Tea & Cake

Snow, Socks, Stories

2012-02-29T09:51:00.002-08:00

We are expecting the first and only real storm of the winter later today. I am happy that the weather has been so mild this year, but it will be nice to see my world transformed by white. There's something very special about snow.

I've been knitting Pom Pom Peds for my daughters. The step-by-step pattern is free at Purl Bee, and it's quick and easy. Since I started purling the Norwegian way with the yarn held to the back of my work (just as in the knit stitch) I haven't had any pain in my right hand. It almost seems to good to be true. I think putting away the worsted weight cardigan I was working on, and switching to a project with a lighter weight yarn also has made a difference. Here are the peds I made for Amy:

The details are raveled about here.

I want to tell you about a couple of books that I read last week. I learned in Quiet, by Susan Cain, that Finland has the highest concentration of introverts. I wanted to know how Finnish people think, so I searched for a novel written by a Fin. I found Tove Jansson's, The True Deceiver at my library. It is a story about the little white lies we tell each other in order to be sociable (and polite), and how they affect the reality we inhabit. It's a book about perception. It's a book about human relationships, friendship, and inner motives. It was beautifully and masterfully written--full of symbolism and layers of meaning. Jansson's characters were very real, as was the cold, dark Finnish landscape. I think I will be haunted by this book for a long time. This is how the story begins:

It was an ordinary dark winter morning, and snow was still falling. No window in the village showed a light. Katri screened the lamp so she wouldn't wake her brother while she made coffee and put the Thermos by his bed. The room was very cold. The big dog lay by the door and looked at her with his nose between his paws, waiting for her to take him out.

I just finished another book, that I absolutely loved. It was a true-blue romance novel, the kind of book that my mother reads without shame. One day when my mom was visiting me she asked me what I was reading. I showed her the title--some literary novel or non-fiction work. She looked at me and remarked, "You might be happier if you read something lighter and more fun." I think she would be happy to know how much I enjoyed the book I just finished. It was Lisa Kleypas' first book, Love Come To Me. While it was heavy on romance (and sex--very steamy and detailed), it was not light on story. It takes place right after the Civil War, and is the story of a displaced southern man who moves to Massachusetts. I completely related to his experience of moving to New England. He rescues a young woman from the Concord River, and falls in love with her. The love story is complex and really captivating. I liked that there was no pre-marital sex (I'm prudish that way). Most of the story takes place after the couple is married, which is a departure from the typical romance plot. Here is how it begins:

Heath turned up the collar of his overcoat, cursing through his teeth as he felt an icy draft of wind slip down his neck. It was his first winter here, and he was discovering that New England was not kind to misplaced Southerners. His booted feet crunched through hardened layers of snow that had accumulated over many recent storms. It had snowed and frozen over so many times that he suspected it would take until June to melt completely away.

Oh, I do highly recommend it!

The first snowflakes have just started to fall. I'm going to go heat up the tea kettle and settle in with my knitting, and Lisa Kleypas' newest release.

Joining Ginny in her weekly Yarn Along.

Lost and Found

2012-02-28T10:00:00.002-08:00

Yesterday town workers came and cut down the tree in front of my neighbor's house while we pressed sad faces against the window glass and watched. Someone must have wanted it removed. But, the tree was not sick or dying . And, it provided shade, privacy, and beauty to our street. Now it's gone, and there is a gaping hole in its place. Changes to the landscape are startling.

"Can I use this?" my daughter asked me. It was an old journal of mine, hardly used, with just a few pages of scribblings at the beginning. I ripped the pages out and gave the book to her. Later, after lessons, and laundry, and meal preparations I looked at the pages. They were from 2005. Did I write these notes? Were these my thoughts back then? I scarcely remember.

I want to save these pages, which are now loose and will soon end up misplaced or shuffled into the bin. Since it's Lent and these are notes from some of my questions about faith, I've decided to post a record of them here. Even if you do not share my religious views, you might be entertained by the crazy things I think about, or then again, you might be bored stiff. If you're not interested in Bible stuff, definitely skip the rest of this post.

Notes on the Revelation:

Who are the 144,000? They are the companions of the Lord, who bear the name of the Father and the Son on their foreheads--but, what about the name of the Holy Spirit? The 144,000 are the embodiment of the Spirit--the Church. Numbers in scripture do not have a one-to-one correspondence the way that we use them today. They are always used conceptually. The number 1,000 represents fullness or completeness. The number 12 represents perfect rule. 12 is the product of 3 (Divine Perfection) and 4 (which represents the four corners of the earth). In looking at the number 144,000, it strikes me that 12 x 12 is 144. It is a perfect square. One could suggest that this 12 x 12 perfect square is formed from the 12 tribes of Israel multiplied upon the 12 Apostles (144) and expanded by the power of the Holy Spirit throughout the world to every nation 144 x 1000. The number can be identified as ALL of the saints of God. Indeed, right after St. John tells us about the 144,000, he "sees" a vision of a great multitude from every nation clothed in white robes. We know that the 144,000 and the people of this vision are one and the same, because they are dressed exactly alike--both wear white robes.

