on our faces

a woman after my own heart

2009-01-03T20:49:00.002-06:00

Abigail Thomas on the habit of keeping a writing notebook:

Call it a diary--it is less imposing than a journal, which sounds like an end in itself. I steer clear of the word journal--and its spawn, the verb to journal, as in, "I have been journaling all my life." If I were to call my notebook a journal I would probably write with the notion that it be published someday, perferably posthumously, and people would marvel. This would make me self-conscious. I would be trying to perfect each sentence before its time. I prefer notes; if I clean it up too fast I lose the spark. Everything goes in: grocery lists, things to do (so I can scratch them off) random observations, knitting patterns, recipes, overheard dialogue, everything. A diary isn't sacred. Think of it as the written equivalent to singing in the shower. I don't care what I'm writing and I don't pay attention to language.. A friend wanted to know what I was working on; she was reading the paper and I was writing in my diary. We were having coffee at Bread Alone.
"Nothing," I said.
"It can't be nothing," she said, assuming perhaps that writers were always doing something interesting. She leaned over and read, "It is taking a long time to get my sandwich."
Case closed.

celebration

2008-12-20T10:07:00.003-06:00

I woke in the night with a sore throat. A sore throat is the unfortunate herald of a head cold, and so even though it is now after 10 am, I am still in my jimmy-jams nursing tea with lavender trying to nip this in the bud. I'm saving myself for tonight. We have a close group of friends that every Christmas do what we like to call our Urban Christmas Meal. We put money in a pot, and create a masterpiece of a dinner. Tonight, B and I are responsible for the leg of lamb. We bought it fresh from Whole Foods and they got it from a local organic farm. Others are doing the vegetables, the appetizer, the dessert, and of course, the wine. We're gathering this afternoon to cook and drink and celebrate. For B and I the celebration is sweeter this year because on Wednesday he submitted his PhD thesis. Glory Be.

Song
By Jane Kenyon

An oriole sings from the hedge
and in the hotel kitchen
the chef sweetens cream for pastries.
Far off, lightening and thunder agree
to join us for a few days
here in the valley. How lucky we are
to be holding hands on a porch
in the country. But even this
is not the joy that trembles
under every leaf and tongue.

Perfectly lovely

2008-12-14T13:44:00.002-06:00

* B and I overslept and as a result, missed church. But, we had such lovely morning. We read the daily office in pj's with coffee. hmm, nice.

* B went off to complete the last 50 pages of editing for his PhD thesis. Folks, there are not adequate descriptors of my nor his feelings on the near-end of this journey. (clear throat, wipe eyes)

* I baked a Pound Cake with inspiration from Jenni. Pound cake with clementines and a refill of coffee. Yum.

* Read two very good articles. One, an interview with a literary hero of mine, Wendell Berry; and the second, an essay by artist, Makoto Fujimura, called Psalms and Lamentations: Fallen Towers and the Art of Tea. Another nod to Jenni for providing links. Both excellent articles and well worth your time.

* I picked out my reading for our community group's Christmas party: The Cultivation of Christmas Trees by T.S. Eliot. Have you read it? I may post it later. It's really lovely.

* We received our Christmas box from my youngest brother and his wife this week, and I couldn't help but dive in to one of the books they sent by Frederick Buechner called The Son of Laughter. I have yet to read something by Buechner that I don't like. What a powerhouse of language. Thanks, Gabe & Ang!

* While we lived overseas we began online Christmas shopping, and I tell ya, I'll never go back. I'm not a big shopper to begin with (unless we're talking about book shop browsing!), but I absolutely dread shopping at Christmas time. So, tonight B and I will rendezvous at the sofa with the computer on his knee, and we will complete our shopping in the peacefulness of our home, perhaps a glass of wine in hand. This kind of shopping is fun.

I will leave you with the Sabbath morning liturgy taken directly from Heschel's book The Sabbath.

To God who rested from all action on the seventh day
and ascended upon His throne of glory.
He vested the day of rest with beauty;
he called the Sabbath a delight.
This is the song and the praise of the seventh day,
on which God rested from His work.
The seventh day itself is uttering praise.
A song of the Sabbath day:
"It is good to give thanks unto the Lord!"
Therefore, all the creatures of God bless Him.

2008-11-30T12:04:00.003-06:00

I love long silences. "Clearly", you say, noting the weeks that have passed since my last entry!

