• At 6:00 a.m., a wide angle view of a sideways smiling sliver of a crescent moon rising between mountains, with Venus attached to its chin like a bright beauty mark. Gorgeous. At least I got a good mental snapshot. • Docu-shots of the adorable little man who showed up this morning to tune my piano. (Hurray! Hurray!) • Closeups of chocolates and colorful suckers at the Startup Candy Co. • A shot of Rob with his favorite group of letterpress students to date. • A self-portrait of me happily making dandelion jelly. (Didn't happen as planned. Maybe tomorrow.) • A profile of Rob enjoying a funny thought while driving. • A picture of my feet and his standing side by side, wearing the new magic shoes we would have purchased if the clerk at the runners' shop hadn't been locking the door as we drove up to shop. (Who closes at 8:00 p.m.?) (She must not work on commission.) • ______________________________ .
However, moments after madhouse Costco turned me world-weary and nearly ready to bawl and/or brawl, I saw this:
It's not a great shot, but the real thing helped bring me back to my earlier bliss:
Thanks, Earth, for knowing just what I need and always being right where I need you.
O Lord, thou hast searched me, and known me. Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising, thou understandest my thought afar off. Thou compassest my path and my lying down, and art acquainted with all my ways. For there is not a word in my tongue, but, lo, O Lord, thou knowest it altogether. Thou hast beset me behind and before, and laid thine hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high, I cannot attain unto it. Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me. If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me. Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee. For thou hast possessed my reins: thou hast covered me in my mother’s womb. I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvellous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well. My substance was not hid from thee, when I was made in secret, and curiously wrought in the lowest parts of the earth. Thine eyes did see my substance, yet being unperfect; and in thy book all my members were written, which in continuance were fashioned, when as yet there was none of them. How precious also are thy thoughts unto me, O God! how great is the sum of them! If I should count them, they are more in number than the sand: when I awake, I am still with thee.
Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts: And see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.
Here is my young weed-picking friend I mentioned in yesterday's post, standing with her lovely mum. Can you imagine the impact of such a weekend as Dandelion Girl is having? Yesterday was her 8th birthday. Today she was baptized. Tomorrow is Easter. Her best-beloved grandparents have come all the way from the UK to be with her, and her granddad even baptized and confirmed her. That's a lot of sweetness and a lot of happy memories. They're having a party next door—it's rocking right through the afternoon. I can hear the voices of squealing, running, excited children outside—the grey sky and the drizzling rain can't stop them. For DG and her tagalong troupe it's a sunshiny day.
Monday—April 6th—brought me a sunny little seven-year-old knocking on my door, holding out a squished fistful of pretty yellow harvested from my own front yard. Have you noticed that all it takes to turn a weed into a flower is for a loving child to pick and offer it? My sweet neighbor's honorable bouquet and her shy but eager hug gave me some needed strength.
Because April 6th is a a special date to me, I chose that evening, after our FHE, to take care of a Life Errand, something that I've been needing and wanting to do for a long time. Rob went with me and we sought out a favorite tree of mine, the one I was sitting beneath once when I saw the Grim Reaper making his way down the street and I actually laughed at him. (Have I told that story yet?)
(Seems ironic: I was the one in the cemetery, sitting on the tree's roots so long I felt I might turn into a granite statue, and fit right in with the other headstones. The Grim Reaper was in the middle of the road and doggedly stuck to the striped white line like he owned it, on the other side of the fence. I suppose he might actually own it, come to think of it. That's certainly where he picks up a lot of careless customers.)
I left a small piece of the past in this place, entrusted it to the care of this tree that's been around a long time. It's seen some things. It knows. Rob was with me when I laid down a token of a heartache that needs to be put to rest. I couldn't think of a better place or a more watchful guard. When the weather warms a bit more I will love sometimes to go and sit with my tree again, with turned thoughts.
Monday night I started a batch of horchata soaking. Tuesday I spent all morning finishing it (next time I will buy the cheesecloth instead of cheaping out and trying to strain the rice sludge through a flour sack towel) and shared it with lovely Wendy. Missed by a hair getting mashed by another big truck (not my fault!) on the way home and most of what was left of the horchata in the uncovered pitcher responded, true to the laws of physics, by soaking the dog car and a couple of library books. At least I had enough left to let Rob have a glassful with dinner.