What is the meaning of the number of the beast: 666? In scripture, six is the number associated with man's rebellion: Goliath was 6 cubits tall, his spear weighed 600 shekels, he had 6 pieces of armor. Goliath taunted Israel and blasphemed God. David crushed his head like Christ crushes the head of the dragon in the Revelation. Goliath had a friend who was 6 fingered and 6 toed. He too taunted Israel. Kind David's nephew struck him dead. The numbers 6+60+600 signify man in open rebellion against God--man asserting himself; blaspheming the Almighty and elevating himself to the place of God. This number is seen in the OT in 1 Kings, 2 Chronicles, and Daniel, referring to the reigns of Solomon and King Nebuchadnezzar .

The "mark of the beast" on hand and forehead goes back to Deut. 6:8 where we are told to tie the commandments of God as symbols on our hands and foreheads. In other words, the law of God is to control what we do (our hands) and how we think (our minds). In Revelation, we are told that what is bound to our hands and minds goes against God.

In the Revelation, the devil stood on the beach between the earth and the sea. He made a counterfeit trinity out of 2 beasts: political power and false religion. At the end of it all, this political and religious power is just human--inspired by the devil, but just human. Human like Goliath, Nebuchadnezzar, and Solomon, prone to failure, death and decay. This unholy false trinity represented by the number 666 arrogates unto itself the status of God, but it is counterfeit. Wisdom immediately knows the difference. Above all, the Revelation warns us not to be fooled.

What is Faith? Faith is acceptance of who God is, but it involves repentance of who we are and demands obedience to be valid. It is not an intellectual assent, but an actual movement of the soul towards God. The soul moves toward God, and the actions of the body, at the same time, conform to (and confirm) that movement.

Salvation is by God alone; it comes by grace...we hear the gospel--the Word--and, God, who is the Word, touches our soul with His grace. The grace says, "Here am I". God's word does not return void (Isaiah 55:11). It produces a response. The gospel, God's holy Word, says, "This man Jesus--died for your sins and was raised up to life--"Here am I"...."Who do you say I am?" He asks. His word demands a response. There are only two responses: belief and unbelief. We call belief faith and unbelief sin.

In scripture faith is never discussed apart from action (work). Thus work is an essential element of faith. Clearly, this faith that works comes from God as a gift through Jesus' own life. Christ Himself does the work with the collaboration of our bodies.

*both faith and good works are the fruits of the Spirit and should not be thought of as 'in sequence', but as operating together in LOVE (Christ).

When the call to faith is isolated from the call to obedience, as it frequently is, the effect is to make good works a supplement to salvation or simply the "evidence" of salvation. According to the Great Commission, however, they belong to the essence of salvation, which is freedom from sin and not simply freedom from eternal condemnation as the consequence of sin.

To believe is to obey. (1 John 2:23). Even faith itself is a matter of obedience to the command of our Lord. Obedience is the fullness of faith. To tell sinners, "Believe in Jesus and you will be saved," is essentially the same as telling them, "Obey Jesus and you will be saved."

Jesus put it this way, "Come, leave everything, and follow me".

My Favorite Room

2012-02-27T15:41:00.000-08:00

My favorite room in my house is the dining room. It's where we study, take our meals, paint, draw, write, drink tea, and converse:

It's a plain room with plain furnishings. The table is worn. The linen table runner is too. But, it is a southeast facing room, and it gets good sunlight for most of the day.

In the corner there is a small desk and the family computer (it's where I am sitting right now :- ) . On the floor, behind the table, you can see our cat Willow's front leg stretched out. What you can't see is the birdcage on top of the organizing unit to the left of the doorway. The birds fill the room with a happy sound.
The floors are bare right now, but I would like to get some nice new rugs soon.

There on the wall is a large whiteboard, which transforms the dining room into a classroom during the mornings. It's where I write the copywork quote or verse each morning for handwriting practice, and work out difficult math problems, and write questions about history, science, and God.

Do you have a favorite room or space in your home?

Lessons

2012-02-25T16:34:00.000-08:00

I heard that there are flowers blooming in gardens throughout the region where I live, but I haven't seen any. It is still winter at my house. My oldest daughter dislocated her knee on January 2nd, and is now quite ill with pneumonia. These things, among others, have made this season hard.

I am in a bit of a tailspin these days. I keep searching for way-markers, trying to see the path before me.

I've been looking through old letters and journals, learning lessons from my history, like this one from last April:

Last week was a time of reflection, repentance, prayer, and planning for me. We homeschool through the end of June, and I really want to make the most of the next two months. So, one afternoon I sat down with my notebook and a pencil and wrote down the things that I hope to accomplish with my children:
I want my children to believe that life is full of wonders (because our God is Wonderful).
I want them to remember and savor the things we see, read, do, and learn.
I want my children to know that the night sky is so full of stars, that it is dizzying--even if we can't see them anymore.
I want them to see the miracle in the ordinary--and hold fast to it.
I want them to see Christ in their neighbor.
The next afternoon as I prayed, it became clear to me that the single most important thing I do in my work as mother is keep time. Because it slips away so easily.

