lenten ketchup

As we prepared to leave the restaurant tonight, Maggie looked up at me and solemnly thanked me for the ketchup bowl. I had to compliment her gratitude before I could give a more simple "You're welcome." Her five-year-old sensibilities really are impressive: she was referring to the fact that, when she lamented the lack of a bowl to put ketchup in for fry-dipping purposes, I had emptied my salad dressing container in order to present it to her as a ketchup bowl. Considering the fact that we had just come from an Ash Wednesday service, I find myself amused now at our dinner table conversation about a plan to train poodles to jump through hula hoops . . .
That said, it did not seem incongruous somehow, lack of lenten fasting notwithstanding: it was quite a beautiful service about the importance of fasting for all believers, in an abstaining sense if not specific to physical nourishment. As a tactile person, I was particularly impacted by portion when we proceed up to the front for a forehead cross of ash given by the priest, with a benediction.
Being moved to tears by a liturgical reading one moment to laughing about poodles the next . . . it is all a part of the walk of faith, is it not?

has spring sprung?

This particular bush seems to think so . . . and I, for one, am not complaining. Being able to pick fresh blooms from my yard, in February, is a strange, and enjoyable, luxury.

sweet whispers

Lord, break my heart.
I have spoken, whispered, these words to myself for the past year and a half or so, not knowing why. It has been a mysterious mantra, welling up from some unknown cavern of my soul. I felt strange, knowing my oddity. But I have succumbed to the words all the same, continuing to whisper them at random moments . . .
And so this week I cried with joy at the realization that I understand—I think—the words I have been speaking . . . the words that have been spoken to me.
I have been trudging through my faith, running so fervently to serve God that I did not notice that my eyes were no longer on Him.
My heart was cold. And I did not know why. All I knew was that I had some vague memories of days when I was consumed by a love for God, days when I could weep with joy at His goodness, at His closeness.
But no more. That must have been my youth, I figured. I must be a good, responsible adult now. I must have a good job. I must justify my existence on this planet by serving others. I must pull my weight, and make ends meet . . I must . . . I should . . .
In some hidden recess of my heart I could feel nudges of the truth of my old self peeking through. But I resigned myself to this new, practical version of me.
Until now. Until this week when I accepted the nudgings and listened to the persistent voice of my God. Of the God I have always known as Abba, Father. Of the God who delights in closeness, and who wants me to know that depth of love for Him.
I have spent the week with a sense of an awakened love affair, floating in that in-love feeling. That said, I am well aware that feelings such as this can come and go. But for now it is enough for me to know that He is faithful in answering prayers, that I am indeed His beloved, and that He is mine.
This photo is one that I snapped this afternoon, on sunset walk during which I was explaining these feelings to a dear friend. As we walked, and as I jabbered on, I suddenly paused and, noticing her beauty as the sun shone on her profile, I warned her that I just had to capture it—she kindly obliged ☺

in all seriousness

This morning I listened to a radio interview on the topic of Play. This researcher has spent decades studying the importance of play, for adults as well as for children. The idea, basically, is that play should not be considered an optional luxury; rather, we has humans need it . . . it should be serious business [pun intended :-)].
I happen to agree. So the sight of Ian on the swing when I came home this afternoon seemed a fitting photo for the day. And it had me musing on the topic as I washed windows; which, incidentally, felt rather like play for me, in that I do love the methodically soothing nature of that sort of work. Reading is another form of play for me, if you think of play as anything that allows you to lose track of time and get lost in the moment.
I'm curious for you out there in blogging readership land: what sorts of play do you enjoy, and need to make time for? And then, your "homework" is to go do it--make the time and know you need it!

if the part fits

WIth embarrassingly little work on my part, my grandfather and I successfully jimmied the garage door back into working condition yesterday. He is truly a fix-it genius . . . and, in fact, my hero. Considering the fact that this type of garage door is no longer being made, I think it's pretty darn impressive that he was able to find the replacement cable that would fit just right, even though not made for such a purpose.
So my grandpa climbed up and down the ladder, carefully refitting bolts and rewiring cables. And I stood there awaiting his calls for a needed nut of a holding of a cable. My only lasting contribution was probably the use of a wrench to clamp down to size the offendingly wide steel loop . . . but I clamped it too far, so it actually had to then be widened!
Suffice it to say that i probably cannot justifiably blame my garage door for the fact that I barely made it on time for the lecture I was giving yesterday evening. Thankfully, local librarians are remarkably laid-back about such things . . . surprisingly so, perhaps?

still a gem

"Incredible!" My grandpa beamed as he paused in his steering directions to me. I poked my head out of the open window to see what he was talking about, and then saw that I had precisely enough space in between the car's bumper and the garage wall to squeeze past. Hold that thought!, I replied, popping the car into neutral and dashing into my apartment. Emerging with my camera, I grinned and explained that I had to document the event.
Sharing a laugh afterwards, we lauded the merits of my perfect Pearl . . . this seemingly flawless car that has served me so well over the years. Only in this little Toyota could I have conquered the dilemma of a trapped car in a hopelessly shut garage door--not only was the electric pulley broken, but the manual override latch had also snapped . . . Pearl was trapped!
But no. Thanks to PaCharley's skilled directives, a bit of mutual problem-solving, and some shifting of stored furniture and a surprisingly light trailer, I was able to maneuver Pearl out of the other, parallel garage door . . . So much for that manicure splurge :-)

all in a [half] day's work

Gee whiz, I'm beat! So much to accomplish today: a new friend to meet and discuss the relative merits of kitty cats and tigers with . . . gourmet mac and cheese to dine on . . . My Little Ponies to bathe in the bathroom sink . . . Ranger Rick to be read . . . a potty to be peed in--well, some of the time, at least . . . "Heffalumps and Woozles" to be sung . . . and the day is only half-done! Being two is hard work!

