She walked into the group, holding a brown paper shopping bag -- not from a grocery store, but the kind you get from a boutique, with rolled brown handles and nice tissue paper. I've stopped into the store before, gently fingering the lotions and soaps, inhaling deeply the organic, milled scent. It's not really my style, but I wonder if it could be if I had the money.
She approached me and said, I have something for you. Because of what you wrote the other day. It touched us, as things are these days.
And I thought about the pink ribbons and the cardiac tests, so unexpected, and the quiet faithfulness that exudes from them. She who birthed and raised a family on the other side of the world. She who tells fabulous stories with a twinkle. She who laughs and sighs. She who says with assured determination, everything's going to be OK. And I believe her because I need to as much for myself as for her. And if it's not? I brush that thought away like the tears on my cheeks.
When we were in Hong Kong, she began. And she wove a story for me about Psalm 121 and the outreach and the image that I had painted, of God coming down the hill after us. So I thought you should have this, she said, pulling a mug with a lid from the bag, and telling me its story. I thought you should have this, and know how much it meant the other day to read your words.
I hugged her, breathing in deeply all that she is. And then she wrapped the fragile mug back in the same tissue that had come with the bag, the paper still holding the scent of fancy soaps in its folds, and handed it to me.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Sunday, October 28, 2007
posting, because it's tough to be a blogger without doing it
I'm tired of feeling like I can't catch up/keep up, and yet when I have time to do such things, I piddle it away.
Sometimes that piddling is in the form of self-care, so it's really not piddling, right? I hate it when I have to listen to my own sermons.
I burst into tears after seeing a piece of art in a most unexpected and unlikely place a couple of weeks ago. OK, burst is a strong verb, but "leaked into tears" doesn't have the same cliche-ness, even if it is more accurate and perhaps more poetic. I walked away from the print of a yellow house, but then went back, which is progress in and of itself. I've long tried to hold onto the idea that (when at all possible), it's best just to purchase that which moves me deep in my soul. The print is sitting in this room, and I find that I'm growing from it.
A dear woman gave me a gift this past week. I need to write the story behind the piece of pottery and why she gave it to me before I forget.
I woke up at about 4:00 this morning, and drifted between rest and restless for the next two hours, pondering the what-ifs, the what-nexts and the so-whats. Again, there's a reason that we write the sermons that we do -- we often need to hear them the most.
There is a break in the days to come, and for that I'm thankful. And giddy.
There are words and bits floating in my head. I thought about doing nanowrimo this fall, but not seriously. Of course I still have a couple of days to make some sort of commitment if only in my mind, right?
I raked leaves this afternoon, after confirming students and being relative-polite at parties. I love to rake leaves. And yet I wondered why my hands were tender as they cupped the cold wine glass -- really wondered, until I remembered. I'm sure there's a poem or a story in there somewhere about laying hands on crinkly-haired teen-age boys, glossy-haired teen-age girls, the leaves underfoot and my citified hands that gathered leaves and invoked that pesky holy spirit. but you'll note my awakening time this morning, and my lack of a nap (not that I'm a napper, but it's a good excuse) and realize that I simply don't have the creative bubbles within my syntax tonight.
Sometimes that piddling is in the form of self-care, so it's really not piddling, right? I hate it when I have to listen to my own sermons.
I burst into tears after seeing a piece of art in a most unexpected and unlikely place a couple of weeks ago. OK, burst is a strong verb, but "leaked into tears" doesn't have the same cliche-ness, even if it is more accurate and perhaps more poetic. I walked away from the print of a yellow house, but then went back, which is progress in and of itself. I've long tried to hold onto the idea that (when at all possible), it's best just to purchase that which moves me deep in my soul. The print is sitting in this room, and I find that I'm growing from it.
A dear woman gave me a gift this past week. I need to write the story behind the piece of pottery and why she gave it to me before I forget.
I woke up at about 4:00 this morning, and drifted between rest and restless for the next two hours, pondering the what-ifs, the what-nexts and the so-whats. Again, there's a reason that we write the sermons that we do -- we often need to hear them the most.
There is a break in the days to come, and for that I'm thankful. And giddy.
There are words and bits floating in my head. I thought about doing nanowrimo this fall, but not seriously. Of course I still have a couple of days to make some sort of commitment if only in my mind, right?
I raked leaves this afternoon, after confirming students and being relative-polite at parties. I love to rake leaves. And yet I wondered why my hands were tender as they cupped the cold wine glass -- really wondered, until I remembered. I'm sure there's a poem or a story in there somewhere about laying hands on crinkly-haired teen-age boys, glossy-haired teen-age girls, the leaves underfoot and my citified hands that gathered leaves and invoked that pesky holy spirit. but you'll note my awakening time this morning, and my lack of a nap (not that I'm a napper, but it's a good excuse) and realize that I simply don't have the creative bubbles within my syntax tonight.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Cooking with Pink Shoes
After a week of eating nearly every meal out, or at least very, very prepared, I was so excited to go grocery shopping last night! Joy! Divine! Pork tenderloin!!