A long time ago my dad told me that children spell love: T I M E. And, he was right.
I realized that afternoon, as I walked in the woods at Horn Pond, with all of my children together, listening to the birds sing and admiring the golden forsythia, that the only thing I need to plan for in our home learning is how I will keep time. I don't need to worry about what we learn, for every day is full of wonders. But, we will surely miss them all if I allow us to be distracted by "many things". It really is a lie that we can "do it all". My life is full of time saving devices: telephones, computers, televisions, grocery stores, radios, etc. But, am I really getting more done? Or am I just allowing myself--and my children--to be distracted away from living?
In the weeks ahead, I'm going to keep time each day by:
saying morning prayers together
having a single lesson (history, geography, mythology, literature, poetry, art, or music)
playing
being in nature
conversations
writing
making (baking, knitting, music, painting, sewing, cooking, gardening)
reading aloud
working on household chores together
rest
My oldest is eighteen. My time with my children is passing by so quickly. The work God has set before me is to be a good steward of time. I intend to be mindful and savor each moment slowly and fully.

Therefore be careful how you walk, not as unwise men but as wise, making the most of your time for the days are evil. So then, do not be foolish, but understand what the will of the Lord is.Ephesians 5:15-17

Underneath

2012-02-16T18:14:00.000-08:00

Here's what I did today:

watered and fed the chickens
gave the dog a bath
proofread a letter for spelling and punctuation
drove Zach into the city, to the Aquarium
laundry
food shopping
made a pot of soup
knit a bit
finished reading a novel

On the surface, things were peaceful, productive, even cheerful. But, things were different underneath.

Here's what I thought about:

The other day I read an article called 9 Essential Skills Kids Should Learn. I liked it for the most part. The only point that I disagreed with was no. 9 "Dealing With Change". The author believes that this may be the most important skill for kids, as we live in a constantly and rapidly changing world. The most adaptable kids will have a competitive edge compared to those who resist and fear change. The assumption here, of course, is that change is good. The underlying belief of society is that progress is the way to something better. Is it? There are now 1 in 3 people with cancer, we are in the midst of an energy crisis, global warming, and worldwide economic depression. There is a constant threat of nuclear war, weapons of mass destruction, and radiation accidents. 1 in 10 people are on anti-depressants (including children). Approximately 1 million people die in automobile accidents each year (40,000 in the US alone--which is the equivalent of a plane load of people dying for 6,029 consecutive days). People everywhere are plugged-in to cell phones, computers, iPods, and televisions, and tuned out from dealing with each other.

What if we're wrong, and progress is not the way to something better? What if it's simply the way to bigger profits? In that case, the essential skill our kids need to develop isn't a skill at all. It's character. We need to raise up a generation of people who have the courage and willingness to stand up for their convictions, even when it means going against the crowd. Even when it means resisting the culture.

I don't know how fear and anger got to be such dirty words. Anger and fear used to be the catalysts for the kinds of changes that led to true progress (rather than merely wealth).

Here's something that should frighten us and make us angry: even with all of our advancements and progress, our Smart Phones, iPads, and high speed trains, 15 million children die from hunger every year. If only those poor souls had some money to spend, perhaps we would find a way to feed them.

On Valentine's Day after I wrote my post for Tea & Cake, I ended up reading all of The Little Prince again. As a home schooling parent, I think a lot about children and learning and education. In the beginning of the Little Prince, the author tells about two drawings that he did when he was six years old. The grown-ups he showed them to didn't "get" what they were:

The grown-ups advised me to put away my drawings...and apply myself instead to geography, history, arithmetic, and grammar. That is why I abandoned, at the age of six, a magnificent career as an artist.

Of course, there is some humor in his explanation, :-) but there is truth too. There is a wide chasm between learning and education. It is possible, for example, to learn a vast amount from MIT's free online course materials. In the end you will be a learned person. However, you will not have a degree. You must pay money to obtain that. Then you will be educated. I have read that education emerged in the 12th century as a "way of conforming literacy for the purpose of social control." In the 19th century education saw a huge expansion with the Industrial Revolution. It became the means by which the workforce sought better jobs. (Isn't it interesting that education uses the metaphors of industry such as delivery, access and provision?)

Learning is something different. Whereas education is imposed upon a person from the outside, learning is an inner work. It comes from within a person's own need and desire.

During President Obama's address to the nation's youth back in 2009, he stated that young people should consider it their duty as Americans to go to college. He didn't offer to pay for it. He didn't offer an alternative.

As I stirred the soup, and knit some socks, and washed the clothes, no one knew these thoughts of mine; the life underneath the daily tasks.

Love

2012-02-14T13:28:00.000-08:00

Some days I don't have much to say, so I sit quietly with my rabbit in my lap, or with some yarn in my hands. Those are listening days. I am surprised by the things that I hear: the newspaper hitting the front stoop with a thud; the dog's sigh as he lays at my feet; the animated whispers of a child playing. You can miss a lot when you're busy making noise.

I am thinking about love, because it's Valentine's Day. The best book about love that I've ever read (and perhaps the best book about anything) is The Little Prince, by Antoine De Saint-Exupery. Have you read it? Probably most people have. Since I don't have much to say today, I will share my favorite chapter from The Little Prince:

XXII

"Good Morning," said the little prince

"Good Morning," said the railway switchman.

"What is it that you do here?" asked the little prince.

