Anam Cara

Hooray for...

 

Collaboration.  Josh is responsible for finding the magnifier, Jake for figuring out
you could take a picture through it, Kelsey for executing the shot.  

 

High Voltage Tattoo, home of L.A. Ink.  This is a VERY vibey shop.  We checked
out the merch and watched a little tattooing action.  No tats for anyone in our party. 
Not today...

The Rock Walk outside the Guitar Center.  This was Kelsey's fave.  Lemmy
being...creative.

Jake paying homage to Def Leppard.

 

Kelsey honoring her all time favorite director.

Our last day in Los Angeles included a morning of beauty and an afternoon
of serious pop culture.  Tomorrow, we board a ship for a few days in the Pacific. 
Don't fret if it's quiet around here for a few days.  I will bombard you with photos
when I get home.

A Glorious Morning at the Getty...

 

A few teasers from one of the loveliest places I have ever visited, The Getty
Center in Los Angeles.  More later.  Off to play.

 

 

  

 

Greetings from the City of Angels

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

Splendid evening in Los Angeles.  We played, strolled, and watched the sun set at Venice Beach.  Kelsey and Jake admired the top hat and dreds worn by one of the artists along the boardwalk.  Supper was at The Counter.  See the family tucking in above.  Toppings included roasted red peppers and chilis, grilled pineapple, corn and blackbean salsa, horseradish cheddar, roasted onion marmalade, and zesty avocado sauce, all on a savory, perfectly executed burger.

Only He Who Sees Takes Off His Shoes...

 

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

~Elizabeth Barrett Browning in Aurora Leigh

 

Thank You, God,

For Your hand that reaches to me,
    touching my arm, tapping my shoulder,
    telling me to pause and to look and to listen
        at all the windows of the soul.
Help me to see something in those windows,
    something of heaven in every earthly event,
    something of the divine spark in every human soul.
Please, dear God, give me the grace to stand, shoes in hand,
    before all that in some way bears Your glory,
        for I don't want to spend my days
            just sitting around
                plucking blackberries...

~Ken Gire in Windows of the Soul

 

*Roses in the post:
    The lovely nosegay of blossoms is Lilian Austin. (still on the plant, just as they bloomed) 
    In the vases are Mortimer Sackler on the outsides and Cottage Rose in the center.

Celebrating Joshua...

Just over 12 years ago, I gave birth for the last time.  I could not imagine in that moment what it would mean to have Joshua in my life.  I did not know that he would share my compulsive need for a cold pillow, or my aversion to having my feet covered when I sleep.  I did not know that he would make decorations for every special event in the life of our family, turning each occasion into something grand.  I did not know that he would give me three kisses every night or how much I would miss those when I am away from him.  I did not know that he would be the one child in my house who is not an adventurous eater.  He could live a long happy life on macaroni and cheese, pizza and fruit.  I did not know that someday he would have a voice that would shatter my heart and make my spirit soar.  I could not imagine how expansive and infectious would be his sense of wonder.  All I knew was that he was soft and warm, and he smelled sweet.  And, that this dear little one had completely captured my heart.

Today Joshua and I made a red velvet cake and carved it into a chili pepper (his idea).  He colored icing, and we worked together to apply it.  Today we hung crepe paper and balloons and chili pepper lights.  Today a handful of Joshua's dearest friends came to help us celebrate another year of wonder, of laughter, and of joy.  They swam and slid and fired water guns and played basketball and broke a pinata and ate...and ate...and ate... 

Happy Birthday, dearest Joshua!  I love you!

A Prayer for Nourishment...

 

How inarticulate are the longings of my soul, O God,
    yet how acute are its pangs.
How incapable am I in understanding those longings,
    let alone, in tending them.
Feed me with food, O God, that will best nourish my soul,
    food that will intensify rather than satisfy
        my love for You
            and my longing to be with You.
Awaken every eternal seed You have planted in my soul
    so while I am yet rooted in this earth
        something of heaven might blossom in my life...