Unlike my husband who would have come up with a plan for every meal and bought the ingredients for such meals, I perused the sales and purchased things that I figured I could make into a meal. Hence the following:
Discover that pork tenderloin is on sale for $1.99 a pound. Remember that we ate such a meal with friends a few weeks ago and it was really. really. really good. Buy two. Freeze one. Ignore the fact that you've never cooked one. Figure, it's meat -- how hard can it be?
Search for a recipe online. Don't write anything down. Vaguely remember words like: sear, apple vinegar, salt, apples, roast.
Consult pantry.
Realize it would be helpful to have a side dish. What goes with pork? Remember words like: apple. See things like potatoes. Start cooking.
Pour olive oil in skillet. Add kosher salt. And some pepper. And some vinegar. Wonder if you're making a salad dressing.
Heat. Hope that the tenderloin will fit on skillet that you usually use for pancakes. Figure you can cut it if it doesn't.
Wonder, when looking at the package, why this one is more than three pounds when almost every recipe calls for:
Tenderloin, 1-1.5 pounds. Figure you'll have to cook longer.
Open package. Realize that tenderloins are sold two-per package. Oh.
Sear meat.
Peel carrots that you discover in fridge of unknown freshness. Lay them in the roasting pan to form a rack. Pour in vinegar, a little oil. Chop garlic to add. Discover shallot. Add sliced shallot to roasting pan.
Place tenderloin on carrot rack, put in 400 degree oven. Think that you have too much vinegar. Go about business of peeling potatoes to cook in the salt and pepper searing mixture. Do the same with an apple. Fry. See the bacon in the fridge -- think, "I like bacon and potatoes and apples." Give it a whirl.
Serve tenderloin in slices with the potato-apple-bacon concoction with some warmed dates because even though you love-love-love dates, you're not sure how you're going to finish the 3-pound container of them that you bought at your favorite warehouse store. Even though you're nearly half way there. (I would have done this differently -- maybe put the apples over the meat in the oven as I think the recipe originally suggested.) Add some of the pepper bread from TJ's that you bought earlier to the plates.
Pour the wine.
Enjoy.
Unlike my husband who would have come up with a plan for every meal and bought the ingredients for such meals, I perused the sales and purchased things that I figured I could make into a meal. Hence the following:
Discover that pork tenderloin is on sale for $1.99 a pound. Remember that we ate such a meal with friends a few weeks ago and it was really. really. really good. Buy two. Freeze one. Ignore the fact that you've never cooked one. Figure, it's meat -- how hard can it be?
Search for a recipe online. Don't write anything down. Vaguely remember words like: sear, apple vinegar, salt, apples, roast.
Consult pantry.
Realize it would be helpful to have a side dish. What goes with pork? Remember words like: apple. See things like potatoes. Start cooking.
Pour olive oil in skillet. Add kosher salt. And some pepper. And some vinegar. Wonder if you're making a salad dressing.
Heat. Hope that the tenderloin will fit on skillet that you usually use for pancakes. Figure you can cut it if it doesn't.
Wonder, when looking at the package, why this one is more than three pounds when almost every recipe calls for:
Tenderloin, 1-1.5 pounds. Figure you'll have to cook longer.
Open package. Realize that tenderloins are sold two-per package. Oh.
Sear meat.
Peel carrots that you discover in fridge of unknown freshness. Lay them in the roasting pan to form a rack. Pour in vinegar, a little oil. Chop garlic to add. Discover shallot. Add sliced shallot to roasting pan.
Place tenderloin on carrot rack, put in 400 degree oven. Think that you have too much vinegar. Go about business of peeling potatoes to cook in the salt and pepper searing mixture. Do the same with an apple. Fry. See the bacon in the fridge -- think, "I like bacon and potatoes and apples." Give it a whirl.
Serve tenderloin in slices with the potato-apple-bacon concoction with some warmed dates because even though you love-love-love dates, you're not sure how you're going to finish the 3-pound container of them that you bought at your favorite warehouse store. Even though you're nearly half way there. (I would have done this differently -- maybe put the apples over the meat in the oven as I think the recipe originally suggested.) Add some of the pepper bread from TJ's that you bought earlier to the plates.
Pour the wine.
Enjoy.
Shell
It's funny, because I never thought that I was the hiding type -- but I claim things about myself that allow me to hide -- age, vocation, my girly-ness.
Oh, I don't have to take credit/blame for my role in whatever it is that happens -- I'm too young to be taken seriously. They would never consider a woman. I'll just fluff my hair.
Ok, I'm not that girly. Really.
But as I've continued to walk through the crunching leaves, I know that I need to claim certain things about myself, deal with them, and keep walking.
It feels a bit like I'm coming out of my shell, though I've always been an extrovert.
This post brought to you by the letter 'v' as in Vague. Cheers.
