The Call: Tile Grout at the Pool — Jessica

To live well, is to work well.
— Aquinas

Response: This is Greg — Cheryl

Greg is our go-to man. He has very nearly completely rebuilt our house. He’s a great guy — the kind of guy you want your kids to meet. He’s smart, works hard and is committed to family. Yesterday and today, he was here replacing doors in the kitchen and living room. He’ll be back on Monday to replace the basement door and put a screen door on the front of the house. After that, if we can gather together enough cash and his schedule allows, he’ll be back in the spring or summer to start our next renovation project. We wouldn’t think of embarking on it without him.

The Call: May I Have Another? — Cheryl

Within a few days, after numerous forays into their candy buckets, the kids will not have a morsel of chocolate left.

The Response: Red Hot — Jessica

Someone managed to scrap every last morsel of peppers out of the garden before the big storm. And then they shared them with my husband, who brought them home to me.

The Call: Crab Apples — Jessica

These little crab apples must have fallen off of the tree during the storm. I happened to find them in a parking lot. After taking a shot for instagram, I thought they were too pretty to toss and took them home to photograph later with my “real” camera.

I love the orange and yellows — the high energy colors that pull you into the scene and make you feel all warm and happy. Or at least it does to me. And my favorite effect of the lensbaby is the way the colors all blur and bend and smooch up together like some impressionist painting.

Response: Trick or Treat! — Cheryl

The kids had plenty of energy this evening as we went door-to-door. Once home, they enjoyed some of their spoils. Their sugar-fueled evening should last for another few hours.

The Call: Pearls on Pink — Cheryl

Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes;

—William Shakespeare, The Tempest

The Response: String of Pearls — Jessica

Form. Light. Color. I’m taking things back to the basics because I find myself in something of a rut. I came across a nice shot of the canals of Venice by Alfred Stieglitz. That’s nice, I thought, but I could go there today and take the same photo. So when you feel like all the photos have already been taken, where do you go? Back to basics? It’s so frustrating trying to figure out what I’m doing wrong. Or maybe what I’m feeling wrong that is making this so darn hard.

The Call: Windy — Jessica

We are getting generous amounts of wind. Not too bad but they say the worst is yet to come. Right now I guess, it’s just a game of hurry up and wait.

Response: Sharing the Beauty — Cheryl

The monkshood in the flowerbed is always generous in sharing its beauty late in the season.

The Call: Wrinkled Water — Cheryl

The fierce wind longs to take them,
these flags of warmth, of sensuality,
longs to wrench them from home
over the wild lake waters,
over the trees stripped of reds and golds,

to fly like Mary Poppins’ umbrella,
spreading magic high above frozen land.

—Elizabeth Hobbs, “Hanging Red Flannel Sheets to Dry”

The Response: School’s Out

Well, thanks, Frankenstorm! You’ve put a big wrinkle in my plans for the week!

The Call: Center of the Storm — Jessica

Solitude is something that is in very short supply around here. I often joke that even Jesus got to get away from the crowds every now and then. Not easy for a mom. But yesterday (and yes this is a picture from yesterday…it was a busy day and I loved this shot more than anything I took today), as we stood next to the Potomac, I felt a certain sense of solitude. It’s hard to imagine that Washington D.C. is only about 13 miles away — in the center of the shot.

Response: First Thing in the Morning — Cheryl

Sharing a house with a husband, six kids and a dog makes finding moments of solitude difficult. The path to my first-floor studio is well traveled, but my kids seldom expect to find me in their dad’s upstairs office.

The Call: Words Have Meanings — Cheryl

As Christians, compassion should be a very important word in our lives. It is, in fact, a word that gets bandied about in secular society an awful lot, especially at election time. According to The Free Dictionary, “compassion” is defined as “[d]eep awareness of the suffering of another coupled with the wish to relieve it.” It is noble and right to feel compassion for others. Unfortunately, though, compassion is one of those virtues that tends to inspire actions that often wind up being rather shortsighted. Today, I read a piece on the shortsighted compassion of abortion, written by a man conceived in rape. He wrote, “There are real lives at stake, and abortion only allows us to pretend that those lives don’t exist. … Our lives are reflective of how our humanity is extremely compassionate when we don’t compound the horror of rape with the violence of abortion.”