~Ken Gire in Windows of the Soul

Party Like a Rock Star...

 

...or at least party WITH some rock stars.  The past two weekends
have been filled with celebrations of sweet, young friends who are
crossing a threshold from one stage of life into another.  I always
feel a bit melancholy as I say goodbye to these young ones.  But,
I know I have been called to be one who empowers and launches,
so there is a rightness and a joy to these celebrations.  Today held
three parties: two graduation, and one birthday.  Here are a few
snapshots.

The lovely young woman above is Miss Carli Stover.  I have known
Carli since she was a little girl, so I have a great many memories. 
But, my favorites come from two world history classes, an American
history class, and an art history class we shared together during her
high school years.  Carli's intellect, her rigorous dedication to
excellence, her generosity of spirit and her great sense of humor
made her a dream student.  And, Carli is an incredibly gifted artist. 
Her reception was a bit like a gallery opening as her proud mother
displayed several of her most recent works.  I have included photos
of a few.  Congratulations, Carli!  Godspeed in your studies at Lee
University.

 

 

 

The three works pictured above were part of a seven part series
based on the seven deadly sins.  A single subject (her friend
Kaitlyn) is shown in very different settings.  Shown, top to bottom: 
malice, lust and gluttony.

 

Ryan and Kelsey have been friends all through high school.  He
began calling her "Kelso" (from That Seventy's Show) when they
were freshmen.  It stuck.  Today, it's the only name most of her
friends know for her.  Ryan is a thespian and a talented film maker. 
Be looking for him in a few years playing a theater near you.

 

And this is the beautiful birthday girl, and my very dear friend Jen.  
She is one of my favorite people with whom to discuss great books,
travel, God, kids....LIFE.  Her friendship is a treasure.

 

This is my boyfriend, Elijah.  Mike knows about him.  It's all good. 
He is a happy, happy baby.  Somebody must be taking very good
care of him. :)

 

See.  Cute, huh?

 

"I thank my God every time I remember you."   ~ Philippians 1:3 

The Wave in the Mind

I love to watch an artist work.  I am in awe of the process.  I love to get inside the mind of people who create.  I have had opportunity, at times, to have personal intercourse with creators of various genres.  This is a marvelous experience.  A second alternative is to read the thoughts of theses creators in their own words.  Books like these have taken me inside the minds of Madeleine L'Engle, Wassily Kandinsky, and C.S. Lewis, to name just a few.  And now, The Wave in the Mind is taking me inside the mind of Ursula K. LeGuin.

I first encountered LeGuin in her enthralling novel, The Wizard of Earthsea.  This fantastical tale introduces us to an unlikely hero, Sparrowhawk, whose destiny exceeds his wildest imaginings, and who must learn the power of naming.  It was the naming, the power of words, that gave me to know I had found a true friend in Ursula LeGuin.

The Wave in the Mind is a collection of essays written by LeGuin on a refreshingly wide range of topics, from Tolkien and Twain, to gender and beauty, to language: its rhythm, its power, its beauty.  The first essay opens with these intriguing lines:  "I am a man.  Now you may think I've made some kind of silly mistake about gender, or maybe that I'm trying to fool you, because my first name ends in a, and I own three bras, and I've been pregnant five times, and other things like that that you might have noticed, little details..."   And the adventure begins.  And I can't turn the pages fast enough.  And I am carving moments out of busy days to sneak away and read what comes next.

Although I am just over half-way through, I thought I would pause and share a few of the thoughts, the words, that have most arrested my attention.  For your consideration:

On the idea that fantasy can give us the opportunity to wrestle with dilemna that are not yet present, or are just emerging in our world: 

So it may be that the central ethical dilemna of our age, the use or nonuse of annihilating power, was posed most cogently in fictional terms by the purest of fantasists.  Tolkien began The Lord of the Rings in 1937 and finished it about ten years later.  During those years, Frodo withheld his hand from the RIng of Power, but the nations did not.

