"Forever is composed of nows." ~Emily Dickenson

We said goodbye to September with a bang.  Children and I had a full week studying, reading, cooking, partying, and enjoying each other's company.  September weather has been so refreshing with its cool air in the mornings and at nights, and that has facilitated our need to relax and rest from a hard day's work.  During the day, the sun kept shining its warm rays upon us, so much so that swimming was still a pleasurable past time.

I've thoroughly enjoyed every minute I've spent with my very interesting children this month, whether by listening to Gillian's voice grow more and more beautiful with each lesson, or observing how hard Jefferson works on learning new pieces on the piano, or encouraging James to finish his goal of reading all Roal Dahl books, and even taking pleasure in the sweet creations that Charlton's little chubby hands are making these days.  Motherhood is truly such a fun job!

Here are a few other highlights that made September an ever so enjoyable month.

James and Jefferson have been in fierce competition with Gillian every week this month.  It started off with a book... of course, right?  Well, a few months weeks ago I found a used Better Homes and Gardens Junior cookbook at the library.  I gave that randomly to Jefferson, since the other book finds for that week appealed mostly to Gillian and James.  On Mondays and Tuesdays I take care of Gillian's extracurricular activities, respectively voice lessons and piano.  On Wednesdays and Thursdays, the older boys have piano, soccer, and cub scouts.  While I'm taking care of Gillian, my boys do homework, piano practice at home, and playing and reading to Charlton.  The past few weeks they have added another activity to their schedule: cooking.  Gillian didn't want to be left out, so while I took care of the boys on their respective days, she would cook.  In short, Elijah and I have been enjoying a myriads of cookies, breads, salty snacks, and other desserts every week, from the hands of our sweet, but very competitive children.  What a tasty rivalry!

I have to mention, however, that all of this started in the summer when Elijah involved Gillian in his pie making process.  To date, this month only, they've made together 7 pies, and of course not all of those were for us only.  Now that I think of it, Elijah and I must be in a "competition" too.  He makes pies for others, and I cook meals.  Heavenly Father must be having a field day with all of this service coming out of this house :)

There is a harmony in autumn,

 and a luster in its sky, 

which through the summer is not heard or seen, 

as if it could not be, 

as if it had not been!

~Percy Bysshe Shelley~

There is a harmony in autumn, and a luster in its sky, which through the summer is not heard or seen, as if it could not be, as if it had not been!
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/autumn.html#lYHHrTe4IY0dRg3Z.99

There is a harmony in autumn, and a luster in its sky, which through the summer is not heard or seen, as if it could not be, as if it had not been!
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/autumn.html#lYHHrTe4IY0dRg3Z.99

There is a harmony in autumn, and a luster in its sky, which through the summer is not heard or seen, as if it could not be, as if it had not been!
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/autumn.html#lYHHrTe4IY0dRg3Z.99

We've taken advantage of autumn's warm, red sensation, and enjoyed the the ever-changing pink hues of this season's sunsets by playing outside, having picnics in the park, and inviting friends over for lunches and dinner. (Just this past week we hosted five sets of friends, who in return made our hearts full when said they loved the spirit they felt in our home. And what can bring more happiness in our lives than brightening each other's days.)

 

Gillian has been enjoying her voice lessons tremendously.  She has gained such confidence, that at a minute's notice she is able to perform in front of an audience.  Just this past week, she performed at a baptism, for my Relief Society class, and a solo in the Primary Program.  Quite beautifully, I should add.  What a blessing to be able to develop your talents!

In actuality, all of the kids performed well in their Primary program.  Gillian and James each had a talk, and Jefferson's class sang all by themselves.  Charlton shared his one liner "I love my dad" with much gusto, although that wasn't what he had prepared to say during practices. He had practiced "I love my sister," but had gotten bored saying it over and over again during the primary program practices, that he had decided last minute to change what he wanted to say.  My independent soul.

I've read a great many books this month (more of that to come), and amongst them I've had a chance to read a marvelous selection of poetry by Dickinson, Frost, Keats, Whitman, Shelley, so mostly classical authors.  However, let me leave you with a contemporary poet and his feelings about autumn that suit this post and my mood just perfectly. Enjoy!