I woke this morning remembering that today is the first Sunday of Advent. I love the expectation of Advent. I love the way it mirrors the anticipation of the Sabbath, the final, finished Sabbath. I love the way it puts the dressing on shalom. Shalom is one of my favorite words; so much so that I have it tatooted on my left leg. Shalom means so much more than peace. It is heavy with connotations of consummated hope; restoration of what was broken and stolen; a return to what was always intended. Indeed, it is peace, but it is peace sought at a heavy price, pursued with the blood and broken limbs of a heart that longs for healing. I can feel that hope stir in my bones during Advent.

I'm joining a poetry group after the new year; taking risks and taking heart, finding courage. I'm attending poetry readings with this group and am beginning to share bits of my own writing. Eeeow..so scary! But, since I'm taking new risks here's a few words I'm in the process of working with that I am happy to share in this space. I would love to hear your thoughts on it so long as you're gentle--my ego is very fragile!

I Went Walking

I went walking the other day in order to remember you the first time I saw you
Sitting with a beer in one hand, revealing a grin that was playing
With a corner of your mouth and a lazy left eye hidden by your cowboy hat.

Mom told me she planned to keep her eye on you
And I knew what she meant
I felt fear and the foreshadowing of regret.

I was three days early this month
Blood came in a rush like summer rain
Ruled like the tide by the moon.

If I could chase the seasons home
Capture racing time under a glass
I would sing to you. Only you.

I am thinking about unpacking
Staying put with history unfurled like a flag
Let everything come in its time.

Exploring the senses

2008-11-01T20:41:00.004-05:00

Sight: I love the work of Sue Howells. B and I discovered her in a little art shop in Durham, and since then I've been saving my pennies for a painting. Her paintings make me dream. B was recently in Durham and almost bought one. Maybe on the next trip..

Sound: Patty Griffin: Live from the Artists Den. I admit I have a total girl-crush on Patty. She is amazing.

Smell: B is making magic in the kitchen as I write. The smells wafting out of the kitchen make my mouth water. On the menu tonight: Garlic pork tenderloin with fresh broccoli and carrots. yum.

Taste: A gorgeous red wine that friends gave us, drunk from rustic pottery purchased from a fave local pottery shop in Newcastle.

Touch: Sweet Bishop Ramsey snuggled next to me on the sofa. It's lovely to have my little friend home.

comfort food

2008-10-26T13:48:00.005-05:00

I've got a beastly cold. (I love the word beastly--what a great word.) Yes, a beastly cold. It has stolen my voice, which is not necessarily a bad thing, because it means I can hole up at home and drink warm things while doing other comforting activities; namely, reading and knitting. My knitting skills are basic at best, but there's something about the click-click of the needles and the rhythm of the stitches that soothes and rests me. I'm almost done with a project I've been working on for two winters now. Like I said, it's about rest not speed. Everytime I pick up my knitting, I'm reminded that it's like riding a bike. Except in my case, it's more like a tricycle.

And then there's reading. I am reading six different books right now. Two piled on my nightstand, three on the coffee table and one in my bag. Every few months I will have a chat with myself about the value of reading one book at a time, the goodness of paying attention to only one thing so as to really soak it in. I will nod politely and act like I'm listening, but I'm not convinced. It just doesn't work for me. My mind is occupied with many different things at one time, always humming over something or other. And so it works for me to read 6-ish books at once. My list at present includes:

The Sabbath by Abraham Joshua Heschel
Beyond Doubt by Cornelius Plantiga Jr.
Understanding the Borderline Mother by Christine Ann Lawson
Emotionally Focused Couple Therapy with Trauma Surviviors by Susan M. Johnson
Collected Poems by Jane Kenyon
New and Selected Poems Vol 1 by Mary Oliver

All good books. All appeal to some aspect or other of my mind or heart. Maybe I'm a wee bit ADD to be reading this many books at one time but what can I say. And now that Bishop Ramsey-Cat is home he is my companion on these couch cruises.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need another cuppa.. and a kleenex.

2008-10-21T16:28:00.005-05:00

B accompanies his Holiness, Bishop Ramsey-Cat home in just two days. This is so exciting. I am praying for a smooth journey, we're pretty anxious knowing how stressed and generally freaked out R will be. At least he will travel with B on the train down to London, but then it's a long separation as they fly to Dallas and then home with R camped out with the luggage way down below. All I can say is Bishop-Ramsey will have all the tuna his little heart desires.