LeGuin speaks to the importance of retaining the oral tradition in language, of getting the words off the page and into the mouth.  I love her account of Dylan Thomas' reading at Columbia in 1952 for a Caedmon recording:

I was there at that reading, and you can hear me--in the passionate silence of the audience listening to that passionate voice.  Not a conspiracy of silence, but a participatory silence, a community collaboration of letting him let the words loose aloud.  I left that reading two feet above the ground, and it changed my understanding of the art forever.

In the essay, Dogs, Cats and Dancers: Thoughts on Beauty, the author shares this rich, profound reflection on image:

My mother died at eighty-three, of cancer, in pain, her spleen enlarged so that her whole body was misshapen.  Is that the person I see when I think of her?  Sometimes.  I wish it were not.  It is a true image, yet it blurs, it clouds, a truer image.  It is one memory among fifty years of memories of my mother.  It is the last time.  Beneath it, behind it, is a deeper, complex, ever-changing image, made from imagination, hearsay, photographs, memories.  I see a little red-haired child in the mountains of Colorado, a sad-faced, delicate college girl, a kind, smiling young mother, a brilliantly intellectual woman, a peerless flirt, a serious artist, a splendid cook--I see her rocking, weeding, writing, laughing--I see the turquoise bracelets on her delicate, freckled arm--I see, for a moment, all that at once, I glmpse what no mirror can reflect, the spirit flashing out across the years, beautiful.

And finally (for now) a lovely description of the complex beauty of the novel.  You will see here, as well as anywhere, why lovers of words find a friend in Ms. LeGuin.

I do think novels are beautiful.  To me a novel can be as beautiful as any symphony, as beautiful as the sea.  As complete, true, real, large, complicated, deep, troubling, soul enlarging as the sea with its waves that break and tumble, its tides that rise and ebb.

 

*Painting: Between Two Waves by Makoto Fujimura 

Morning Light....

 

Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love,
       for I have put my trust in you.
       Show me the way I should go,
       for to you I lift up my soul.

Psalm 143:8

 

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases.
His mercies never come to an end.
They are new every morning.
Great is Thy faithfulness!

Lamentations 3:22-23

 

Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love,
       that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.

Psalm 90:14

Red, Red Rose

 

O, my luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June.
O, my luve's like the melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I,
And I will luve thee still, my Dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my Dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun!
O I will luve thee still, my Dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve,
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile!

  

Poem by Robert Burns

Roses, top to bottom:  L.D. Braithwaite, WIlliam Shakespeare, Othello, William
Shakespeare, L.D. Braithwaite (Incidentally, the two Braithwaites and the two
Shakespeares are each a single blossom photographed at different stages of bloom
in differing light.)

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

It all began with the pig dinner.  It was a ruse, you know...to deceive the Germans. 

You see, when the Germans occupied the Channel Island of Guernsey early in World War II, they confiscated all farm animals for their own dinner tables.  When Amelia managed to hide a young pig, she decided to share her good fortune and invite friends for a dinner party.  The meal was so luxurious and nourishing, to their souls as well as their bellies, that they missed curfue.  When a group of partiers was intercepted on their walk home by German soldiers, Elizabeth quickly offered the explanation that they were at a meeting of the Guernsey Literary Society.  Of necessity then, the literary society was born.  None of them could possibly understand what it would come to mean to them through the long years of occupation...of hunger, and fear, and loss.  "...our evenings together became bright, lively times we could almost forget, now and then, the darkness outside."

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society is one of the most engaging books I have read in a long time.  It is a fictional tale, woven of the real stuff of life on the occupied Channel Islands during World War II.  It is an homage to the sustenance to be found in words...to the fact that men who live in different millenia sometimes share the same griefs and the same joys...to the truth that some books are better than others, offering the kind of nourishment that fills your soul even while your body is daily wasting away.  "Reading good books ruins you for enjoying bad books."  Agreed.