The Response: Little Buddy — Jessica

Having many younger siblings can be a major annoyance. It can also teach you patience and compassion. At least I hope it can. Sometimes I wonder — but then I catch moments like this and I know that having to watch out for someone younger than them is teaching them to be more compassionate and understanding of the weaker.

The Call: Election Time — Jessica

I am a political junkie. I live for debates and elections and all the silly nonsense that goes with it. Some of the antics make me very mad — but, truthfully, that is part of the fun. I am fully engaged this particular season and I don’t think we’ve left our neighbors with any doubt about who we support. Our poor neighbors!

Response: Rise to Rebellion — Cheryl

When I give him a writing assignment, Luke balks. He’s not a fan of putting his thoughts down on paper on command. When he’s engaged with a subject, though, it’s a different story. He’s a big fan of history, so when I suggested he read Jeff Shaara’s novel of the Revolutionary War, he was raring to go.

The Call: Portrait of the Artist — Cheryl

This is probably the most expensive book we own. It is a slipcased copy of James Joyce’s classic, published in 1968 for members of The Limited Editions Club. In 1994, I purchased it for Dennis as a wedding gift, paying $125 for it. It is copy no. 417 and is signed by Brian Keogh, the artist who illustrated the text.

“He wanted to cry quietly but not for himself: for the words, so beautiful and sad, like music.”
― James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

The Response: Toys — Jessica

Some of the toys that we have bought for the children over the years were rather expensive. Or so I thought at the time. But now — four, five or in some cases, six children later, they rather seem like a bargin!

The Call: Luke the Defiant — Jessica

Defiance is personified by the almost three year old.

Response: Mid-Morning Walk — Cheryl

Luke had a hankering for donuts this morning. I suggested he try the Apple Cider Donuts recipe on No Gluten, No Problem, except that there was a problem: we had no apple cider. The beauty of the day, though, inspired me to rectify the situation by walking to the market of our local orchard and buying a jug of cider. Bridget, Henry and Sam came with me, and I felt downright defiant traipsing around with my kids while everyone else’s were in school.

The Call: Mom’s Recipes — Cheryl

A friend of mine once told me that he thinks I’m afraid of food. Unfortunately, he’s right. I am afraid of food, but I feel justified in this weakness. I am so sensitive to gluten, that the last time I got sick from it, I hadn’t even eaten it. I had been sorting through Mom’s old recipes, and just touching the flour-dusted cards made me miserable.

The Response: A Sunny Autumn Day — Jessica

My eyes are sensitive to light. When it’s really bright outside — they hurt. Contacts aggravate the problem. So, on this bright and sunny autumn day, I decided to overexpose the sensitive sensor with that bright light.

The Call: Candle in the Window — Jessica

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Macbeth Act 5, scene 5, 19–28

Response: By the Water— Cheryl

We stopped here on the way home from church. We’ve never been to Disney World, and our family vacations never amount to much, but I hope that my kids will grow up and tell tales about their wonderful childhoods.

The Call: Die Cutting — Cheryl

Having plenty of cabinets in my new studio makes me happier than I might have imagined. I finally have places for the all of the crafting/creating contraptions I own.

The Response: Tea Kettle — Jessica

I have lots of contraptions on my countertop for the deliverance of caffeine. Now, don’t judge, I know what you’re thinking! But, I ask you, how else is a mother of seven expected to work from 6am to 11pm without stopping unless by the power of caffeine?

My favorite of all them is the simple tea kettle. Because that means it’s teatime. And that means that the day is winding down and I can finally sit for a moment and relax. Sometimes, I even prop up my feet on the coffee table. I know. It’s a luxuriant lifestyle. ; )