Oh, I don't have to take credit/blame for my role in whatever it is that happens -- I'm too young to be taken seriously. They would never consider a woman. I'll just fluff my hair.
Ok, I'm not that girly. Really.
But as I've continued to walk through the crunching leaves, I know that I need to claim certain things about myself, deal with them, and keep walking.
It feels a bit like I'm coming out of my shell, though I've always been an extrovert.
This post brought to you by the letter 'v' as in Vague. Cheers.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
On the spot
I usually think of really great things to say, after the event is over.
Tonight I was thinkin' on the spot.
We headed to the Big Warehouse Membership Store of Choice tonight because we needed a few things. Tempermental Toddler was in rare form, but at every threat of tantrum we were able to head him off at the pass:
"oooo.... look over there!"
"you don't want cookies. that'd be silly."
"should I shnoogle* your elbow?"
"should I shnoogle your elbow, again?"
And then as we're heading out the door (and after he's eaten nearly the whole industrial-size polish sausage), he anticipates that the woman checking our receipt will draw a smiley face (instead of just a straight line) for him.
But she doesn't.
And he turns to me with those big blue eyes and says, "But where's my smiley face?"
To which I respond:
"She drew it sideways, buddy."
And away we went.
*Shnoogle: to snuzzle, snuggle, and zrbrt a child's elbow (or knee or nose or arm) while making the snuffling sounds.
Tonight I was thinkin' on the spot.
We headed to the Big Warehouse Membership Store of Choice tonight because we needed a few things. Tempermental Toddler was in rare form, but at every threat of tantrum we were able to head him off at the pass:
"oooo.... look over there!"
"you don't want cookies. that'd be silly."
"should I shnoogle* your elbow?"
"should I shnoogle your elbow, again?"
And then as we're heading out the door (and after he's eaten nearly the whole industrial-size polish sausage), he anticipates that the woman checking our receipt will draw a smiley face (instead of just a straight line) for him.
But she doesn't.
And he turns to me with those big blue eyes and says, "But where's my smiley face?"
To which I respond:
"She drew it sideways, buddy."
And away we went.
*Shnoogle: to snuzzle, snuggle, and zrbrt a child's elbow (or knee or nose or arm) while making the snuffling sounds.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Tagged!
I was tagged by RevHRod. This one comes in sets of four. They're a collection of strange little tidbits.
Four jobs I've held:
Doughnut Fryer, Pastie Maker, Book Seller, Camp Counselor
Four films I could watch over and over:
With Honors, Mona Lisa Smile, Beautiful Girls, Oceans 11
Four TV shows I watch (Tivo):
Grey's Anatomy, Bones, Iron Chef, Ace of Cakes
Four places I've lived:
By a river, near a great lake, near a bigger river, near another great lake
Four favorite foods:
Pizza, a hotdish that my family makes, bacon-wrapped dates, cheese
Four websites I visit every day:
bloglines, hotmail, cnn, google
Four places I would love to be right now:
On a friend's blue couch, in bed, at a baseball game, around a campfire
Four names I love but would/could not use for my children:
Josephine, Kofi, Marjorie, Sebastian
Consider yourself tagged if you want to play!
Four jobs I've held:
Doughnut Fryer, Pastie Maker, Book Seller, Camp Counselor
Four films I could watch over and over:
With Honors, Mona Lisa Smile, Beautiful Girls, Oceans 11
Four TV shows I watch (Tivo):
Grey's Anatomy, Bones, Iron Chef, Ace of Cakes
Four places I've lived:
By a river, near a great lake, near a bigger river, near another great lake
Four favorite foods:
Pizza, a hotdish that my family makes, bacon-wrapped dates, cheese
Four websites I visit every day:
bloglines, hotmail, cnn, google
Four places I would love to be right now:
On a friend's blue couch, in bed, at a baseball game, around a campfire
Four names I love but would/could not use for my children:
Josephine, Kofi, Marjorie, Sebastian
Consider yourself tagged if you want to play!
Monday, October 01, 2007
Cooking in our kitchen = adventure
4:45 in the afternoon
I open our fridge and see: a whole lotta nothing. Well, that's not true.
A whole lot of somethings that should be tossed, and not much else.
I glance at our counter and see three acorn squash from the farmer's market.
Slice the squash, put butter and syrup (brown sugar would have been better) in them and into the oven they go.
5:30 pm.
I decide I really want some sausage in my squash.
We don't have any sausage in the fridge.
But we do have apples, which makes me think.... mmmm apples and squash.
Slice and peel apple.
Chop in processor.
A look into the freezer reveals meatballs of unknown flavor or seasoning (I know they were purchased at the C@stc@, and were given shelter during the flood at a neighbor's freezer, but the identifying packaging is long gone.).
Defrost meatballs.
Add to apple-chop and process.
Discover some parmesan cheese.
Add to apple-meat-chop and process.
Scoop into squash, and return to oven with more cheese on top.