The authors, Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows, choose to present the story as a collection of letters written between a young author whose newly acquired fame has come from satire she has written during the war, her editor and friends, and members of the society.  This gives each person a chance to speak in his or her voice without the coloring of a single interpreter.  I found this particularly effective.

I highly recommend the book for anyone who has a romance with books; who understands the power of words...to anyone who is intrigued by history...to anyone who is inspired by the triumph of the human spirit...to anyone who loves a good story. 

America's Ultimate Challenge?

  

This is where I'll be 3 months from today.  If you are one of my brave, adventurous friends whose heart beats faster when you contemplate pushing your body to the limits, read on.  You will understand why I couldn't resist an invitation like this.  If you are faint of heart, scroll down.  There are some really pretty pictures of roses. :) 

"The Pikes Peak Ascent^® and Pikes Peak Marathon^® will redefine what you call running. Sure, they start out like a lot of races on Any Street, USA. But your first left turn will have you turning in the direction of up! During the next 10 miles, as you gain almost 6,000 vertical feet, your legs, lungs, heart and mind will be worn to a ragged nothingness. But it won’t be until your last three miles, with still over 2,000' of vertical to go, that you will realize where the Marathon got its moniker—America’s Ultimate Challenge.

"There’s a reason trees don’t bother growing above 12,000' on Pikes Peak. They can’t! Makes one wonder if trees are smarter than runners. Above treeline most runners take 30 minutes or more, some much more, just to cover a mile. What little air remains can’t satisfy the endless stream of zombies hoping only to survive their next step—a death march right out of a scene from Dawn of the Dead. Adding insult to injury, it might start to snow!"

If you are intrigued, you can read more about the event HERE.  Now accepting any advice you might wish to pass along...and prayers. :)

 

On Beauty...

 

"Beauty does not linger, it only visits. Yet beauty's visitation affects us and
invites into it's rhythm, it calls us to feel, think, and act beautifully in the
world: to create and live a life that awakens the Beautiful."

~John O'Donohue

 

"Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels' hierarchies?
    and even if one of them pressed me suddenly against his heart:
I would be consumed in that overwhelming existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror, which we are still just able to endure,
    and we are so awed because it serenely disdains to annihilate us."

~Rainer Maria Rilke

 

I did not have to ask my heart what it wanted
Because of all the desires I have ever known,
Just one did I cling to
For it was the essence of all desire:
To know beauty.

~St. John of the Cross

Spring Deliciousness: Pavlova

 

Last night I had an opportunity to be a hero in my own home.  My friend
Stephanie made that possible by giving me the recipe for a light, sweet, delicate
dessert with which she had dazzled us at a Christmas party some years back.  It
had been part of her growing up in Australia.  With strawberries in season, it
seemed the perfect time to give it a go.  I tortured my twitter/facebook friends
with a photo last night and have since received several requests for the recipe. 
Believing that Stephanie would want me to pass along the joy, I share it here
with you.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Combine and set aside:
2  teaspoons cornstarch
1  teaspoon vinegar 
1/4  teaspoon vanilla

Beat 1/4 teaspoon salt and 4 eggwhites until peaks form.  Steph says this is a
critical step. "Make sure those peaks are there."  Gradually add 1 cup sugar as
the meringue becomes shiny.  Add cornstarch mixture and beat until it
disappears.

Spread mixture onto a greased baking pan.  Use parchment paper for greater
ease of removal.  (I skipped the parchment paper because I was out ot it, but
regretted that.  I ended up serving from the baking stone.)  Also, mine spread
out a bit while baking so leave a little room for that.  Place in the oven and
reduce heat to 300 degrees.  Bake for 80 minutes.  Yep, 80.  Turn oven off
and leave Pavlova to cool inside.

