Easter 2008: In Photos
Lessons From the Universe
Happy St. Patrick’s Day! I still haven’t wrapped my brain around the idea that this is Holy Week, what with the holiday and all. I keep expecting to have more time. I woke up with a start this morning, “Oh no, I forgot to leave out the loot!” The Leprechaun is no longer a mystery in our home, but tradition is tradition. And as you have probably already gathered, we’re big on tradition around here. Needless to say, I did some scrambling before I dashed out the door for a meeting.
Holy week brings a great deal of activity on its own; having St. Patrick’s on top of it has sunk my questionable game low enough that I handed the boy his treat and gave him a hug without any pretense of magic. For his part, he didn’t build a trap this year either. We’ve moved on a bit, I guess. It’s bittersweet. But the day isn’t over and there is still magic to be had.
I tell you, I’m not liking all these major holidays squished together. Seems like it was just St. Valentine’s a month ago and now, Easter on Sunday? Bah. It has me running and I tend to get forgetful at this pace. Which is why I even forgot to mention, last Friday, that I was planning to take Holy Week off. However, I’m glad I forgot, because it gives me a chance to say a few things before I leave for the week.
I have say, the biggest reward of blogging is the amazing relationships I’ve established with some you. So much happens “off-line” via email and phone calls—and it’s provided an opportunity to dig deeper than the comment section allows. I’ve really enjoyed the process. While I expect you all to be creative and generous souls, because you are, I am always so touched by your generosity.
Friday, we came home to a HUGE box we weren’t expecting. And you know, good things come in small packages, but boxes rarely contain bad news! If you’re not expecting it, I think it might be even better. Who doesn’t love a sweet surprise?
Inside, was ball after ball of color! Wendee Shulsen of Hazel Knits, had sent the boy a treasure trove of yarn. I would be remiss to not point out how soft and truly lovely this yarn is! It makes a girl want to learn to knit. Included with all the color, came the most amazing card (that we read to Grammie and Poppie on the phone, Wendee!!) describing Wendee’s process of selecting and dying yarns for Hazel Knits.
Now, I’ve had the chance to get to know Wendee through email over the past few months. And I have discovered her to be a giving and thoughtful soul. But this box was just so. . . special. What Wendee didn’t know, was she spoke magical words to the boy. Words about “trial and error” and “making mistakes” and seeing her work as an “invention”. These are all lessons that, as a parent, I take great pains to preach; especially to a child who claims “being an inventor” as his life’s goal. It’s never easy to see our mistakes and learn from them. We want instant success, right? However, owning our mistakes is part of the creative process. And we never really know where that journey will take us if we are unwilling to risk a few failures along the way. In part, these are lessons learned best by doing. Yet, having other voices speak wisdom is so helpful; especially if that other voice is kindred inventor!
So, he notices, Wendee. He does. And so does his mother. I never cease to be astounded by the beauty the Universe offers up to us on a daily basis. For the beauty that you have brought into our lives, Wendee, “THANK YOU!”
And with that, I am taking this week off… officially. I wish each of you a blessed week. I hope that it is filled with magic and hope and beauty and love. May you find rest and comfort. But most of all, may you know peace.
Sunday Sermon
On the fifth anniversary of this outrageous war, please go listen to Mireille Mathieu sing Trois milliards de gens sur terre.
We pray for peace in this world.
It’s Good to Be Five
Yesterday, I had the most delightful conversation with my favorite five year old on the planet. Five is such a special age; but this little boy takes my breath away. When he was three, he drew me a picture chock full of golden yellow scribbles. I asked him what he called his picture and he said, “Luck. It’s for you.” It hangs on my refrigerator to this day.
~~~
M: So do you want me to tell you something?
Me: Sure!
M: I love birds.
Me: Really? (You can see what a witty conversationalist I am here!)
M: Yes. I love wild birds and pet birds. . .
Me: So, you love all birds, then.
M: Well, no. Not the dead ones. The dead ones make me sad.
~~~
Me: So what is your favorite bird, M?
M: Oh, I don’t think I have a favorite.
Me: I’m very fond of Ravens, myself. And I like Hummingbirds, too.