" I sort the travelers into bundles of a thousand," the switchman said. "I dispatch the train that carry them, sometimes to the right, sometimes to the left."

And a brightly lit express train, roaring like thunder, shook the switchman's cabin.

"What a hurry they're in," said the little prince. "What are they looking for?"

"Not even the engineer on the locomotive knows," the switchman said.

And another brightly lit express train thundered by in the opposite direction.

"Are they coming back already?" asked the little prince.

"It's not the same ones," the switchman said. "It's an exchange."

"They weren't satisfied where they were?" asked the little prince.

"No one is ever satisfied where he is," the switchman said.

And a third brightly lit express train thundered past.

"Are they chasing the first travelers?" asked the little prince.

"They're not chasing anything," the switchman said. "They're sleeping in there, or else they're yawning. Only the children are pressing their noses against the windowpanes."

"Only the children know what they're looking for," said the little prince. "They spend their time on a rag doll and ti becomes very important, and if it's taken away from them, they cry..."

"They're lucky," the swtichman said.

I suppose that doesn't make much sense without an explanation. Here are two more quotes, that I hope will help to make it clear why I love that chapter so much:

"Good-bye," said the fox. "Here is my secret. It's quite simple: One sees clearly only with the heart. Anything essential is invisible to the eyes....It's the time you spent on your rose that makes your rose so important."

"People where you live," the little prince said, "grow five thousand roses in one garden...yet they don't find what they're looking for..."

"They don't find it," I answered.

"And yet what they're looking for could be found in a single rose, or a little water..."

"Of course," I answered.

And the little prince added, "But eyes are blind. You have to look with the heart."

Friday Jumble

2012-02-10T15:20:00.000-08:00

Katie Davies asked her readers what their all-time favorite television theme song was. Mine is the theme from The Courtship of Eddies' Father. Are any of you old enough to remember that show? I'm barely old enough. I remember watching re-runs of it as a kid.

Yesterday I was thinking about this song. I wonder how it is that I can remember the tunes and lyrics perfectly to songs I haven't heard in thirty years or more, but I can't remember things that happened a week ago.

I read in the paper this morning that there is a lazuli bunting in Wellfleet on Cape Cod. I would like to go and see it, but it is a long drive from here. However, a person drove in from Pennsylvania to see it, which is a much longer drive. I wonder if it was worth it; I bet it was.

A book that I requested a few weeks ago was waiting for me at the library today. It's called, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking, by Susan Cain I read this in the introduction:

...The single most important aspect of personality--the "north and south of temperament," as one scientist put it--is where we fall on the introvert-extrovert spectrum. Our place on this continuum influences our choice of friends and mates, and how we make conversation, resolve differences, and show love. It affects the careers we choose and whether or not we succeed in them. It governs how likely we are to exercise, commit adultery, function well without sleep, learn from our mistakes, place big bets in the stock market, delay gratification, be a good leader, and ask "what if".*

...Yet today we make room for a remarkably narrow range of personality styles. We're told that to be great is to be bold, to be happy is to be sociable. We see ourselves as a nation of extroverts--which means that we've lost sight of who we really are. Depending on which study you consult, one third to one half of Americans are introverts--in other words, one out of every two to three people you know.

...If these statistics surprise you, that's probably because so many people pretend to be extroverts.

...It makes sense that so many introverts hide even from themselves. We live with a value system that I call the Extrovert Ideal--the omnipresent belief that the ideal self is gregarious, alpha, and comfortable in the spotlight...We like to think that we value individuality, but all too often we admire one type of individual--the kind who's comfortable "putting himself out there."

...Introversion--along with its cousins sensitivity, seriousness, and shyness--is now a second-class personality trait, somewhere between a disappointment and a pathology.

...But we make a grave mistake to embrace the Extrovert Ideal so unthinkingly. Some of our greatest ideas, art and innovation...came from quiet people.

*Answer key: exercise: extroverts; commit adultery: extroverts; function well without sleep: introverts; learn from our mistakes: introverts; place big bets: extroverts; delay gratification: introverts; be a good leader: in some cases introverts, in other cases extroverts, depending on the type of leadership called for; ask "what if" introverts.

Besides going to the library, this day was filled with other odd errands like getting my blood drawn to check my iron levels, taking my car to the shop to fix a tire, and stopping by the mall to buy chocolate hearts for next week. It was great to be out and about today; it felt like spring. But, tomorrow--tomorrow we're expecting some snow.

I wasn't going to do this, but...

2012-02-09T12:34:00.000-08:00

...perhaps a picture really is worth a thousand words.

Time

2012-02-08T07:22:00.000-08:00

This morning when I stepped outside to put the bills into the mailbox, I heard the most extraordinary sound: spring. There were birds, different kinds, calling to each other, and in some far away tree I heard a song sparrow singing . I stood out in the cold February sunshine for a long while, just listening.

Last night I watched a nature program about Madagascar, and learned about an animal called a streaked tenrec that looks like a hedgehog and a shrew. They have the largest litters of any mammal; up to thirty-two babies. The babies and mother stay together, and the whole family forages the forest floor looking for insects to eat. Nature has given them quills, camouflage, pointed noses, and sharp instincts to make them successful in their habitat. Nature has given us large brains. So we can figure it out. Some days I would rather have the camouflage.