simply a shed

As I took out the compost pail, I passed this little gem of a shed and just had to stop and admire its artwork . . . one of those happy discoveries, for me, of being caught unawares by an unexpected beauty :-)

after the storm

It is nap time. And I find that the quiet in the apartment mirrors my inner feelings . . . watching the snow fall outside as I muse on the cycles of childcare. In this case, it is the post-meltdown calm that I contemplate. As I tried to explain in conversation earlier today, one never quite gets immune to the power of a distressed child: somehow, no matter how many teary sessions you have lived through, the moment is always new and all-consuming in its terrible immediacy. And so once she is happy again, it is as if you have permission to breath--and consequently, the peace is so much sweeter than if there had been no crisis prior to it.

made for walking

This morning I admired a shiny green frog as I crouched over the tub washing my hair. When I emerged, tying up my hair in a towel turban, my charge was absorbed in her project of "organizing" the contents of my suitcase. She was also modeling my shoes for me, which I gratifyingly complimented: her fine figure seemed to set off my gray flats rather stunningly :-)
[*I am currently enjoying a visit with an old friend, during which I get to hang out with her toddler on the days she is at work.]

a faucet affair

One of the things I have most enjoyed about home maintenance projects is how some of the more apparently daunting amongst them have turned into surprisingly straightforward ones. Today, for instance, I installed aerators into the water faucets. When I pulled the little gadgets out of the box they looked frighteningly minute. And with no instructions to go by, I had initial visions of dismantled parts, unhinged pipes, and the like. Looking more closely at the rim, however, I decided to try my luck at simply unscrewing [my grandpa taught me my "lefty loosey" ;-)] . . . and it worked!
I now have high falutin' energy-efficient aerated water pipes. And yet another photo of my faucet.

in and out the buttercups

Today I had a visit from an old high school friend. This meant that I also had the distinct delight of meeting her little one. As I snapped this shot of his blond halo, his mischievous grin seemed to say Watch out world, here I come!

plumbing beauty

Some days it is the simple things that one must be grateful for . . . the hum drum practicalities of life can be things of great beauty. Running water. A good plumber. Beautiful.
I learned that a portion of this house has old, hardy water pipes, while the other portion has new, copper pipes. And the combination of an exposed pipe plus these brutal temperatures proved to be a bit much. So I awoke to no water flow. Thankfully, I was able to get ahold of my plumber before opening hours, so that he bumped me up to top priority for the day. WIthin the hour, he had come, had located the problem, and had thawed the pipes before they had a chance to burst under the pressure. What could have been a major disaster was diverted, and future issues with the pipes were prevented.
And I am deeply grateful for the practical beauty of a faucet's flow.

the 5 yr.old lefty scrawl

Since returning from my holiday travels, my days have been consumed by house cleaning and clearing out. A portion of that work has included sorting through decades of my family's belongings in storage. As you might expect, this is a rather large task, in an emotional way as well as the simply practical aspect.
One surprising find was particularly interesting to me considering my recent return from teaching at my elementary school alma mater: a folder of the letters I mailed home from school.
Here is one of the letters [the text was written on the back of the painting and, in case it is not perfectly legible, reads Dear Mummy and Daddy. I like painting pictures. They look pretty on the wall. Our seeds are coming up. Love from Anna]

life in a new year

A day spent with an old friend has left me thoughtful in a slightly stereotypical, but still meaningful, way about the significance of this new year. What I am realizing, after reflecting upon the happenings and learnings of this past year, is that this new one is a year about, simply, life. Life at its most basic level, stripped of the trappings of societal expectations, material possessions, and self and other-imposed stresses. If I let go of all the preoccupations I so readily get caught up with in any given day, what do I have left? What am I really living for? What am I spending my time working towards? If I am honest, in a gut-level way, I fear that I must admit to many trivial, superficial tendencies. May I live in such a way, in this coming year, that my life reflects what I really care about. May it be a year of family, a year of meaning . . . a year of life.

hand in hand

On this, my last night to cuddle with my niece, I stared at her tiny hand as she slept, firmly clasping my own, more weathered and less lovely one*
*incidentally, the lighting of this photo is due to an attempt to capture the moment without awakening the little one with the disturbance of a flash. . . and only afterwards did I realize that I liked the consequential effect of the photo's color cast :-)

hair and there

tonight i was touched by the peaceful air of these two as they sat, my niece and her uncle. i was also, incidentally, amused by the contrast between full and not-so-full heads of hair :-)

the evening mood

she seemed fittingly serene as i enjoyed a christmas eve cuddle with my niece . . . so at grandma's bidding, her uncle grabbed my camera to capture the moment

. . . by the chimney with care

i am blessed. thanks to my brother's marriage into a most amazing family, i am enjoying a welcoming "home"coming for the holidays. and one small example of this is tonight's project: here i caught a moment of Mom at work on my stocking. she has not yet missed one family member, in her traditional handwork, and i, even as a grafted member, am no exception.

as if . . .

. . . she needed to give her auntie an excuse to capture another moment of her "grace" :-)