M: I just don’t see how they survive on only sugar water. It can’t be very good for them.
~~~
M: You want me to tell you something?
Me: Sure!
M: I had a bad dream. I don’t know if it was a nightmare because I’ve never had nightmare in my entire life.
Me: What’s the difference between a nightmare and a bad dream?
M: Well, my bad dream had Harry Potter and Hermione in it. But none of the teachers. And Ron was not there either. Just Harry and Hermione.
~~~
It’s good to be five. It’s even better to be asked, “So, do you want me to tell you something?”
Spring Fever
Spring has left us no choice.
It’s been raining in sheets for two days. Our little spot of balmy (and I use that term loosely—loosely, like sliding half way down your backside jeans so the world can see you’re a briefs man , loosely) weather is gone. A false spring if you will. It leaves a girl little choice. She can be depressed. Or she can do something about it.
The Boy and I ran errands together yesterday and found ourselves roaming the garden department at a local chain store, where we bumped into this display:
How times have changed. Three years ago he would have launched a hard sell to bring one home. Instead, he shook his head wryly and sighed, “Gnomes? Why would anybody want a gnome?”* We laughed. We agreed that gnomes are funny, but not for our yard.
Instead we trolled (oh bad Wende!) the flower aisles. I love hanging out in the garden department at this time of year… everything is in bloom and it all suggests such potential. The display of star jasmine made me a little wistful for Sunnyside, though. However, row upon row of bright annuals makes it hard to remain gloomy for long. With names impossible to pronounce and colors impossible to resist, we took our time absorbing all the color. A visual tab of vitamin D.
Carefully we tested every color of Ranunculus the flower aisle had to offer, until we found the perfect shade for the ceramic pot we’d selected. Neither of which appear in the photo above because we were too consumed with our choices to think about the camera. “Try this yellow one. No, now try that pink one! How about white?”
Did you know that a Ranunculus is also called a Persian Buttercup? It’s more evocative, I think. At least, when you say, “I brought home a Persian Buttercup” you don’t sound like you have contracted a tropical disease! But we all know that names often belie the beauty of the thing. And a Ranunculus is truly a thing of beauty. Layer upon layer of tissue paper thin petals. . . it’s hard not to fall in love, even harder to make a choice.
Until I can recharge my camera battery, you’re going to have to take my word that we found a bit of Spring to bring home. The pot is this amazing blue, reticulated porcelain cache. And after much searching, we settled on a bright poppy colored bloom that the boy calls, “Lipstick red”. Which made me giggle, for some reason.
It continues to rain in sheets. But we don’t mind so much; we’ve got Ranunculus, after all!
UPDATE: See, Spring.
And apparently, some of you are fond of those little Garden Gnomes. . . who knew? Ok, I kinda guessed. 😀 Anyhow, I’m wishing I were more industrious, because if I could get that Gnome picture made into cards, I’d hold a contest to caption it. That Gnome with his hands on his hips just screams to say something witty, eh?
So, no offense to y’all who are lovin on the Gnomes. I’ve heard it said that love is blind. Evidently, it is.
We Are Our Own Kind of Trinity
Family Portrait
Boy Wonder: I wonder what Jesus would think of all the technology we have today.
Me: Oh, Jesus would have a blog!
IZ: (rolls his eyes)
Vicariously
I’m living vicariously and I’m not afraid to bribe the boy with cupcakes for his appearance here.
Working for Cake
The rest of the world might be working for the weekend; but I’m working for the Carrot Cake. Just sayin’.
The caption above sums up the post below in case you don’t want to wade through my drivel. But you might want to humor me, since my server connection crashed while writing the first pass at this post and I had to write it a second time. Hey, I’m not above a pity read.
Checking in:
I’m just beginning week three of Operation Goo Goo and I’m feeling pretty good about my progress. I actually look forward to my hour each day in the gym. The minute Sophie sees me put on my shoes, she gets really excited and heads for the basement door, tail wagging her body. I spend my time listening to my favorite internet radio station (Radioio) and catching videos on YouTube during the commercial breaks.
I’m not losing much in terms of weight yet, but I’ve dropped over an inch in both my waist and hips. I’m OK with swapping out fat for muscle; because to a point, the scale lies anyhow.