Dried horchata residue looks simultaneously like a tree of life and a really big tongue.
Wednesday I didn't take my Project 365 photo because I never could get my camera trained fast enough on the one subject that entertained me all day—a bold, beautiful scrub jay who's taken up residence at our house. I love these birds. They seem to choose favorite places to haunt, and not long ago when I was out walking in the 'hood, I noticed one of those houses, and started wishing for some blue birdy company. Interesting factoid: unlike many other species, scrub jays share their color equally between male and female. Both get to be bright. And bright they are, in multiple ways. Jays are so smart! My new friend hung around near the feeder and in the side yard for hours, and at one point stood in the center of my kitchen windowsill and stared me in the face in the most delightfully cheeky way. I hope he/she/(they) will stick around.
Thursday I did not go to the Jehovah's Witnesses' commemoration of the Last Supper. I did think about it though. Have I mentioned that I have been adopted as a project by a wonderful 17-year-old JW missionary girl? I really really like her, and suggested we do a cultural exchange where I go to her meetin' and she comes to hear me sing (while safely drowned out by real choir voices) at my church on Easter Sunday. She wasn't comfortable, and me, I just had to work late.
Today I had the great pleasure of offering some heartfelt birthday wishes . . .
. . . and also receiving some early birthday love.
After a ladies' lunch, I spent the rest of the day and night printing for my cousin and cousin-to-be while I listened to a favorite podcast. Over and over I made these words appear along with a suite of invitation pieces. That sums up well how I'm feeling right now: Thank You. Thank You. Thank You.
General Conference is always a feast and, particularly on Saturday, it's also a marathon. There's a lot to absorb, and in between and around listening sessions there are meals and family time and extended family and friends time and hopefully a walk and . . . .
Rob and I watched GC via the internet, by ourselves at home. Rob brought in his "knitting" from the studio, which means he quietly worked on sewing together screens for a new papermaking mould. I broke out the laptop and tried to make notes about whatever grabbed me.
During the break between the morning and afternoon session, we went to Sam's Club where apparently it was Big Cheese Day—and oh, what samples! Cheese! Cheese and crackers! More cheeses! Lamb! (Lamb?!) Cheesecake! I thought we would be late getting home because Rob was so excited about one of the samples that he got back in a long line. Something went wrong and slowed the sample ladies way down. It's a good thing they finally delivered that extra lamb sample; I think Rob might have waited for it the rest of the day.
Later when the second conference session was over, Rob got ready and left to save seats for his dad and brothers for the priesthood session. That left me on my own till it was time to gather with the women of the family. I was pretty hungry (only had samples for lunch) so I looked in the fridge for a little non-cheese something to take the edge off my hunger, figuring I'd eat with the ladies in a while.
My eyes fell upon the last of the beautiful brown eggs. This was the one I'd been saving, my favorite of three dozen. Just look at the freckles, wouldja?
No kidding, I formed an emotional attachment to this egg. I'd originally thought of blowing out its insides so I could keep the shell, but decided instead to make A Symbolic Occasion of cooking and eating it. And so, with much ceremony and some olive oil, I fried it, I ate it, and then waxed appropriately appreciative and wistful. That was one delicious egg. Perfect.
Funny, though, it turned out to set the tone for the rest of the evening, which was focused entirely on eggs, chicks, and all their wonderful plumage—a hen party! Here's what happens when all the men go away for a few hours. (I need to amend that—there was one young nephew on the premises, but he had a date with a computer game.)
Decorating an Easter tree, wrapping eggs in onion skins, then bundling them with cloth and string for the dye pot.
My namesake, eating Easter grass.
The champion egg blower.
Our eggs after going onion skin-ny dipping. Pretty, no?
Fancy feathers!
An exotic bird.
They don't call them fascinators for nothing.
Chicks dig 'em!
Time to try some curls on the girls.
Rag rollers—for beauty on a budget. Quote of the night—while E. was enduring the terrible tuggings of the rag-rolling process, she waxed thoughtful: "When the men are gone, it's so peaceful."
My book shipment finally arrived! This is part of my self-sufficiency plan—learning patternmaking. I am going to master this; I'm determined! And I'm also going to become a refashionista. Who wants to join me?