I love being able to pull together a meal out of what appears to be not much -- this had better results than some, but there's such satisfaction to this kind of problem solving! Perhaps because no matter how it turns out, it's done and over and all cleaned up.
I open our fridge and see: a whole lotta nothing. Well, that's not true.
A whole lot of somethings that should be tossed, and not much else.
I glance at our counter and see three acorn squash from the farmer's market.
Slice the squash, put butter and syrup (brown sugar would have been better) in them and into the oven they go.
5:30 pm.
I decide I really want some sausage in my squash.
We don't have any sausage in the fridge.
But we do have apples, which makes me think.... mmmm apples and squash.
Slice and peel apple.
Chop in processor.
A look into the freezer reveals meatballs of unknown flavor or seasoning (I know they were purchased at the C@stc@, and were given shelter during the flood at a neighbor's freezer, but the identifying packaging is long gone.).
Defrost meatballs.
Add to apple-chop and process.
Discover some parmesan cheese.
Add to apple-meat-chop and process.
Scoop into squash, and return to oven with more cheese on top.
I love being able to pull together a meal out of what appears to be not much -- this had better results than some, but there's such satisfaction to this kind of problem solving! Perhaps because no matter how it turns out, it's done and over and all cleaned up.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Fighting the Funk
Because these days coffee doesn't seem to be cutting it, I bring myself a list of things that should fight my funk.
Having lunch with a friend from long ago and far away, because it's right now and she's not so far away. Being able to rearrange my schedule to do that with relative ease.
Discovering a new outlet right next door to another outlet that I really, really like. If only ATL would move in next door to both of them.
Having the sense to leave a conference part way through it because it didn't fit my needs and the presenter was sucking the life out of me. No, I'm not being dramatic.
Trying to prioritize the reasons that I do what I do. Hearing our treasurer articulate that the congregation didn't call me to deal wtih advertising marketers, and that he'd be happy to call the ah-hem representative back.
Getting over some guilt.
Giving myself peptalks, and perhaps some actual therapy.
Recognizing the funk, even if I don't know what to do about it.
Having lunch with a friend from long ago and far away, because it's right now and she's not so far away. Being able to rearrange my schedule to do that with relative ease.
Discovering a new outlet right next door to another outlet that I really, really like. If only ATL would move in next door to both of them.
Having the sense to leave a conference part way through it because it didn't fit my needs and the presenter was sucking the life out of me. No, I'm not being dramatic.
Trying to prioritize the reasons that I do what I do. Hearing our treasurer articulate that the congregation didn't call me to deal wtih advertising marketers, and that he'd be happy to call the ah-hem representative back.
Getting over some guilt.
Giving myself peptalks, and perhaps some actual therapy.
Recognizing the funk, even if I don't know what to do about it.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Preaching Poetry
There isn't much
that makes me think that writing
in free form
short
sentences
deep indents
staggered
lines
of
thought
will actually make my sermons any better.
Because when it comes right
down
to
it
I'm not slamming
(not that I was ever good at that when I tried)
in the pulpit
any more than I was when
I fancied
myself a poet far
far
from any
pulpit.
Last week
I sketched
my sermon
in some sort
of weirdfreeform
that I hoped would
break it (you know, the Word)
free
if only for me.
And I smiled when I thought about standing
before these nice, church folks,
spitting out words
in a rhythm
of stops
and starts
starts and
stops, then walking away to sing
the hymn of the day.
Then I swiveled
my chair to face the computer
and I typed long sentences
that flowed together and broke only when the margin butted in and made them jump to the next line as if scared that God's grace really couldn't flow like the Gospel promised.
that makes me think that writing
in free form
short
sentences
deep indents
staggered
lines
of
thought
will actually make my sermons any better.
Because when it comes right
down
to
it
I'm not slamming
(not that I was ever good at that when I tried)
in the pulpit
any more than I was when
I fancied
myself a poet far
far
from any
pulpit.
Last week
I sketched
my sermon
in some sort
of weirdfreeform
that I hoped would
break it (you know, the Word)
free
if only for me.
And I smiled when I thought about standing
before these nice, church folks,
spitting out words
in a rhythm
of stops
and starts
starts and
stops, then walking away to sing
the hymn of the day.
Then I swiveled
my chair to face the computer
and I typed long sentences
that flowed together and broke only when the margin butted in and made them jump to the next line as if scared that God's grace really couldn't flow like the Gospel promised.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Meeting, Meetings, Meetings!
This week's Friday Five over at the RevGals is all about meetings:
reverendmother writes: In honor of a couple of marathon meetings I attended this week:
1. What's your view of meetings? Choose one or more, or make up your own:
a) When they're good, they're good. I love the feeling of people working well together on a common goal.
b) I don't seek them out, but I recognize them as a necessary part of life.
c) The only good meeting is a canceled meeting.
I choose (a), with the mirror statement of course being, "but when they're bad, they're horrid."