I started writing a little story yesterday. For fun. I was thinking about clocks, and what would happen if....
The concept of time has fascinated me since I was a child. Some people say that it doesn't exist; it is only a human construct (the effect of our large brains). Yet, the sun rises and sets and the seasons change making life a temporal experience. Have you ever thought about how most of what you call your life is really just memory? The only life anyone really has is the present moment, which is gone as soon as you think of it.

Would you like to see how the story begins?

At twelve thirty-three each night the clock in the hall stops ticking for exactly two minutes. Every third day my mother stands on the stepstool and resets the time, turning the minute hand forward six clicks for the lost minutes. When I was little this confused me, “Where are they?” I would ask.

“Where are what?” said my mother.

“The lost minutes.”

“Gone,” my mother would say with a sad smile.

I knew she was wrong. They weren’t gone, they were somewhere.

The clock belonged to my father’s great grandfather who was a country doctor in Russia during The Great War. He received it from a noblewoman as payment for saving her dying child from diphtheria. My father calls it the “family treasure”. My mother hates it. I think it might be magic.

Winter

2012-02-06T15:01:00.000-08:00

Winter mornings are about books, paper, pencils, crayons, scissors and paste. I fill my yellow teapot with hot tea and pour a cup. There are questions and answers about the Battle of Marathon. There are riddles: What is destroyed as soon as you speak its name? There is a soft, brown bunny quietly hopping about our feet under the dining room table. There is sunlight shining through rainbow colored window stars.

Winter afternoons are about sugar, flour, butter, and eggs. I put them in a bowl and stir. I have a choice: ginger, cloves, and cinnamon or two fragrant lemons?. I go with the lemons. The yellow parakeet sings softly to me from the corner. The sky is stunningly blue out the window. I begin to think about the garden, and then about the letter I read in the paper yesterday by the ninety year old Jewish woman who lost her faith during the war. I don't blame her; my own faith is a tenuous thing without having faced extermination.

Winter evenings are about wool, sticks, and television. The yarn is teal and too bright; I don't like it. I practice holding it a new way. I am too aware of my hands. I try to think about the alligators on the television. I relax my fingers and try not to think about them. Alligators have four toes on their front feet and five toes on their back feet. They have eighty teeth. My wooden needles tap a rhythm: snick, snick, snick.

Winter nights are about nightgowns, quilts, and bedtime stories. I put on the same cranberry colored thermal nightgown that I have worn for eighteen years. It was made in Germany. I open the book I am reading and fall into the story until my eyelids are heavy with sleep, and I am lost in dreams...

PS: Did you watch the Super Bowl last night? I'm not much of a football fan, but I think the commercials are fun. This one was my favorite, because of the song, which is one that always makes me feel happy :- )

Surprise

2012-02-04T10:20:00.000-08:00

One of my brothers reads my blog. Last week he told me that reading it is a strange experience for him, because my writing doesn't fit what he knows about me. Isn't that interesting? It really got me thinking. Most of my readers have never met me, and don't even know what I look like. Their only connection to me are the words that I write; these crazy, random thoughts that I share.

I bet that if you met me you would be very surprised that:

I wear make-up everyday. I love lipstick and never leave the house without it.
I don't own a cell phone.
I'm neither fat nor thin.
I'm short.
I laugh a lot.
I wear jeans and a t-shirt pretty much everyday. In the winter I add a cardigan to this uniform.
I'm the kind of grown-up who actually goes in the pool with the kids.
I'm also the kind of grown-up who says to the kids, "Come on let's go do something."
I won't miss an episode of Hawaii 5-0 or Survivor.
I like romance novels, mysteries, and thrillers.
I like to go places: woods, beach, museums, zoos, concerts. I'm a member of The Museum of Science, Zoo New England, Mass Audubon, and The Museum of Fine Arts.
I'm happy on my own; I don't need a lot of friends.

If we were to meet, what do you think would surprise me about you?

Knitterly

2012-02-03T08:33:00.000-08:00

When I was nineteen I had a small accident with a power tool and lost the end of my right thumb. It's about a half inch shorter than my left thumb. Thinking it through, this difference could be the source of my knitting pain. I've been scouring forums about knitting pain, and my pain isn't typical. The locus of my pain is at the base knuckle of my right thumb. I suppose it could be arthritis, but I think it is a stress injury.

Tony Iommi, the legendary guitarist for Black Sabbath, lost the tips of his fingers in an accident in a sheet metal factory when he was young. He made thimbles to extend the tips of his fingers so he could keep playing guitar. It worked. I'm going to try making a thimble that will extend the length of my right thumb for knitting. I think this might take the stress off the joint.

What didn't work for me was Portuguese style knitting. The way I usually knit (Continental, with the working yarn held in my left hand and picked-off with the right needle) offers the greatest economy of movement. After a week of trying Portuguese knitting, my left hand feels tired and muscle-sore.

What I'm going to try next is Norwegian purling. My right thumb/hand hurts the most when I purl. (Elizabeth Zimmermann, who was one of the most creative and influential knitters of all time, disliked the purl stitch to the point of avoiding it whenever possible. She was also a Continental style knitter). I taught myself the Norwegian purl stitch last night, which is formed with the yarn held to the back of the work, rather than the front. Now, it's a matter of practice and assessing how it affects my hands.

