Monthly Archives: January 2016

Looking at stars, snow, and a challenge.

art, love, quotes, , , ,

I’ve been out aa crown for our heads - stars RtoPnd about in spite of the weather and my cold – that is, via my computer. Here are some things I’ve found. The last one may be the most interesting, so don’t miss it.

**I learned something about stars and their colors when they are out of focus.

**On the topic of the skies and the weather, I have only this week noticed a way of talking about weather systems as “pieces of energy.” It’s probably not new; do TV weather forecasters use this phrase? This from a recent email:

RAIN WILL SWITCH OVER TO SHOWERS BY LATE IN THE MORNING OR EARLY IN THE AFTERNOON ON FRIDAY. A SECOND PIECE OF ENERGY WILL QUICKLY MOVE TO OUR REGION WITH ANOTHER ROUND OF RAIN FORECAST FOR FRIDAY EVENING INTO SATURDAY.

**Bonnie posted a short and sweet exhortation in the form of a poem by Wendell Berry.ee9f1-cbywindowwsnow

**Last year I was very interested when Podso listed some things she has learned about life, that is, how to have good days. I wonder what my list would look like, if I could ever get past my usual endless analysis to come up with one?

**DeAnn has a good collection of thought-provoking quotes on her blog, which is where I read one taken from a book I read last summer. I don’t even remember reading this paragraph then, and that makes me think I should go back and read the whole thing over again.

“It is by loving, and not by being loved, that one can come nearest the soul of another; yea, that, where two love, it is the loving of each other, that originates and perfects and assures their blessedness. I knew that love gives to him that loveth, power over any soul he loved, even if that soul know him not, bringing him inwardly close to that spirit; a power that cannot be but for good; for in proportion as selfishness intrudes, the love ceases, and the power which springs therefrom dies. Yet all love will, one day, meet with its return.”

~ George MacDonald, Phantastes

**Owen White has a faith-literary-art challenge going on at his blog The Ochlophobist. Entries must be titled in this form: Why I am a ________________.” And in that blank spot you are to place your faith designation, to the degree of precision you prefer.”

Some of the resulting titles in the entries that have been posted so far: “Why I am a slightly miserable but motivated methodist,” “Why I Am Still an (Orthodox) Christian Who Mans His Post” and “Why I am a non-believer who still goes to church.” The content of the entries includes many poems, music on YouTube, works of visual art, and prose.

After you read the rules and see what other people have done (entries have been posted for several days now) to meet the challenge, maybe you also would like to engage with this exercise. I had to push myself to not be too perfectionistic about it, and managed to put together my own entry. I hope you will, too!

blessing of waters through ice

Ironing in the Light.

housework, quotes,

I took time to do some ironing this morning and it was glorious. How could that be, you wonder? It was the Lord; He is glorious.

I used to “take in ironing” for money when I was a teenager, and I’ve enjoyed the task ever since, at least, when I’m not in a rush. I liked to set up my ironing station in the living rogl P1030303om occasionally so I could watch a baseball game on TV with my husband at the same time. I would in a leisurely fashion catch up on pressing all his work shirts, and my own clothes, which often needed it, too. I know, there are lots of women these days who Don’t Iron. I am not very current that way.

Today I was alone, and I didn’t consider multitasking because I didn’t think I’d be at it very long. The sun was streaming into the great room which I had just rearranged and tidied up, so that is where the ironing board landed. When people are sleeping in that room it gets moved all around; I don’t have a dedicated laundry room.gl P1030299

Today I did quite a few placemats, napkins, and handkerchiefs. I noticed the differences in various qualities among the napkins. The paisley napkins Pearl sewed to go with some teacups she gave me. They are perfectly square with meticulous stitching, and the fabric is good quality, easy to press smoothly.

The checkered napkins are ones I made eons ago of soft and thick fabric, nice for wiping one’s chin, but they are not well-sewn or uniform in size or shape. It’s so heartening to have one’s children rise above their examples. The green napkins I bought, and they are of terribly wrinkly and coarse fabric that takes a lot of pressing and steam to get into shape.

The plaid handkerchief is one of many I sewed for Mr. Glad from an old skirt. The fabric is soft and thin enough, but so strong that the handkerchiefs I made have lasted for years and now I am using them myself.

As I was working the wrinkles out of skirts and napkins, I thought about what I had read yesterday on Fr. Stephen Freeman’s blog post, “An Unnecessary Salvation”:

That Christianity in its classical form has always had an instinct for “all things,” is evidenced in the use of “all things” within its services and sacraments. And when those uses are examined, what is uncovered is a “seamless garment” of salvation. Nothing is “by the way.” I have made the statement from time to time with catechumens in my parish that we could begin with the smallest thing, a simple blade of grass, and go from there to give a full account of the entirety of the gospel. It could also be said that if an account of the gospel excludes even so much as a blade of grass, then it has been seriously misunderstood.

