  And they are not simply tasteful shocks of corn and clustered gourds.  If that were all, I would be at peace.  But no!  They are plastic: inflatable and non-inflatable.  They are kitschy, gaudy, and at odds with the soul of an artist or anyone with any innate sense of taste.

Currently, the decor of the day is fake spider webs, plastic ghoulies, and ghastly bright, plastic orange and purple witches and other objects of fear.  Another thing that has reared its ugly head in recent years is the faux stone wall that looks as if a kindergartener were commissioned to paint the castle scenery for an elementary school production of Rapunzel.  These are most commonly placed in front of the local haunted houses and corn mazes open for business around Halloween.  The Terror Maze and The Panic Box Spookhouse are across a major route from each other and have been vying for each other’s business for several years now.  As if to compete, a local church a few miles north on the same route has their own Halloween version of Scared Spiritually Straight.  Sometimes I’m so ashamed to live in the Midwest.

But just around the corner from autumn is – shudder - Christmas.  Don’t get me wrong.  I love Christmas, but some of our local yard decorations are almost enough to make a rabidly protesting atheist of me.

On my way to a nearby town one day near Christmas last year, I saw gargantuan blow-up Christmas figures: Santa, snowman, reindeer, and one other thing that I can’t remember.  They were larger than life with their stupid grins and bodies bobbing in the breeze, and they were arranged in - of all things - a circle, as if they were having an intimate conversation.  An irrational hatred rose in my consciousness, and all I could think about was shooting them, watching them deflate, and dancing madly on the lawn around their crumpled bodies.  As I drove on and saw other inflatables, the same loathing rose again and again.  But I managed to control myself, especially as I had no means of enacting my fantasy.

Imagine my glee when a couple of days later I passed by the very house that gave birth to my violent fancy and saw the four figures deflated on the lawn.  I pictured the artist-gone-postal who had done the deed and hooted out loud in the car!  Three cheers for the Kitsch Killer!  Huzzah!

My season of irrational hatred for yard ornaments lasts from late September into February, which is when some people finally get around to taking down their yard kitsch.  Only then can I return to the sense of calm that otherwise possesses me when driving around our area – that is, unless I see a cement Martha Goose dressed in a clown suit.  (Deep breath in, blow it out slowly.)  Does anyone have a sledge hammer?

I love riding on the bike path near our house. I am by no means a serious cyclist. I ride purely for recreation without any of the equipment that serious cyclists find necessary – except for a bike, of course. I love identifying different birds, animals, and flowers that inhabit the area around the bike path. One week I was lucky enough to see a Blue Bunting twice.  It was the brilliant blue of a tropical bird, and I could hardly believe it existed in Ohio.

A few weeks before that, I came upon a mama skunk’s three babies before I could tell what they were (perhaps not so lucky). To my chagrin, they had their tails raised. There was no way to stop before I reached them, so I decided that the best course of action would be to race on by them as quickly as I could.  I wondered if I would have to bathe in tomato juice over the next month to rid myself of the odor. But as luck would have it, they were probably too young to do any damage (although I could smell that mama had been nearby at some point).  Past them, I was relieved to find some goldfinches and a cottontail or two to counter the excitement of the skunks.

My ears have an even better memory than my eyes, so listening to things on the bike path is even more satisfying. The songs of the birds and insects are numerous and varied according to the time of day.  The birds sing most loudly in the morning, and the crickets chirp near evening.  But the cicadas seem to sing nonstop. Running over dead leaves on the path is also quite satisfying. The crunch is crisp, and I aim for small piles of leaves so that I can hear more crunching. The lack of noise makes every sound significant, and the quiet of the bike path invites reflection and meditation.

I also love the feeling of escape as I roll down the bikepath and feel the wind blowing over me.  Sometimes it is refreshing and exciting; sometimes it is healing.  Nearly always, it reminds me to be grateful that I can experience the pleasure of simple things.

We picked up our kids in Michigan today. It is so nice to see them after more than 2 weeks apart. It seems that over the last week Christian and Ian learned more programming skills from their grandfather, who pronounced them quite capable. Sophie enjoyed her grandparents’ pets and being outdoors. I think they had such a good time with both sets of grandparents that they hardly missed us at all! Still, we are glad to have them back, and they seem happy to see us. Next week we will travel back to Michigan for a family reunion and enjoy much good conversation and food.

The Dame’s Rocket is finished blooming in the fields, and now the wild roses and lilies are beginning to show forth along the bike path. A ride along said path today brought evidence that their glory will go from infancy to the prime of life in a matter of days. I can’t remember which wildflowers replace the ones currently in bloom, but even when I do know the variety, I am delighted almost as much as when I first discovered the resplendence of the wilds of Ohio. And equally delightful, red berries cling to the bike path’s wild black raspberry vines and will doubtless be ready for picking in a couple of weeks. I hope the old guy with the huge waders (to remain untouched by the thorns and poison ivy) comes with his pail again this year – another delightful scene.

Sometimes when the weather is breezy, warm and not humid (as it has been for many days now), and I’ve picked my fill of strawberries in the backyard I can believe that there is no better place on earth than my patch of Ohio. Ahhh. Contentment