2. Do you like some amount of community building or conversation, or are you all business?
I was once part of a monthly meeting that routinely started 15-20 minutes past the scheduled time as the men swapped stories about sports, building things, etc. It drove me silly. I don't mind a little conversation in the midst of the meeting, as it can build community. However, the total off-topic chatting should be left until the end, so that those who aren't part of it can just leave!
3. How do you feel about leading meetings? Share any particular strengths or weaknesses you have in this area.
I like to lead meetings -- especially larger-group brainstorming, visioning-type meetings. I think I'm relatively good at it, and I try to be respectful of people's time. The weakness or flip-side of that is that I might not give adequate time to a topic or a person because of the overall covenant to be done at a certain time.
Leading standing committee meetings isn't how I see my role in the congregation, and fortunately I don't have to do that!
4. Have you ever participated in a virtual meeting? (conference call, IM, chat, etc.) What do you think of this format?
I have participated in a number of conference calls. It's OK, and often necessary when dealing with a national board. There's so much value, though, in the face-to-face meeting that when possible it's my preference.
5. Share a story of a memorable meeting you attended.
One:
The many, many occasions in which I would call home on my way home from a council meeting and say, "It went well -- we laughed, I mean, really laughed together. I like these people."
Two:
The first large-group meeting that I facilitated at the congregation happened about 2-years into my tenure here. In some ways I think it shifted how people saw me as a leader.
I recognize these are both positive meeting memories -- there are also the meetings from which I've come home and put on my walking shoes, or poured a very, very stiff drink.
Let me know what you think about meetings!
reverendmother writes: In honor of a couple of marathon meetings I attended this week:
1. What's your view of meetings? Choose one or more, or make up your own:
a) When they're good, they're good. I love the feeling of people working well together on a common goal.
b) I don't seek them out, but I recognize them as a necessary part of life.
c) The only good meeting is a canceled meeting.
I choose (a), with the mirror statement of course being, "but when they're bad, they're horrid."
2. Do you like some amount of community building or conversation, or are you all business?
I was once part of a monthly meeting that routinely started 15-20 minutes past the scheduled time as the men swapped stories about sports, building things, etc. It drove me silly. I don't mind a little conversation in the midst of the meeting, as it can build community. However, the total off-topic chatting should be left until the end, so that those who aren't part of it can just leave!
3. How do you feel about leading meetings? Share any particular strengths or weaknesses you have in this area.
I like to lead meetings -- especially larger-group brainstorming, visioning-type meetings. I think I'm relatively good at it, and I try to be respectful of people's time. The weakness or flip-side of that is that I might not give adequate time to a topic or a person because of the overall covenant to be done at a certain time.
Leading standing committee meetings isn't how I see my role in the congregation, and fortunately I don't have to do that!
4. Have you ever participated in a virtual meeting? (conference call, IM, chat, etc.) What do you think of this format?
I have participated in a number of conference calls. It's OK, and often necessary when dealing with a national board. There's so much value, though, in the face-to-face meeting that when possible it's my preference.
5. Share a story of a memorable meeting you attended.
One:
The many, many occasions in which I would call home on my way home from a council meeting and say, "It went well -- we laughed, I mean, really laughed together. I like these people."
Two:
The first large-group meeting that I facilitated at the congregation happened about 2-years into my tenure here. In some ways I think it shifted how people saw me as a leader.
I recognize these are both positive meeting memories -- there are also the meetings from which I've come home and put on my walking shoes, or poured a very, very stiff drink.
Let me know what you think about meetings!
Monday, September 10, 2007
And the winner is...
Lovely, humble, peanut butter.
Scoop peanut butter.
Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
Scrub with brush. Be gentle on fibers.
Wash with dish soap.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Wash in washer.
Hold breath.
My pants are fine.
Scoop peanut butter.
Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
Scrub with brush. Be gentle on fibers.
Wash with dish soap.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Wash in washer.
Hold breath.
My pants are fine.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
So pretty. So, so pretty. So very pretty.
I'm rarely as excited to receive a package as I am when I've ordered from See Jane Work. Even though I chose the slowest shipping possible, and Monday was a holiday, and I checked the tracking number, I still asked my office every day this week, "Did I get a package?" My cynical co-everything, upon overhearing me ask this question, responded, "What do you think this is, Christmas?" Hmpf. See if I order him any lovely office supplies.
Anyway.
SJW makes receiving even the most mundane (ie, pencils and paperclips) lovely, not to mention the excitement when it's a new business card holder! *gasp* Or a *can you stand the excitement* financial organizer. If only their products could actually make me work. *sigh* Perhaps tomorrow will be more productive after I'm done gazing lovingly at the blue tissue paper in which everything was wrapped.
Anyway.
SJW makes receiving even the most mundane (ie, pencils and paperclips) lovely, not to mention the excitement when it's a new business card holder! *gasp* Or a *can you stand the excitement* financial organizer. If only their products could actually make me work. *sigh* Perhaps tomorrow will be more productive after I'm done gazing lovingly at the blue tissue paper in which everything was wrapped.