On another note, it's sunny today :- ) And, all four of the hens gave us an egg this morning.

Passion

2012-02-01T13:34:00.000-08:00

This week I taught myself how to knit Portuguese style. I'm hoping that it will allow me to knit without my right hand hurting. If it doesn't work out, then I will probably have to give up knitting. That's a sad thought.

Here is something I've noticed: the happiest people all have a particular interest that they are passionate about to the point of obsession. They knit, or they write, or they collect record albums or mechanical banks, or play guitar, or run, or quilt, or study the Civil War. Doing these things makes them happy. Thinking and talking about these things makes them happy. They know just what they're going to do in their free time, and they are looking forward to doing it.

What will I do if I can't knit?

I have been thinking about how passions develop in people. How do you figure out where your interests lie? Is it a matter of exposure and trying new things? Or is it something else?

Last winter I took a belly dancing class. I didn't like it. Yet, I have always been attracted to this dance form, so I wonder if I just had a bad instructor. Many years ago I took a yoga class (kundalini style) and loved it, but I am not particularly interested in yoga. At one time I was working to become a La Leche League leader. I have always been passionate about breastfeeding advocacy. However, being an LLL leader requires a level of dedication that I can't commit to right now. For years I studied religion and the Bible, but since 2004 when I became Catholic, I no longer have the questions I once had.

What are you passionate about?

Piece of Cake

2012-01-30T13:52:00.000-08:00

A little blue monkey lives in my coat pocket. He has a wide reassuring smile, which I rather like. When I'm worried or anxious I put my hand in my pocket and rub his happy, rubbery, monkey head. For some reason, this makes me feel better. I've named him Bruce.

Living in New England, I am fascinated by old stone walls. No matter how deep into the woods I wander, I find them. At one time, there were over 250,000 miles of stone walls in New England. Most of them were built from 1775 -1825. They were used for boundary lines to animal fencing. When a stone wall was finished being built it had to be inspected by an official called a fence viewer. If the wall was found to be sound, then the farmer would not be liable for damages done to his crops by other farmer's animals. Over two hundred years later, these fences are still standing. The fence we bought ten years ago is already falling down.

Lately, I've baked a lot of cakes. I will admit that I made most of them from a mix. I like this old recipe for fixing up a cake mix: to any cake mix add a package of the same flavor of instant pudding, along with 1 cup of water, 1/3 cup of vegetable oil, and 4 eggs. Beat it for two minutes, then spread the batter into a well-greased tube pan. Bake at 350 F for 50 to 60 minutes. After the cake is cool, I always add a simple glaze made from powdered sugar and a little milk. You can also add things to the batter like dried fruit, nuts, or chocolate chips. The cake comes out very dense and moist.

Many years ago, right after my grandfather's funeral, my uncle said to me, "You know what, Susie? A month from now I won't remember the people who were here today, but I'll remember everyone who wasn't." It's easy to keep track of our hurts.

On one of my bookshelves I keep a bluejay's feather and a monarch butterfly's wing. They are both as light as air; it would take only the slightest breath to blow them away. I would feel sad if I lost them, I don't even know why, but I would. This bookcase has glass doors.

It's easy for me to know what makes me unhappy, but happiness is harder to know. It feels like sunshine and a soft cheek beneath my lips. It sounds like birds and the wind in the trees. It smells like snow, and puppies, and a freshly made bed.

It tastes like cake.

Bleak

2012-01-26T14:23:00.000-08:00

I should have written something here yesterday, because it was Wednesday. Instead, I made a lemon cake and started reading a new novel. It is bleak mid-winter now, and yesterday was just that kind of day.

Let me tell you about this book I am reading: it's scary. I mean, it's got me completely spooked for a lot of reasons: fairies, the shadow man, dust motes, ghosts, old house ruins, barred owls, a skeleton key, a pocket full of molars, a shiny orange pebble, shadow monsters, the blurred question of reality, the woods....and I'm not even half-way through the book. If you knew me, you would understand why this list is so unnerving. It's as if this author has a psychic connection with me or something.

This house is too small for all of the people who live in it. I have to go to the grocery store everyday, because the kitchen isn't big enough to keep a week's worth of groceries in it. Now that's just an observation, not a complaint. A complaint would be to say that I hate it.

I saw a picture on pinterest or tumblr or we <3 it or somewhere, that showed a poster that said something like, "Life is too short to be unhappy, so if you hate your job find a different one, if you hate your hair color dye it, if you don't like your house move...etc. It made me really mad. Do they have any idea how much hair color costs?

Seeing

2012-01-23T18:02:00.000-08:00

A couple of years ago I spent a day walking through the woods with a friend of mine. She was going through a tough transitional period in her life. At one point, we sat on a rock under a big pine. "I want to show you something," she said, and she pulled a small notebook out of her pack and opened it. On the first page there was a stick figure person staked to the ground. She explained that the restraints represented certain problems in her life. On the next page was a box with the flaps open. All around the page were random words and symbols. "That box represents one of my problems. See, these words and little pictures? These were the things inside the box." She showed me her whole journal page-by-page, without shame, one traveler to another. What struck me were the pictures. She said that drawing them helped her to see.