Leaves

  by Lloyd Schwartz

                        1

Every October it becomes important, no, necessary

to see the leaves turning, to be surrounded

by leaves turning; it's not just the symbolism,

to confront in the death of the year your death,

one blazing farewell appearance, though the irony

isn't lost on you that nature is most seductive

when it's about to die, flaunting the dazzle of its

incipient exit, an ending that at least so far

the effects of human progress (pollution, acid rain)

have not yet frightened you enough to make you believe

is real; that is, you know this ending is a deception

because of course nature is always renewing itself—

        the trees don't die, they just pretend,

        go out in style, and return in style: a new style.

                        2

Is it deliberate how far they make you go

especially if you live in the city to get far

enough away from home to see not just trees

but only trees? The boring highways, roadsigns, high

speeds, 10-axle trucks passing you as if they were

in an even greater hurry than you to look at leaves:

so you drive in terror for literal hours and it looks

like rain, or snow, but it's probably just clouds

(too cloudy to see any color?) and you wonder,

given the poverty of your memory, which road had the

most color last year, but it doesn't matter since

you're probably too late anyway, or too early—

        whichever road you take will be the wrong one

        and you've probably come all this way for nothing.

  

                      3

You'll be driving along depressed when suddenly

a cloud will move and the sun will muscle through

and ignite the hills. It may not last. Probably

won't last. But for a moment the whole world

comes to. Wakes up. Proves it lives. It lives—

red, yellow, orange, brown, russet, ocher, vermilion,

gold. Flame and rust. Flame and rust, the permutations

of burning. You're on fire. Your eyes are on fire.

It won't last, you don't want it to last. You

can't stand any more. But you don't want it to stop.

It's what you've come for. It's what you'll

come back for. It won't stay with you, but you'll

        remember that it felt like nothing else you've felt

        or something you've felt that also didn't last.

My muse

Last night I watched a brilliantly made movie, titled "Bright Star." It told the romantic story of the the great poet, John Keats, who wrote heart-felt poetry, and his muse, Fanny Brawne. Although it was a simple love story, it was directed with such tour de force and passion that it left you in awe. Everything was done just right, the costumes, the choice of actors, the locations, the stage design, and the development of the plot and the characters. Being an art lover, I always value the worth of a movie in its cinematography as well. I was mesmerized by the creativity and the artistic power of various scenes in the movie. Matching the camera angles and the lightning with the moods of the characters or of the scenes was done in perfection. I could feel, not just see, the emotional distance between the characters as the camera would take far away shots or shots from above. I could feel her loneliness at times by the colors presented or the weather portrayed outside. I could feel her joy as she walked wrapped in a purple velvet coat through amorous purple flowers . You could feel their love for each other and sense their thoughts as the camera closed in and captured their calm, but passionate gaze. Another beautiful feature of this film was the poetry itself. The director had done a brilliant job in incorporating it at proper times. My favorite part was the last scene as Fanny feeling only coldness in her heart and saddened by life is warmed up by reciting her lover's words. You can feel it as the warmth of love and passionate words reach her heart. Needless to say, I really enjoyed this movie.

The beautiful, but sad, love story of John Keats made me think that without his muse his talents would have been hidden, or at least not fully ripened as they were those last three years of his life. It is a beautiful thing to have found your muse. And make no mistake about it, we all need one, whether it be for poetry or for life. As I've reflected this week about what I've missed more about my husband, not having had him this week, the answer came to me last night as I was watching this movie. My life functioned pretty well this week; I actually got to be selfish without feeling guilty and did whatever I wanted with my time, whether it was mopping floors at ten o'clock at night, reading till three in the morning, or watching two movies in a row. Not that I can't do this while Elijah is home, but I try to be a bit considerate of his needs as well. So, it wasn't that I needed any help managing kids, home or life. What I missed the most was having my companion alongside me lending me a hand, or an ear. I missed his presence, the assurance it gives me when Elijah is around. I missed his love, his good words, his encouraging gazes, his understanding. I missed the unspoken thoughts floating in the air being caught by the other and bringing a smile on my face, knowing that my husband can tell what I'm thinking. I missed his expressed thoughts that match my thoughts at the same time. I missed my muse. Looking forward to his homecoming tomorrow!

I like poetry. I haven't studied or read it as I have prose, and as such I do not confess to understand it fully, but I truly like it. Poetry has power over all my senses as I read it, and I'm captivated by its beautiful world of words. It's those words that transport me to a different kind of reality that I can grasp even when I'm sitting in my chair. John Keats' talent makes it easy for anyone to appreciate poetry. I like a lot of lines from his poems, but I'll share the poem that gave the movie its name, and Fanny Brawne her heart back.

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art -
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors -
No - yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever - or else swoon to death.