In the freezer
As I type, the aforementioned short/pants are in the freezer. Of course I realize (now) that many of you suggested using an actual ice cube, which might be why it felt so strange to be shoving my shorts around my ice cream, etc., this morning. It's a good thing that we haven't completely refilled our freezer from the afore-forementioned power outage. I'll of course keep you posted and thank you for all of your good advice.
With any luck at all, I'll forget that the clothing is there when I leave for the office and freak out tonight when I open the freezer for ice cream.
The ridiculousness (ridiculosity?) of this event to me wins at least top billing, which is why you get to read about it again -- and again when it comes out (or not) in the wash.
With any luck at all, I'll forget that the clothing is there when I leave for the office and freak out tonight when I open the freezer for ice cream.
The ridiculousness (ridiculosity?) of this event to me wins at least top billing, which is why you get to read about it again -- and again when it comes out (or not) in the wash.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Great. Now what do I do?
Yesterday we discovered that a neighboring community had a parade -- a perfect activity for our little family.
So, we saw fire engines and bands and cheerleaders and politicians. We saw the biggest grocery basket I've ever seen and collected many tootsie rolls and those caramel things with the white stuff in the middle (which I love). We were touched by the number of children passing out things from the parade who walked over to our son and handed him something, realizing that he couldn't scramble for the candy like the big kids who surrounded him, or reach to catch something.
We spread our blanket out on the grass and watched all of it go by in glory. If only I'd stayed on the blanket. Instead, I perched for what felt like a moment on the curb. And when I stood, the wad of gum upon which I'd sat stretched and stretched and stretched.
It's been a long time since I've had gum on anything. How do I get it out? Help, please, dear readers! I was wearing a favorite pair of dark, long denim-ish shorts from AT Loft that I haven't had that long (thanks to the end-of-season sales), and I really don't want to lose them.
So, we saw fire engines and bands and cheerleaders and politicians. We saw the biggest grocery basket I've ever seen and collected many tootsie rolls and those caramel things with the white stuff in the middle (which I love). We were touched by the number of children passing out things from the parade who walked over to our son and handed him something, realizing that he couldn't scramble for the candy like the big kids who surrounded him, or reach to catch something.
We spread our blanket out on the grass and watched all of it go by in glory. If only I'd stayed on the blanket. Instead, I perched for what felt like a moment on the curb. And when I stood, the wad of gum upon which I'd sat stretched and stretched and stretched.
It's been a long time since I've had gum on anything. How do I get it out? Help, please, dear readers! I was wearing a favorite pair of dark, long denim-ish shorts from AT Loft that I haven't had that long (thanks to the end-of-season sales), and I really don't want to lose them.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
So that's where I get it...
I've loved to make collages since I was in about 7th grade and it was the only project in art class where I truly felt that I deserved/earned the grade I got. There was something about the composition of words with images and the contrast of light and dark, the combining of fanciful with real and then putting it all together. We made copies on an old copy machine and then colored some of them in. I think the original collages were 11X17, or at least bigger than 8.5X11, so we were able to make a copy that only showed part of our image, and I saw that, too, as an opportunity to crop something out that I didn't particularly like, or make a decision about only showing half of the picture of my family. Not sure what to do with these copies, I wrote letters to friends on the other side, and I'd be surprised if any of them remain.
But through that assignment, the practice of making something new out of pieces of something else was kindled for me. Like quilting, but not as useful.
Grandma died (I've written about this before) and we made the trek to the farmhouse when the ground was still cold and the rhubarb was just beginning to emerge, bulbous and deep red, from the rich black dirt-turned-grey. We kicked through leaves and hid our tears and stood gazing off into the distance over acres and acres of soil, of dirt, of land that has been in our family since they staked the claim and said, "Here." And then we turned the key and budged open the door with our shoulder, with our hip, stumbling a bit into the entryway with its cracked linoleum and little sink -- where for generations people "washed up" before sitting down at the table.
We poked around and pulled books off the shelves and sometimes someone would sigh loudly and a hand would reach out to the shoulder, rub-rub-pat. And I opened the door to the basement, the damp smell of earth greeting me, sharp and a little offensive. I pulled the chain for the light bare light bulb and inhaled that earthy smell quickly. In the years that it had been since I'd ever opened that door, and for the first time probably ever, I noticed that all of the walls and the ceiling in the space heading downstairs were covered with pages from magazines.
I pulled my mom over and simply pointed, my eyes asking questions and my body finding comfort in this collaged room. "Oh yeah, I remember when she did that," Mom said. "Your Great Aunt came out one weekend and they spent the whole time tearing pages out and pasting them on the walls, and the ceiling." She paused and looked around, shaking her head. "Making do with what they had," she said. "Pretty amazing, isn't it?" And then she closed the door.
I went back to that land of history last week, to do the final sort through what hadn't been burned onsite last summer. There were a lot of memories wrapped up in newspaper -- fragile plates that had hung on the walls, a lamp, a dish and jar that used to water chickens and now resides with me in the suburbs. "For when we start raising chickens," I told my husband when he raised his eyebrows at me.