Beat one pint of heavy whipping cream and spread over cooled Pavlova. 
(Steph says that in Australia the cream is thick enough it doesn't have to be
whipped.  But, unless you have a source for such, you probably want to whip.) 
Then cover with fresh berries.  I used strawberries because they are in season,
but I look forward to trying it with a jumble of blackberries, blueberries and
raspberries later this summer.  I did not sweeten the cream or the berries.  The
Pavlova and the ripe berries provide plenty of sweetness.

This is quintessential springtime on a plate.  It is so light it is almost ethereal. 
Be advised:  It is addictive.  All of us went back for seconds. :)

La Vie en Rose...

 

Two months ago a cardboard box arrived at my house.  It was 18 inches long and about 6x6 inches wide.  Inside the box was a tangle of 7 bareroot roses. 
Bareroot roses are taken from the field while dormant.  All soil is removed before
they are packed and shipped.  You must have vision and optimism to buy
bareroot roses.  You must have FAITH.  When you look at the dismal jumble
of roots and leafless branches, they do not appear to hold great promise.  But,
appearances can be deceiving...

The day they arrived, I dropped everything, filled a pail with water and root
stimulator, separated the plants, and submerged the roots.  I had dug the
planting holes when I received word they were on their way.  As I pulled each
plant out of the pail, I clipped an inch or so off each of the primary roots to
promote new growth, then snugged them into their new homes with a generous
helping of compost and time-release fertilizer.  I nearly covered each plant with
mulch to help ease its transition.  When I removed the mulch two weeks later, little
red and green buds were already forming.

Now, just two months after their arrival, seven of seven have produced buds, and
the first two opened today.  The rose above is called Mary Magdalene.  Buds of a
robust apricot open to the most delicate, pristine blossoms.  And the fragrance....I
wish I could send it to you.  It is fresh and clean, like a baby's breath...or like the
softly sweet aroma of a candy shop...with just a hint of the sea hovering over it.  I
love that this is Mary Magdalene's rose.  I remember Donatello's wooden carving
of Mary.  She looks so tired and worn.  But, knowing the Christ made her new...
made her clean and fresh.  And it can make me clean and fresh.  Every time I
breathe in the scent, I smell it.  Every time I look at the fragile petals, I see it.

 

Mary's companion could not be more unlike.  William Sakespeare is a deep
velvety scarlet leaning deliciously close to violet.  Its scent is mysterious and
sultry...a wild, daring musk befitting the Bard.  I had the opportunity to watch it
open a bit at a time today.  This morning it was still a bud with only it's outermost
petals unfurled.  It has revealed itself in layers all day...like a long, deep
friendship.

...and we have only just begun...

Just Breathe...

The last couple of weeks have been a whirlwind of activity at our house, with no
end in sight.  Most families with teenagers or children in the home can probably
relate.  May is a frenzy of "end of school" craziness.  Hence, the posting silence of
late.  Just too busy living life to find time to write about it.  But I miss it.  I miss it a
LOT.  Hoping to find an opening soon.  In the meantime, here are a few postcards
from amidst the happy insanity. 

  

On Thursday, April 30th, Joshua was part of the talent show at
school.  He was the final act, save one.  There had been a great
many wonderful talents shared that evening, accompanied by the
predictable hub-bub that is normal when the house is filled with
lots of younger siblings, and teenagers running in and out.  Until
Joshua sang.  And then the house fell silent.  His strong, sweet,
pristinely clear voice filled the room and no one moved.  They
scarcely dared to breathe.  Joshua has come into his own this
year as a performer, like a bud unfurling.  It has been a joy to
watch.

 

A little brotherly love afterward.

 

Sunday night marked the end of an era.  For 14 years we have
had children in the choir program at the People's Church.  But, 
no more.  Joshua played one of the principle acting roles in this,
his last musical with the fabulous Diane Dawson.  It has been an
important part of his becoming who God has designed him to be.

  

Dancing with his good friend Gideon (friends since birth)...

 

...and with Rania, also a long time friend.