When I was twenty-six years old we stayed in a cabin on Raquette Lake up in the Adirondack Mountains. My sister-in-law had just buried her father the week before. One night, she and I tried to walk to the lean-to near the water's edge. The night was so dark it was like stepping into a closet. We held onto each and walked very slowly, listening for the water. We couldn't see a thing.

My son bought me a watercolor paint set for my birthday. I haven't painted in a long time. My problem is that I can never think of what to paint. I sit with the paper in front of me. I swirl some yellow on the wet paper. Then blue. Is that a tree? A bird? I load my brush with red and wonder where it belongs.

Sometimes when I awake during the night, the chair in the corner looks like a monster. If I look very hard, I can see it breathing. One time I waved at it and it waved back. The next morning it was just a chair.

Sometimes my eyes play tricks on me.

Pilgrims

2012-01-20T09:45:00.000-08:00

When I was sixteen my English teacher told me that my writing reminded him of Annie Dillard's. I had no idea who she was, so I went out and bought a copy of, Pilgrim At Tinker Creek. I was amazed, and humbled, for my writing was nothing like that. Since then, I've read all of Dillard's books, even the weird novel she wrote that I didn't really understand.

Nobody liked that English teacher (Mr. Carney). He was considered a slacker, a bad teacher. His method was to sit at his desk at the front of the room and read the newspaper while his students wrote for the forty minute class period. He collected our writing, circled our errors, and wrote comments on it (some of them quite nasty). He didn't teach us anything at all. But, I think I learned how to write in his class. He gave us the time and space to do it. He was an interested reader, even though he laughed at most of what we wrote. And, he introduced me to Annie Dillard.

I am reading a book right now that is the best thing I've come across since Pilgrim At Tinker Creek. (My friend recommended it--thank, you, Marianna :-) It's called, Wild Comfort: The Solace of Nature, by Kathleen Dean Moore. Moore's lyrical writing ties her experiences in nature to personal revelation. What I like about the book is how clearly she offers these essays as her experiences and lessons learned. There is an unspoken truth here: yours and mine will be different. We will touch different trees and be taught different things.

Sometimes I am dismayed when I love a book and recommend it to a friend, only to find that she doesn't like the book at all. One book, two experiences. (Of course, this might just mean that I have bad taste in books!) Has this ever happened to you?

Identity

2012-01-18T08:34:00.000-08:00

The other day, while I was standing at the kitchen sink, my five year old bounced into the room, and I sang to him as I always do, "My darling boy, I love you so, my joy of joy." Later in the day, when he was playing, I caught him smiling to himself, and whispering, "Everybody loves me." It made me stop (I was folding laundry) and wonder: Wow, how many people feel that way? At five, my boy is filled with confidence. He doesn't hesitate to try new things or visit new places. He sees the world as safe and interesting, filled with good things like: animals, trees, museums, playgrounds, airplanes, food and people. He doesn't view mistakes as failure. He easily says, "I'm sorry", "I love you", and, "help me". What if everyone felt that way?

A long time ago a friend told me that she wants her children to be leaders and not followers. That gave me something to think about. My own children were three and one year old at the time. I thought about how there are classes and workshops and training programs for helping people to become leaders, but none for learning how to be followers. Is following somehow natural, whereas leading must be learned? Or is it just that our society puts a high value on leaders, but views followers as weak and mindless? It all seems a bit ironic to me: Is it better to be a coach than a player? A teacher than a student? A conductor than a musician?

Throughout our lives we all have opportunities to lead and opportunities to follow. We let these roles define us, but they shouldn't. What do I want for my own children? I want them to each have a strong identity. I want my children to have the confidence and grace to be able to lead and to follow.

I am not the best example for them. My own life has been defined mostly by fear and by bravery born of necessity (which produces a kind of crazy ecstatic joy when things go right, and disabling anxiety when things go wrong). But, I am learning and growing alongside my children (and very often from them).

Have you thought much about what defines you?

Just an aside: I realized recently that I haven't had a headache in over a year (headaches used to define me!) --ever since I got my hair cut short :-)

Artifacts

2012-01-16T16:59:00.000-08:00

I like walking through old houses, the kind that are open for the public to wander through for a fee. If I am with a group, I hang back so that I can really look at each room and what is in it. I try to imagine the lives of the people who lived there based on what they left behind: a dressing table filled with atomizers and potion bottles, a silver backed brush and comb; shelves filled with glass jars instead of books, a mortar and pestle on a table; a scrubbed wooden work table in a kitchen, a cradle in the corner near a window with a rag doll resting inside, an apron on a peg.

What does my house say about me?. It is not beautiful. There are three bedrooms and seven people. None of the rooms would ever be featured in a home decorating magazine. Most of the furniture is old and scarred. The sofa fabric was chosen with two things in mind: dirt and durability. It is a heavy brown tweed, not pretty, but clean, comfortable, and sturdy. I tend to decorate with things from nature: plants, lots of plants; a cage full of birds; flowers or fruit on the table; a row of shells on a window sill; paper snowflakes and stars hung on the winter windows, a group of smooth stones on a bookshelf. There is a castle, a pirate ship, and the Bat Cave lined up neatly on a low play shelf. There are books from the library, piles of them on end tables and on the hall chair seat. There is a basket overflowing with knitting tucked under a table. My ancient desk, with its drawers filled with writing paper, stamps, and wax seals, a cat sleeping on its chair. What does this say about me?