And there were five boxes full of old magazines, mostly from the 1930s -- Woman's World, Life, Hampshire Herdsman, Successful Farmer -- all addressed to my grandfather, who has been dead for almost 50 years. I took a few of them -- interesting ads, things I could frame, stories of communism.
My mother has saved stacks of magazines. I have saved stacks of magazines. Covering the walls with the magazines was my grandmother's and her sister's way of doing something with what they had already read, piecing together bits of history to bring color and protection to the walls.
But through that assignment, the practice of making something new out of pieces of something else was kindled for me. Like quilting, but not as useful.
Grandma died (I've written about this before) and we made the trek to the farmhouse when the ground was still cold and the rhubarb was just beginning to emerge, bulbous and deep red, from the rich black dirt-turned-grey. We kicked through leaves and hid our tears and stood gazing off into the distance over acres and acres of soil, of dirt, of land that has been in our family since they staked the claim and said, "Here." And then we turned the key and budged open the door with our shoulder, with our hip, stumbling a bit into the entryway with its cracked linoleum and little sink -- where for generations people "washed up" before sitting down at the table.
We poked around and pulled books off the shelves and sometimes someone would sigh loudly and a hand would reach out to the shoulder, rub-rub-pat. And I opened the door to the basement, the damp smell of earth greeting me, sharp and a little offensive. I pulled the chain for the light bare light bulb and inhaled that earthy smell quickly. In the years that it had been since I'd ever opened that door, and for the first time probably ever, I noticed that all of the walls and the ceiling in the space heading downstairs were covered with pages from magazines.
I pulled my mom over and simply pointed, my eyes asking questions and my body finding comfort in this collaged room. "Oh yeah, I remember when she did that," Mom said. "Your Great Aunt came out one weekend and they spent the whole time tearing pages out and pasting them on the walls, and the ceiling." She paused and looked around, shaking her head. "Making do with what they had," she said. "Pretty amazing, isn't it?" And then she closed the door.
I went back to that land of history last week, to do the final sort through what hadn't been burned onsite last summer. There were a lot of memories wrapped up in newspaper -- fragile plates that had hung on the walls, a lamp, a dish and jar that used to water chickens and now resides with me in the suburbs. "For when we start raising chickens," I told my husband when he raised his eyebrows at me.
And there were five boxes full of old magazines, mostly from the 1930s -- Woman's World, Life, Hampshire Herdsman, Successful Farmer -- all addressed to my grandfather, who has been dead for almost 50 years. I took a few of them -- interesting ads, things I could frame, stories of communism.
My mother has saved stacks of magazines. I have saved stacks of magazines. Covering the walls with the magazines was my grandmother's and her sister's way of doing something with what they had already read, piecing together bits of history to bring color and protection to the walls.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Re-Powered
It's become the cliche of my life -- oh, how we take for granted those things that we have until we don't have them anymore. Health, home, convenient access to anything, electricity. We lost our power Thursday afternoon. Sunday afternoon it reappeared. Three whole days without the ability to turn on lights, cook, check email at home, look anything up online, do laundry, dry my hair, watch TV. So quiet without that background hum. So dark at night without even the streetlight lit outside.
I've never wanted to cook or do laundry so badly in my life. Clearly part of my brain lost power, too.
However, no water entered our basement -- lest I have no tales to tell of an entire baseball card collection lost, having to rip up the second carpet in less than a year, or filling the curb with bags and bags of soggy things. It was not uncommon to hear stories swapped of this nature -- 3 inches, 10 inches, 3 feet of water.... evidently a litter box floats at that level.
And, we had water during the whole ordeal -- and due to an older water heater, our showers were warm -- hot, even.
I've truly never been so happy to see lights on in the living room as I was last night upon returning from dinner with friends. The trucks had been outside when we left and I said a sincere, "thank you" to the nice worker man before he climbed up the pole at the end of our driveway.
He looked me in the eye and said, "Don't thank me yet. Just because I'm here doesn't mean your lights are coming on." Talk about a deflating moment, but my thank you stood. There were nearly half a million people without power after Thursday. We were among the faithful remnant of 40-thousand or so folks still without it on Sunday morning. That's a lot of work that those workers did in not always pleasant conditions.
So, today we do laundry, empty our refrigerator and freezer of nearly all their contents, retrieve our salvaged frozen items from a friend's deep freeze, and start again taking for granted things like checking email from home, using our cordless phone, and being lulled through our day with that quiet hum that means things are running.
I've never wanted to cook or do laundry so badly in my life. Clearly part of my brain lost power, too.
However, no water entered our basement -- lest I have no tales to tell of an entire baseball card collection lost, having to rip up the second carpet in less than a year, or filling the curb with bags and bags of soggy things. It was not uncommon to hear stories swapped of this nature -- 3 inches, 10 inches, 3 feet of water.... evidently a litter box floats at that level.