We adopted Bishop Ramsey from a cat rescue in England the first year we moved. He was such a gift at a time of intense homesickness. B and I were lost in a new country and his furry cuddles were a welcome respite. It was very hard to leave him behind though he's been in good hands all summer.

(I feel like such a loser with a whole blog post devoted to my cat. But hell, it's my blog and I can write what I like, so what if you're rolling your eyes. Hang in there, I won't make a habit of this...)

Celebrating autumn

2008-10-16T20:06:00.002-05:00

Tonight I made my favorite autumn soup, and it is too good to keep to myself. I got it from a British cook named Greg Wallace in his cookbook called Veg. I love this cookbook. It's a wonderful encouragement to eat seasonally as he describes the growing season of each vegetable, simple ways to prepare them, and additional full recipes. The recipe is Carrot & Ginger Soup, I haven't changed a thing, and so all credit must go to the man.

Don't be put off by metric measurements. Google a measuring conversion site and you'll be golden!

Recipe:

1 tbl vegetable oil
50g butter
1 onion, finely chopped
1 stalk of celery, sliced
450g (1 pound) carrots, sliced
2 small potatoes, chopped into 2.5cm (1 inch) dice
2 tbl grated fresh ginger
1 tsp ground ginger
1 litre (1 3/4 pints) vegetable or chicken stock
200ml (7 fl oz) full-fat milk

Heat oil and butter in a large sauce pan over medium heat. Add onion and cook gently until softened but not brown. Add celery, carrots, potatoes, and cover the pan and sweat the veg over a medium heat for about 10 mins, stirring once or twice.

Add both fresh and ground ginger, stock and milk; bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer, lid off, for 15 mins or thereabout, until the carrots and potatoes are tender.

When soup is ready, whiz until smooth with a hand-held blender. Season with salt and pepper.

I'm telling you, you're going to love it. The ginger is oh, so good! And it makes your home smell lovely and warm, which is always a nice incentive.

Celebration, and rest

2008-10-12T17:50:00.005-05:00

Yesterday I passed my licensure exam that I mentioned here. I celebrated by baking a carrot cake, and getting a facial with two of my best girlfriends. I love carrot cake. There is nothing better than carrot cake with a double layer of cream cheese frosting; except for maybe a facial. Indeed.

The theme for today is rest, appropriate since it is the Sabbath. Isn't it interesting that on any other day when I choose to rest it doesn't feel the same as rest on Sunday. There is something about Sunday rest that is deeply ingrained in my psyche. I started a book titled, appropriately enough, Sabbath by Abraham Joshua Heschel. It promises to be a weighty read, and though I've only read the prologue, Heschel challenges my tendency to think in spatial rather than temporal categories. Indulge me, and read the following excerpt:

"We are all infatuated with the splendor of space, with the grandeur of things in space. Thing is a category that lies heavy on our minds, tyrannizing all our thoughts... Reality to us is thinghood, consisting of substances that occupy space; even God is conceived by most of us as a thing...The meaning of the Sabbath is to celebrate time rather than space. Six days a week we live under the tryanny of things of space; on the Sabbath we try to become attuned to holiness in time. It is a day on which we are called upon to share in what is eternal in time, to turn from the results of creation to the mystery of creation; from the world of creation to the creation of the world."

Very good. It helps that Heschel is clearly a lover of words.

Live from the circus tent

2008-10-08T18:53:00.003-05:00

Election 2008: I feel like I have to choose between two dancing monkeys. How does one choose between those? I'm still going to vote, important civic duty and all; but if you think I'll tell who I choose, wild horses won't drag it from me.

2008-10-07T18:08:00.005-05:00

Hello there. I'm not writing in this space much, I know. I diligently blogged for four years on our other, no longer accessible blog, and I'm finding it hard to keep up with regular writing in this, my brand-new blog space. But I thought I'd pop in and say hello, and how are you. It rained all day today, and in the last two minutes, the setting sun peaked through the heavy clouds, the angle catching the top of the trees just as they are putting on their Autumn costumes. How I love Autumn in St. Louis. It is one of the things I missed most. Autumn in England happens overnight; the colors change, and then, just like that, the leaves fall, and the show is over. Here, Autumn is delicious, the equivalent of a slow-cooked meal to savor over the cold winter.

I was thinking today of a line in a poem by Jane Kenyon.

Searching for God is the first thing and the last,
but in between such trouble and such pain.