Since I’m vain, I don’t post photos that will ever clue you in to how much I need to drop. But according to the medical charts (and my former Physician in Marin, whom I miss!) I am still 30 lbs overweight. Not obese, but certainly in need of shedding the pounds. For my heart, for my joints, and probably for my sanity. We won’t mention that pesky condition THE Diabetes. Of course, 30 lbs beats the 40 lbs I was at last year. Progress, not perfection, people!
I have made some adjustments to Operation Goo Goo. Seven days a week means no down time and that’s not working for me. I love me some down time. So, I’ve cut back to 6 days a week and am giving my body permission to take rest days if I need them. Working out sometimes triggers asthma attacks; not getting enough air makes me really tired by the end of the week. I spent last weekend in bed. This will abate eventually, especially once the weather warms. If it doesn’t, I’ll suck it up and get an inhaler. I’m inhaler adverse, but I’m not stupid.Honestly, I’ve been trying reach age 40 without needing one. Actually, I’ve been trying to get to 40 without needing any major medical intervention. Clearly, I’m more than inhaler adverse.
Let’s face it, though, you’re all here to see how the inhaling of chocolate and caramel and pecans and marshmallow went. After seven work-outs I tore open my Goo Goo and managed to not stuff the whole thing into my mouth at once. Mmm Wmarshmallowsh.
I wasn’t half way through it when I started to feel funny. You see, in addition to hitting the gym, I’ve also cut out most sugar from my diet. (And everything white. WHICH SUCKS!) All that sugar at once was a mistake. My head was screaming “Warning! Warning! Don’t finish that Goo Goo.” But you know I did. Commence Operation Diabetic Coma. I sucked down a glass of milk in a vain attempt to deter the affects of the sugar with some protein. It helped but not enough to keep me from being miserable the rest of the night.
Talk about disaster. To think, that just the day before I had sat and watched IZ eat a piece of the BEST Carrot Cake in the Universe and had nary a bite. NOT. ONE. BITE. I drooled, but that’s it. I had consoled myself with the thought of chocolate and caramel and pecans and marshmallow that was waiting for me. I had no idea that COMA was the next ingredient after Marshmallow.
So, no more Goo Goos for me. (No worries, though, the boy has discovered them and is in Southern Heaven. He’s my child, after all.) However, IZ has promised to treat me to a piece of Carrot Cake if I meet my goals this week. And he’s such a nice guy, he’s even offered to share the piece so that I’m not downing all that sugar (and calories) on my own. I see a fork fight ensuing on Friday.
I call dibs on the icing carrot.
Flash Back
This Flash Back is brought to you as a Public Service Announcement: Please set your clocks ahead tonight. Spring forward, people, spring FORWARD.
And you might want to knock off the the hallucinogenics too. Just sayin’.
Tradition
How we start the day.
The photo is a bit blurry, sorry for that. But then, I’m a bit blurry before coffee. I’m not sure what it is, since I drink decaf, but there is something about the tradition of sharing coffee with IZ that officially starts my day. Even if it is noon.
This is Friday and as usual, my fantasy life is running amok. Oh the glories I will accomplish. Tell me I’m not alone in my idealism on Friday. Surely I’m not the only one suffering delusions of grandeur on this almost, but not quite, Spring day. I’m trying desperately not to write mental “to-do” lists and just be in the moment. Who said the weekend has to be productive? Tradition, that’s who.
Tradition is loquacious like that.
So, this is the start of my weekend and I’m already on a tare, trying to do too much. I have spaces that need cleaning, boxes that need mailing, a whole pile of envelopes I’m ignoring. Spin, spin, spin! I’m a Whirlpool on agitate. Oh, speaking of laundry. . .
I promise to slow down, if you do, too. Let’s all just take it easy, m’kay? We could call it a new tradition.
Hello ~ Welcome to Evidently
- Introvert and word lover and Christ seeker
- Currently learning Swedish just in case
- ISFP... what are you?
No one really leaves comments any more. But if you did, you'd be my favorite. At least until someone else came along. I'm fickle like that.
Patron Saint