And, we had water during the whole ordeal -- and due to an older water heater, our showers were warm -- hot, even.
I've truly never been so happy to see lights on in the living room as I was last night upon returning from dinner with friends. The trucks had been outside when we left and I said a sincere, "thank you" to the nice worker man before he climbed up the pole at the end of our driveway.
He looked me in the eye and said, "Don't thank me yet. Just because I'm here doesn't mean your lights are coming on." Talk about a deflating moment, but my thank you stood. There were nearly half a million people without power after Thursday. We were among the faithful remnant of 40-thousand or so folks still without it on Sunday morning. That's a lot of work that those workers did in not always pleasant conditions.
So, today we do laundry, empty our refrigerator and freezer of nearly all their contents, retrieve our salvaged frozen items from a friend's deep freeze, and start again taking for granted things like checking email from home, using our cordless phone, and being lulled through our day with that quiet hum that means things are running.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Returning
I love to get mail. As a child I ran to the mailbox to see if I had anything -- fortunately I had godparents and penpals who indulged me, or at least occasionally sent me something so that I could bounce back up the driveway. Returning from a week away from the office meant returning to a very full mailbox -- not to the point where my mail had been shifted to an actual box on the counter, but I did have to compress it in order to get it out of the slot.
Much of it went straight to the recycling bin, but even this brings me a little bit of joy, though I hate the concept of junk mail and how it offends the environment -- both the ecological and the aesthetic as it wastes away in piles upon my desk. But there were little delights -- thank you notes, handwritten correspondence, invitations to continuing education events, magazines to look forward to reading, etc. I have done my initial sort -- recycle, read later, read now, and file in my "someone loves me" folder.
This return to my office is also marked with a sense of satisfaction, as I remembered before I left, to wash those nasty, nasty coffee cups that had already started sprouting when I washed them. I'm afraid that my office would have needed some serious decontamination if I hadn't washed them, but there they sit -- gleaming and clean, just waiting for fresh hot coffee.
Perhaps I'll make coffee and read my mail. My work days this week are more contained this week as we're juggling daycare being closed, and my thought is that I'll be more productive. So far that's not the case.
Much of it went straight to the recycling bin, but even this brings me a little bit of joy, though I hate the concept of junk mail and how it offends the environment -- both the ecological and the aesthetic as it wastes away in piles upon my desk. But there were little delights -- thank you notes, handwritten correspondence, invitations to continuing education events, magazines to look forward to reading, etc. I have done my initial sort -- recycle, read later, read now, and file in my "someone loves me" folder.
This return to my office is also marked with a sense of satisfaction, as I remembered before I left, to wash those nasty, nasty coffee cups that had already started sprouting when I washed them. I'm afraid that my office would have needed some serious decontamination if I hadn't washed them, but there they sit -- gleaming and clean, just waiting for fresh hot coffee.
Perhaps I'll make coffee and read my mail. My work days this week are more contained this week as we're juggling daycare being closed, and my thought is that I'll be more productive. So far that's not the case.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
All God's Critters....
Got a place in our building, I guess.
There's a new friend in the building.
A cricket.
Perhaps this other friend will take care of it. Because by the time someone got around to calling someone else to take care of that friend (and this was after multiple viewings by multiple people), taking care of that friend was prohibited due to the season.
I'll take the cricket any day, but it's sure loud.
There's a new friend in the building.
A cricket.
Perhaps this other friend will take care of it. Because by the time someone got around to calling someone else to take care of that friend (and this was after multiple viewings by multiple people), taking care of that friend was prohibited due to the season.
I'll take the cricket any day, but it's sure loud.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Thoughts of the day
I need to charge more for non-member weddings.
We're planning a vacation. A tropical vacation. It's a long ways from now (more than a year) but I'm very, very excited. Given that we honeymooned in Canada, this will be delightful.
It's really warm outside, and that exhausts me.
We bottled the first batch of beer last night. My thoughts are now consumed with designing and printing labels for the "Hey, Honey...."
There's a fair amount of stuff I need to do before being away from the office next week. And before September. And before tonight, to be honest.
But all I want to do is go buy shoes. Which I might do after finishing the bulletin for draft purposes. So I should write the bulletin instead of blogging.
We're planning a vacation. A tropical vacation. It's a long ways from now (more than a year) but I'm very, very excited. Given that we honeymooned in Canada, this will be delightful.
It's really warm outside, and that exhausts me.
We bottled the first batch of beer last night. My thoughts are now consumed with designing and printing labels for the "Hey, Honey...."
There's a fair amount of stuff I need to do before being away from the office next week. And before September. And before tonight, to be honest.
But all I want to do is go buy shoes. Which I might do after finishing the bulletin for draft purposes. So I should write the bulletin instead of blogging.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
trying....
to post a whiny post about a stress-spot in my shoulder and it won't. post.
perhaps blogger has decided i'm too whiny.
i hate that.
perhaps blogger has decided i'm too whiny.
i hate that.
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