Another Tryst Press interview, a very short one, this time for a 2-minute KBYU piece. I sat this one out and let Rob do all the talking on-camera. My hands did make a cameo though, turning the pages of the Allegory of the Olive Tree. Good thing I took off my chipped-like-a-junior-high-schooler aubergine nail polish before the media team showed up. (I think the finished story will air on KBYU-TV/BYU Television this coming weekend . . . ?)
We don't usually mix our temple trips and date nights, but after a frazzling day, I requested that we make a mad dash to the temple early, before the usual Friday night crowd showed up. It turned out to be a good decision, and as I'd hoped, it helped me calm my mind and begin to ease into a listening mode to help me invest myself in the rest of the weekend—two days of General Conference.
After the temple, Rob and I went in search of a good burger (Rob's dream). We wanted to try Five Guys, but there was no available parking for about five miles, so we ended up at Coney's, where we thought we remembered having had decent food once upon a time. Our rating: two mehs. But we did get to enjoy this terrific appetizer, which the person before us left on the table instead of dropping it in the comment box on his way out. Delicious!
If you want to view the actual print layout of the article and see the photos full-size (including one which makes me look positively lumpy, but ask me if I care), read the PDF version.
1. The quiet rain sounds so nice tonight. Why does the standard April shower give me a good home feeling? I don't want to go to sleep—I'd rather stay awake and listen to it. Then again, there's nothing too much nicer than falling into dreams to the comforting sound of raindrops.
2. I ate one of the best Massaman curries of my entire life today. I turned our kitchen over to our friend Ethan, who was here making paper. Thanks to C Jane, I was already primed for curry this week, and it was total bliss. Ethan done good. Yum-oh-yum.
I learned something about Massaman curry, other than Ethan's great recipe. I read that this beloved Thai dish was originally Muslim. In fact, the word Massaman is a variation of Musulman, which was the older form of the word Muslim. Interesting, huh? Muslim curry. I'm going to work it into our regular meal rotation. (That sounds so organized. What a joke. I don't have a regular meal rotation. But I will start one now, with Muslim curry.)
3. I decided to make a housing helper for the birds who want to nest in my 'hood. I read online recently about how you can make a stash of building materials available for your feathered friends with such items as small strips of fabric scraps, bits of yarn and string, shredded paper, cotton batting, wool roving, twigs, leaves, grass clippings, feathers, snakeskins, cobwebs, broom straws, and . . . HAIR. Yes, I have found a cause that speaks to me. I can't tell you how it pleases me and helps me feel like I'm somehow cheating entropy to use my rapidly falling locks to plump up a nest or two and comfort a homely hatching of bird babies. I cleaned out my brush tonight and stuffed the bounty into a wide-mouthed mason jar for safekeeping till I get some other odds and ends collected and readied. In the morning, after my shower, it won't hurt my feelings nearly so much to have to retrieve so many stricken strands from the drain if they'll go to support a tiny family and not just end up in the garbage. I've got plenty of raw materials to share. Now I just need to figure out what my birdy building supply store will look like.
5. One of these days I will plan a hair party. You will all be invited. Wigs will be mandatory. Mustaches, real or fake, will be welcome. Maybe we'll even have a sugaring station. Ow!
6. Last night I took some personal prayer time and got frustrated listening to myself struggle away from a well-worn groove: "Please help me __________." It's not that I don't need or want God's help; sometimes I just get sick of hearing myself ask and ask and ask. To be fair to myself, I do more than ask for help, but it does seem that all my inner roads lately lead to that petition. I begin to feel a little puny. Setting aside the paradox of being nothing and everything, I think I should be feeling a little more personal power than I've been expressing to God lately. Do you get what I mean? You might have been amused to hear me trying to ask for help with not asking for so much help. Gack!
I turned the words—please and help—over and over in my head as I went asleep, and just like what used to happen when I was in school, the sleeping on it helped me wake up this morning with a clearer comprehension. The first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes was that the words I'd been fretting over had changed their meaning in the night, slipped into something more comfortably assertive and full of will. Please and help had surrendered their attitude of vague desperation and had gained a little muscle. PleaseGod, they said to me. Help your own situation. Help others. Help yourself to blessings; they're all around you, there for the taking. It didn't feel at all like an "And quit bugging me!" type of answer. On the contrary, there was no rebuke anywhere in it, just a lot of understanding, and what felt like an implied partnership. Being reminded of personal powers can be such a calming experience. I guess it could be scary too, if you looked at it in a different way, but I'd much rather enjoy taking responsibility.