I'm not sure what made me think of that line except that I often think of poetry and faith and doubt. They go together, and the strands that connect the hurt, joy, doubt and belief are impossible to completely untangle. I'm not sure that to untangle them is even completely desireable.

This led me to read Psalm 28.

To you I call, O Lord my rock;
be not deaf to my cry,
lest, if you do not hear me,
I become like those who go down to the Pit...

Hear the voice of my prayer when I cry out to you,
when I lift up my hands to your holy of holies...

And then from Isaiah 5, the people God redeemed and whose broken hearts have been healed and set free "will rebuild the ancient ruins and restore the places long devastated; they will renew the ruined cities that have been devastated for generations."

How I long for this promise to be fulfilled in my own heart, and how I doubt that God is good and faithful. In the deepest parts of my soul I both believe and doubt in equal magnificent measure. It is poetry that gives voice to that which is unutterable. Garrison Keiler said, "The meaning of poetry is to give courage." It is in the poetry of the Psalms, the poetry of Jane Kenyon and many others like her, that I find the language for the deepest expressions of my own heart.

bits & pieces

2008-09-13T16:57:00.004-05:00

I love having a job that doesn't take over my life. So, that's how this feels. Ah, boundaries.

I love bookclubbing. Can't wait to for our next read, People of the Book by Geraldine Brooks.

Am wondering when the Ike remnants will descend. I love rain. Rainy days give me a good excuse to hole up at home, an energy drink for my introvert self.

Anyone else craving soup? Lentil soup would do me just about right. It's time for autumn. I am so done with summer.

We're kitty-sitting for friends this weekend, and Thomas is so furry sweet. It is a matter of weeks before Bishop Ramsey joins us. I can't wait for cuddles and snuggles with him. He'll arrive just as the weather permanently cools, an ideal transition for our British friend.

Happy weekend!

ing--at home

2008-09-01T12:15:00.004-05:00

Sleeping because there is nothing better than sweet dreams.

Eating because I always forget to do this. Thanks to B-Dawg for food shopping.

Studying for the NCE. nonstop.

Cuddling with D & C's dog. Mister B makes me miss Bishop Ramsey.

Reading about attachment theory.

Studying for the NCE . My life feels so small right now.

Reading The Gum Thief by Douglas Coupland. Coupland is brilliant.

Baking cookies for community group tonight.

Wearing my jimmy-jams all day long. I love days like this.

Studying for the NCE because what the heck else do I have to do? See below.

Ignoring my dirty house because I have more interesting, no scratch that; more important things to do.

Listening to Pete Yorn because no one else will do.

magnet poetry on our fridge

2008-08-23T16:59:00.004-05:00

when I have burned red and bruised blue
my dirty skin did not tell its want or use
yet the book is here
cracked only for you
go and see

story theme continued

2008-08-18T09:49:00.008-05:00

A letter is holy. A story
is holy hands reaching out into the world.
Birds come home
across distance I can't conceive

and live in their bodies.
Ash in the air. Every place I've been
is on fire with words.

One day
I throw away all my love letters
without noticing. Mountains

in the heart.
What belongs
to me? I leave the world
all the time. These arms, these

fingers, this tongue, these feet,
and their bent wings. I know
it will be dirt, the prayers

now in marrow will retake
earth. I will live inside whatever flies.
Burning, the brink of all things.

Being
Eireann Lorsung

makes me giggle every time

2008-08-11T14:24:00.002-05:00

This was taken on a day trip to Alnmouth, a place of beautiful beaches and lovely tea rooms. It makes you wonder what it is about frogs that require a warning sign. Should we be scared?

with my morning cup of tea

2008-08-09T09:03:00.011-05:00

In the morning as the storm begins to blow away
the clear sky appears for a moment and it seems to me
that there has been something simpler than I could ever
believe
simpler than I could have begun to find words for
not patient not even waiting no more hidden
than the air itself that became part of me for a while
with every breath and remained with me unnoticed
something that was here unnamed unknown in the days
and the nights not separate from them
not separate from them as they came and were gone
it must have been here neither early nor late then
by what name can I address it now holding out my thanks

Just Now
W.S. Merwin

2008-07-28T21:39:00.002-05:00

"To cleave the truth of our own lives, to live and look beneath our own stories, is to see glimmers at least of his life, of his life struggling to come alive in our lives, his story whispering like a song through the babble and drone of ours."