Took my parents out to Leipers Fork on Monday.  Kelsey
captured some beautiful shots.  This one is my favorite.

Lunch with several of my lovely Tuesday morning friends at Alektor
Cafe, a favorite oasis in Nashville. (The rose at the top of the post 
is from their garden.)

  

For the past two nights, Joshua has been part of the Music Man
at school.  It was a splendid production.  Here he is part of an
old school barbershop quartet singing Lida Rose.

  

Enlightening Harold Hill with regard to procuring a rig.

 

"Goodnight Ladies"

Curtain Call

Mother's Day sweetness.

Ditto.

Thanks, Cassie, for the heart.  Lovely touch. :)

A Shy Yet Solemn Glory

 

Music
by Anne Porter

When I was a child
I once sat sobbing on the floor
Beside my mother's piano
As she played and sang
For there was in her singing
A shy yet solemn glory
My smallness could not hold

And when I was asked
Why I was crying
I had no words for it
I only shook my head
And went on crying

Why is it that music
At its most beautiful
Opens a wound in us
An ache a desolation
Deep as a homesickness
For some far-off
And half-forgotten country

I've never understood
Why this is so

Bur there's an ancient legend
From the other side of the world
That gives away the secret
Of this mysterious sorrow

For centuries on centuries
We have been wandering
But we were made for Paradise
As deer for the forest

And when music comes to us
With its heavenly beauty
It brings us desolation
For when we hear it
We half remember
That lost native country

We dimly remember the fields
Their fragrant windswept clover
The birdsongs in the orchards
The wild white violets in the moss
By the transparent streams

And shining at the heart of it
Is the longed-for beauty
Of the One who waits for us
Who will always wait for us
In those radiant meadows

Yet also came to live with us
And wanders where we wander.

 

Painting: Music 109 by George Pali

In Commemoration of the Day...

 

May Day is a day of beginning...a day of newness.  It has rich and varied traditions, both pagan and secular.  But, the prevailing theme is the bidding of farewell to winter and the embracing of summer.  In some traditions, this has been the day when flocks were led to summer pasture.  In others, the planting of the summer crops.  The May pole itself is a symbol of fertility and of community.

May Day arrived in Franklin with  the roar of wild, violent storms.  But even this requires a vibrant verility that simply cannot be found in the cold quiet of winter.  As I sat on my porch in the midst of the storm I looked around at the perennials in my garden that have awakened from winter's slumber.  Many have already covered themselves in lush, brilliant blossoms.  I could see the roses that arrived at my house just two months ago bundled tightly together in a cardboard box, completely devoid of earth or leaves.  Now they are cloaked in vigorous growth and are full of tiny buds that will shower us with fragrant beauty in less than two weeks' time.

In commemoration of this halfway point between the spring equinox and the summer solstice, I offer you a poem by Catherine Kerr.  Perhaps you are one who already finds great joy in the "greenwood".  Perhaps you understand its restorative value.  Perhaps you have a treasure trove of memories from your excursions there, as do I.  Whether or not this is true, I extend this invitation to you.  May it prove a glorious adventure.

There is a song in the greenwood,
There's an age old tale to be sung,
Healing is there in the greenwood,
Spiraling endlessly under the sun.

Seat yourself under the oak trees,
Watch the leaf dust dance in the breeze,
Breathe in the flowers and catkins,
The slow buzzing motion of bees.

I give you a song from the greenwood,
A song to enchant and delight,
Refrains of sowing and reaping,
The lyric of life at its height.

Join in the dance of the greenwood,
Cast off your woes if you dare,
Life will be sweet in the greenwood,
Far from all hurry and care.

Hold high the cup of forgetting,
Drink deep of the greenwood wine,
Partake of the wildwood nectar,
So honey sweet from the vine.

Hear ye the pipes of the greenwood,
Far off music and dancing feet?
Ye shall be healed in the greenwood,
One with the earth's heartbeat.