One day when my husband was cleaning out his closet I saw that he had kept every card I had ever given him. They were in a stack on our bed: the Valentine I painted when I was nineteen; the syrupy poems I wrote to him; the love letters; the birthday, Father's Day, and Christmas cards. "I didn't know you kept all these," I said. He just smiled, and told me to stay out of his stuff.

I keep things, too. I have an odd collection of bits that people have given me, and which my heart has declared treasure: a tiny carved hedgehog from an old pen pal, a miniature English cottage that a friend in England hand-painted, a blue and white cat-shaped milk pitcher from Holland that was my grandmother's,...and, every letter that I have ever received--hundreds of them--, boxes and binders full of sheets of paper and postcards and small scraps with other people's words upon them; their messages to me.

A police officer I know once told me that you can learn a lot about a person from going through his trash. But, I think you can learn even more from the things that people hold onto.

What are the things that you keep?

Someday

2012-01-15T10:03:00.000-08:00

Early this morning when I went out to let the chickens down from their roost and feed them, it was 6 degrees (that's 6 degrees Fahrenheit for all of my non-American friends). The ground crunched beneath my boots, and my breath froze in silvery clouds. The sky this morning was the clear bright blue that you only see on the coldest winter days, and the moon was still visible as a ghostly whisper in the west. I always do my morning chores without a coat or gloves, because they don't take long, and I find the cold invigorating. There were already two eggs in the nest box, and they were luxuriously warm against my cold fingers. It was a good start to the day.

There has been no snow here yet this winter. In Syracuse (where my parents and brothers live) it was 3 degrees this morning, with a foot of new snow to shovel.

On cold winter evenings the best thing to do is make a pan of brownies, pop some corn, and watch a movie, which is exactly what we did last night. I watched Knight and Day for the fourth time--I love that movie :- ).
I like Tom Cruise's smile, and Cameron Diaz's yellow dress. I like the scene on the plane when Roy says,

Someday--that's a dangerous word,...because it's really just code for Never.

Someday I will drive far into the dark wilderness to show my children the stars. Someday I will get in my car and drive west, all the way across this land: across the great plains, and over the Rocky Mountains through the Grand Canyon to the edge of the Pacific. Someday I will spend a year walking in the mountains and making friends.along the way.

In the end, Roy and June do everything on their Someday lists. I hope I will, too.

What's on your list for Someday?

Secrets

2012-01-14T11:52:00.000-08:00

Yesterday my mother told me about an obituary she read in the Syracuse newspaper. It was about a woman who lived in the neighborhood where I grew up, on the city's north side (Turtle Street, Annie). She died at eighty-eight years old. Her husband died a few years ago; they enjoyed a forty-six year marriage. They never had children, and I have to think that it is because she was forty-two and he was thirty-four when they married. He was a plumber, she was a nurse, and together they traveled throughout the United States and the world, visiting China and Japan Somehow, they amassed 4.3 million dollars, which they left to four different Catholic churches in Syracuse. I was astounded by this. You would be, too, if you were familiar with the struggling working class neighborhood in which I grew up. No one had anything, least of all a bank account. Everyone who knew this couple was surprised when the news about their will came out.

The other day I read about a local man who writes fantasy books. He has sold 17 million copies. None of his neighbors were aware that he is a bestselling author. It makes me wonder about my own neighbors. I bet that they have wonderful hobbies and interests and fascinating lives--and secrets.

I've been watching the squirrels in my yard for a couple of years now. I thought that they lived in the trees behind my fence, and spent their days scampering around my lawn and raiding my bird feeders. But, the other day I saw Half-tail three blocks away! What was he doing so far from home? Now, I'm wondering: how wide is a squirrel's territory? Does he live in my yard, or someplace else?

Most of the animals in our neighborhoods live secret lives. We are lucky when we catch a glimpse of them.

What would your neighbors be surprised to learn about you?

A Good Place to Start

2012-01-12T17:41:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, my friend Kortney sent me an excellent essay written by Barry Lopez about how to be with children in nature. It is one of the best things I've read in a long time. It is quite brief, but beautifully written, and goes along with my thoughts about the book passage that I shared yesterday.

I've been thinking some more about that passage, and what it means to give a thing, or a person, a name. In a sense, to name something is to stand in dominion over it. A name says: this is what/who you are, and the giver of the name is the one with the power to declare that it is so. In the ancient Hebrew culture it was strictly taboo to say the name of God. They called him YHWH, which meant something like, I Am that I Am. Names are naturally reductive. On the other hand, they are also necessary. They offer a way for us to distinguish one thing or person from the next so that we may form a relationship with it.

I think the best way to think about names is the way that my friend Kortney suggested in her email to me yesterday. She said, knowing the names of things is only a start, but it is a good place to start i think.

A good place to start.

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