I worked all day today, physical work, which I haven't felt well enough to do in a while. It felt so good. When I took more time to pray after this morning's epiphany, I could almost hear God laughing at me when the words "Please help" still came out, despite my best intentions. Of course he will help me. He's even pleased to, especially when I'm heavily involved in the process and don't leave my own work half-done.
7. My blog seems to get more and more random.
8. Is it a bad idea to eat Muslim curry for a midnight snack?
It's April, my month. I'm happy to welcome it. It's completely committed to spring—none of this one tentative foot in front yard violets and one foot still in winter business. Even if April happens to bring us a chill here and there, we're going forward into budding and blossoming life, and not backward. I woke up this morning feeling green and interested in putting extra energy into positive thoughts and language. Last month I was sick a long time; this month I want to be very well.
Ironically, I spent the 1st day of my month stomach-sick. Rob too. I had a reprieve long enough to have a lunch date with Bec o' my heart and spend a couple nice hours just talking. That was a break I was grateful for. She's such good company, and the sweet potato fries at Guru's are worth getting sick again for.
(Yesterday, the first day Rob and I came down with gut rot in earnest, all either of us could get successfully down was dried mango, a gift from our friend Paul. If you get this bug, I suggest you have somebody pick up a bag for you from Costco. And drink lots of water.)
(Not many left. See?)
Bec o' and I were celebrating our birthdays today—that was the excuse we used to go out anyhow. Before she came by to get me, I spent the morning cooking up a batch of an ancient Mediterranean beauty treatment—Halawah—to give her along with a cheesy note. Has anybody else tried sugaring before? It's strange and wonderful, not too painful, and is even nice on toast. I tested the stuff out to see if it actually works, and—voila!—I am defuzzed! I'm going to test out an original recipe next time, with rose water. Interested?
(Sorry, no action shots. Maybe next time.)
My other project today was finishing up an announcement design for my cousin and his bride-to-be. One more reminder of the season—pink! green! Their wedding colors! The combo puts me in mind of tulips. Two lips, get it?
(Last night was Pick Yer Pantones night. That's always fun.)
Speaking of colorful, Bec o' and I were discussing an idea for one of our next meetups: a trip to the wig shop to try out some new hairdos. This is actually more than just fun for me, though it's sure to be that. This alopecia I've been wrangling since my surgery has turned aggressive in the past few months, and if it keeps going this way much longer, we're all of us in for a rude shock. Baldness! Ack! Devastation! O, vanity! It's funny, and I do so try to appreciate the humor in the situation, the way the current attack has played out; this go-round all the big patches which have ejected hair are hiding beneath the veil of my part. I seem to be crossing the line between alopecia areata and alopecia totalis in a sneaky way. The people who know I have this disorder say, encouragingly, "Oh, you can't tell at all! I don't see a thing wrong!" All the while, a quarter of my head and rising is attemtpting to embrace my inner Sinead. It's as if my scalp is trying to spare us all the sight for as long as possible. One day I'll wake up and it will be like my hair fell out overnight.
I'm working on coming to terms with what seems inevitable. Rob tries to downplay it, bless his loving intentions. I have one friend who seems to get it, and he is losing his hair himself this week to chemo. He tells me he is "pissed on women's behalf" because it's not so acceptable to go around sans hair as it is for men. He tells me, perhaps a little too optimistically, I'd look "fantastic and boldly beautiful without the bandana." But this is a man who has yet to see me in person.
Anyway. I asked Rob yesterday what color wig I should get if I ever go that route. He joked, "Chartreuse." Don't put it past me. If I have to lose my own, I may invest in technicolor. I'll take a flamboyant wardrobe of coiffures, thank you. Lots of people are stocking up on beans and wheat to see them through hard times. Me, I think I'll put away some henna tattoo kits and some synthetic bobs for leaner days.
For now, I've decided to adopt the philosophy that any day I have hair is a good day. If my hair finally goes, then I'll pick something else to appreciate.
Like tulips. Two lips, get it?
(I look positively shaggy in these! The grand illusion!)