The Two Stories
Frederick Buechner

I am doing a lot of digging, a lot of watching and a lot of listening these days. Slowing down to listen and remember on purpose requires a level of discipline and attention that is in its own way a kind of bloody, hard-fought battle. I would rather move, be consumed by work, do anything than sit still to struggle with my own story.

Forgotten joy

2008-07-14T20:28:00.005-05:00

I'm feeling a bit reclusive these days and don't have much to share. There's a lot on my mind and I need to let it steep for a bit. So I will leave you with a few of my scribbles for the time being.

My laughter is bent like my grandmother's back.
Perhaps if I carry her, laughter
Will roll off her startled tongue, slippery
And wet like birds dancing on waves.
And I will know that hope,
Inextricably tied to memory, has returned.

An interview with Barbara Kingsolver

2008-07-07T18:50:00.003-05:00

Speaking of Faith's Krista Tippett interviewed Barbara Kingsolver on Sunday. Click on the link if you're interested in hearing her discuss Animal, Vegetable, Miracle.

The Ethics of Eating

heart-friends

2008-07-02T11:38:00.004-05:00

These girlfriends of mine are one of the great treasures of my heart. How lovely to become reacquainted and reconnected after all these years away!

I guess I live here now

2008-06-26T11:10:00.006-05:00

Our boxes arrived this week from England, and other than a few pieces of broken pottery, everything is here and in one piece. It's strange to have everything we own in one place again, and with the arrival of our England boxes, it feels like I've finally said good-bye to our home over there. I'm not on holiday anymore. I live in St. Louis now. How weird. Oh, except for the Bishop Ramsey-Cat, we still have him waiting for us. How lovely for him to summer in Durham with his friends, A & S. I'm trying not to be jealous!

We miss England. We miss the rain! I miss using words like "whilst" in my everyday language. I keep spelling center as centre. Most of all we miss our friends. This is not to say we don't love our St. Louis friends but we miss our British-American-Canadian friends very much. Thank God for skype!

final words

2008-06-15T15:23:00.004-05:00

"What's lost is nothing to what's found, and all the death that ever was set next to life would scarcely fill a cup."

From "Godric" by Frederick Buechner

I think I will have that put on my gravestone.

process and transition

2008-06-12T10:12:00.000-05:00

Transition is a funny creature. Both exhilerating and frightening; welcoming new adventures and mourning for lost things. It feels sometimes that I have spent an uncommonly large amount of time transitioning in one way or another. Maybe that's just me, or maybe that's just life.. I turn 31 this year, and find myself wondering when I will settle myself, stabilize, release the gypsy heart..

St. Louis is a good place to ask and wonder. I am safe here, and loved. Surrounded by people who have known me for a long time, who give cuddles without judgement. As usual, I am asking lots of questions, mostly questions with no clear answers. But if God is who he says he is and is as big as I think he is, then surely he isn't threatened by my queries. I love that quality about God. And so I feel free to say like Madeleine L'Engle, that "Sometimes in the groping dark of my not knowing I am exhausted with the struggle to believe in you, O God." And in response, like R.S. Thomas, "I feel the power that invisible, catches me by the sleeve." My belief and faith seem never to be either/or but both/and. It's complicated but that's life for me.

B and I are hoping to see Iron & Wine tomorrow night. Sam Beam is always good for slightly melancholy souls; accompanied by a few beers and a few laughs and really, who can complain! Life is good.

goodbye, and hello

2008-06-02T20:33:00.000-05:00

Multiple sorries from me to you for my lack of posts. What a manic time.

I find saying goodbye incredibly painful and something to be avoided if at all possible. After four years in Durham, a place I came to think of as home, it felt like losing a limb when I said goodbye. But I said it and I left, and now I find myself back in the plains of my childhood. How incredibly surreal is this. Reverse culture shock of huge proportion. And have I mentioned how hot it is here? goodnight, and it's only the beginning of June. One thing is certain: my earth-mama deoderant will not save me.

But ask me what we did first upon embarking in Chicago...go on, ask.
We went and ordered massive margaritas. Yep. oh.my.great.goodness. An excellent way of celebrating, or mourning, depending on your perspective. Come on.

And now the work of settling begins. B is already in StL and I head over this coming weekend. Next week sees the start of the Job Hunt, where I will have spears and shields prepared for the offensive. Wish me luck.

Snow White is in dire need of sun and so I'm off to the pool armed with floppy hat and high SPF. Oh, and can't forget the burt's bees.