Clover Lane

I read this post by a close friend the other day, and I love it.

Andrew set up a school for Patrick and it was so cute it hurt my heart-complete with gym class (run around the house 3 times then do stretches) and reading time, and coloring lessons.

I have made it through a couple of rooms in my after Christmas cleaning frenzy.


It feels good.  I have yet to tackle the kitchen or the bedrooms but they are next on my list and heck, I have all winter long right?  (Look at that crooked curtain rod!  Patrick is always playing with those...eeek.)

I will come up with a top ten list soon, but this one is #1 for sure.  There were quite a few readers that mentioned in comments over the last year that I would like this book and I am sorry to say that I took my time checking it out of the library.

I  adored every bit of it. I read it twice IN A ROW. Bess Streeter Aldrich's writing reminds me a little of Lucy Maud Montgomery's.  I love historical fiction, I love the story of hardship, real poverty (oh how quickly we forget!) and survival, I love that dear Abby-girl was such an incredible mother and wife and knew where the good stuff was at.

I bought a copy for myself-I do that with my favorites-I only want my bookshelves filled with my favorite books.  The copied I borrowed from the library was heavenly-the pages were buttery worn and soft and smelled like that old lovely library smell.  I want this copy really really bad, but alas, I have a new little paperback. I will search high and low for a hardback on Ebay.


Here are a few excerpts from the book I just adored.  Sorry to bore you.  I can't help myself.

"Historians say, "The winter of 'seventy-four to 'seventy-five was a time of deep depression."  But historians do not take little children into consideration.  Deep depression?  To three children on the prairie it was a time of glamour.  There was not much to eat in the cupboard.  There was little or not money in the father's flat old pocketbook.  The presents were pitifully homely and meager.  And all in a tiny house,-a mere shell of a house, on a new raw acreage of the wild bleak prairie.  How could a little rude cabin hold so much white magic?  How could a little sod house know such enchantment?  And how could a little hut like that eventually give to the midwest so many influential men and women?  How, indeed?  Unless,...unless the star really did stop over the house?"
"Afterwards they went out on the porch and Abbie held the little girl on her lap. She cuddled her up and put her wrinkled cheek against the child's firm one. Oh, why didn't mothers do it more when they had the chance?  What were clubs and social affairs and freedom by comparison? And what was freedom?"
"You know Grace, it's queer but I don't feel narrow.  I feel broad.  How can I explain it to you so you can understand?  I've seen everything....and I've hardly been away from this yard.  I've seen cathedrals in the snow on the Lombard poplars.  I've seen the sun set behind the Alps over there when the clouds have been piled up on the edge of the prairie.  I've seen the ocean billows in the rise and the fall of the paririe grass.  I've seen history in the making....three ugly wars flare up and die down.  I've sent a lover and two brothers to one, a son and a son-in-law to another, and two grandsons to another.  I've seen the feeble beginnings of a raw state and the civilization that developed there, and I've been part of the beginning and part of the growth.  I've married...and borne children and looked into the face of death.   Is childbirth narrow, Grace?  Or marriage?  Or death?  When you've experieced all those things, Grace, the spirit has traveled although the body has been confined.  I think travel is a rare privilege and I'm glad you can have it.  But not every one who stays at home is narrow and not every one who travels is broad.  I think if you can understand humanity...can sympathize with every creature...can put yourself into the personality of every one...you're not narrow...you're broad."

This has been a confusing year for Patrick.  He doesn't "get" the whole Christmas thing yet-between the presents for birthday/Santa bringing them on Christmas Eve and then Jesus's birthday celebration and HIS birthday celebration-we had some frustrating 'trying to explain' moments and I just decided to give up on all the confusion and let him think what he wants and next year he'll understand more.  He spent a few frustrating moments in tears trying to convince me that Santa was coming the night of his birthday.  It was all too much for him, and I totally get that, because frankly, it was all too much for ME too!

On his actual (quiet) birthday:


Jeff and I decided to have a Christmas/birthday family party for him the night before Christmas Eve.  Jeff invited his friend who has a gift for games-he has a whole birthday trivia repertoire where all the guests try to guess Patrick's answers.  Like "What is Patrick's favorite food?"  And let me tell you-only a few answers I knew, because you can just never really guess what Patrick is thinking in that little head of his.  He loved being the center of attention.



Abbey was  HUGE help to me that day, decorating and preparing.


The only thing was-I was plumb worn out by Christmas.  I think we have to space it all better next year.  Christmas birthdays are hard aren't they?  I used to get annoyed when people told me that-I was due on Christmas Eve with Patrick (he came the 20th), but now I am realizing the truth in that statement.  It's hard to give each its due and still have energy left to enjoy it all.  But I wouldn't trade him for the world of course, and I remember the year he was born-in the quiet hospital and then a great excuse to be at home on Christmas Day.  It was calm and peaceful and I had a new little baby and what more could I want?