I knew that this morning I was being saved by ironing….and I was glad that I could be ironing in peace, in the presence of God, singing my prayers, and my feet weren’t hurting ! and also, I have the best ironing board. I tried to buy an ironing board for one of my daughters a few years ago and I was appalled at how rickety they all are now. I haven’t seen or used one as sturdy, heavy and stable as mine in decades. No wonder women don’t want to iron, if they have to work on flimsy equipment.

The light coming into that room must have made me think of the song, “The Lord is My Light and My Salvation,” and from there, a really old one we sang in the Jesus People days, “I Saw the Lord,” which, as I remember it, continues:

I saw the Lord, sitting upon a throne:
He is high and lifted up,
And His train fills the temple.
He is high and lifted up,
And His train fills the temple.
The angels cry “Holy!” The angels cry “Holy!”
The angels cry “Holy is the LORD!”

Birds fly under the weather.

birds, friends, nature

A young friend named Lilly came to visit from Idaho one evening, and a rude head cold fell on me the following morning. I managed to take her to Vespers, but on Sunday I was glad that she could go to Liturgy with Kit, because I was too sick to attend. In the evening Kit and Lilly cooked a wonderful breakfast for our dinner, trying out a new recipe from the 75th Anniversary Joy of Cooking for Lemon Pancakes, to go with bacon and eggs. Perhaps that sped my healing?

This morning I felt a little better,  and as I sat down with my tea by the sliding glass door I was surprised to see a new addition to the garden – a tall pole with a bird feeder hooked on at the top. Kit had set it up the day before, close enough that we could easily see the birds that come to it. And soon they did! Lilly and I saw a goldfinch, a jay, a towhee and a dozen juncos in the garden, many of them gathering under the feeder to peck at the seeds on the ground.

As I sat there weakly but joyfully watching, I noticed my mind fretting in the background, muttering something vague about chores to be done or books to be read. It was downright ridiculous murmuring, and I almost laughed at the idea that there could be a more sublime and worthwhile activity than watching birds outside my window, especially when I wasn’t at the time fit for anything more strenuous.

Lilly said that birds like bark such as I have in my planting bed mulch, because they like to peck around in it and find things to eat The jay was doing this, and then he hung on sideways to the feeder pole and studied the hanging ball of seeds, but didn’t manage to access it. My new garden is full of plants that are known to provide a good habitat for birds and bees, but I didn’t expect them to flock here so soon. Today they didn’t pay any attention to the fountain, but that is probably because the rain has made plenty of drinking pools all over the neighborhood.

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Later on Lilly and I drove to the coast so she could visit the beach she hasn’t seen sinIMG_1607ce she moved from here seven years ago. It was an overcast day and the ocean was roiling like dirty dishwater, but there was no wind, and the air was as fresh as could be. Rivulets were running from the cliffs to the shore, and the beach was covered with twigs and seaweed and all kinds of storm “trash.” Gulls and sandpipers and another kind of water bird — or were they merely junior gulls? — and a crow were enjoying all the new moisture in the air and on the sand.

Some of the dull brown-gray rocks had bright orange quartz-y rocks embedded here and there, harder layers that hadn’t eroded as fast and ended up looking as though they were pasted on. At least, that’s my assessment.

I was so glad not to be slouched IMG_1606over my tea indoors all day; strolling on the beach was not too taxing, nor was driving to the coast, though it took longer than expected because of flooding and detours. I took Lilly to the Birds Café and we ate clam chowder while looking over the grayness of the wet landscape and bay.

Now I’m fading again, but so happy to have accomplished and enjoyed these simple pleasures even when under the weather, and in the weather. And with the dear birds! They certainly brighten up our world.

 

IMG_1617

Putting my right foot in.

grief, poetry

Thanks very much to Thicket House for passing this one along.

ON GRIEF

I want my grief

to be brilliant, fast and gone.

Like Mozart. Or Stevie Ray.
Like fireworks. Boom! Flash!
Ooh, ahh. OK, done. Let’s go.

I want my grief to be brave.

Hurts more now, heals faster,
Grandma said, pouring salt
On a skinned knee.

I want to stand up to grief,

Stand it down, like the
Tiny man, big tank
In Tiananmen Square.

Because. Because if I am brave,

Bold, salty, open enough
The tank, the bleeding, the tears
Will stop sooner. I tell myself.

But grief laughs. Humbles me.

I lose keys, break cups, get lost.
Asked at CarMax Why are you
Selling this car? I burst

Into an embarrassment of tears.

A friend says, One doesn’t have grief,
Grief has you.
We wrestle, to the mat. I’m pinned.

But sometimes I break free.

Break patterns instead of dishes.
Start to write myself a new story,
To fling myself toward yes,

Begin to say, Oh. Now this. . . . Observe

What life brings. Reframe. Say,
I’m not wrestling grief,
We’re dancing.

So, I put my right foot in . . .
And turn myself about.

       –Peg Runnels