Monday, September 1, 2014

One thousand gifts and still counting (5971-5989)

Nora, Beckie and their kids over for a summer hurrah
good smells in the house
an email from Denise
and her visit with us on the weekend
sangria on a Friday night

grasses cut
chats online
a creative, crafty friend
false eyelashes
a hair cut

tomatoes on the counter
burgers on the grill
Autumn Harvest and Lake and Lodge coffees
thoughts of others on woods life
abundant life and tears

lights around the pool at night
woodsmoke smells from the school room fireplace
mums for sale
the camera nudge


Saturday, August 30, 2014

Unplugged

I got my hair cut today. Drove to that place that's a three-hour round trip to get the style reset by my favorite stylist as I search for someone local. I felt an urging to take my camera with me. I'm glad I listened to it. When I walked into the salon, a wedding party was getting made up. I asked my friend if he'd mind if I took some photos. He was happy to let me. He said he wants to take photos but either doesn't have an extra hand for it or a camera.



I snapped almost eighty pictures. I left with a new do, and a great feeling to have helped him out. I'm always amazed at God's nudges.

Came home to Shane's update: the kids made their own lunches--Erin decided to make a Cheetos sandwich.

"Eew," I said.

"You're going to have to have lunch decided for them before you go places," he told me. "Erin can't make these sandwiches."

Later, I got near him and smelled onions.

"Did you eat an onion for lunch?" I asked. (He had a hamburger, loaded with onion.)

At church, the onion breath, despite his brushing and mouthwash, wafted in my direction. Ugh. I scootched over closer to my friend Julie. The music was unusually loud at service. I plugged my ears during half a song. When I unplugged, they were ringing and sensitive. I went out to the lobby to get ear plugs. Walked back in to finish up the first worship.

Shane tried to whisper something to me but someone on stage started to talk, so he stopped.

Later, during the sermon, I showed him the ear plugs in my hands.

We got up afterwards for worship and I put the plugs in. Shane leaned over to me to tell me something, I pulled a plug out. He laughed.

"When you went to get those, I thought you were going out to get me a mint!" he said.

I don't know why I thought that was so funny. I wished I had thought of it! I would have gotten him two. 

Boo onions.

Woven

We chatted (online) and it was lovely.

I showed her a house by link and said if I didn't live here, I'd live there.

I showed her pictures I had--the laundry room door; the school room when it was their family room; the napping couch. She liked the paint job on the door grid and the door knobs.

We talked about photographs and I wondered if they took her back in time.

"I think we leave a piece of our hearts behind when we leave," I wrote.

"Me too," she replied. "In the walls."

I told her how I inscribed the walls at our former house when it was being built, and I did it here when we remodeled a room. She told me she also inscribed the walls when they were remodeling here.

I felt such a deep connection to her.

I invited her to come by when she's in town again.

I baked blackberry cheesecake bars for the night's dessert. Lanie helped me.

"I want this recipe in my cookbook," she said. "And Cindy's apple pie one, too."

I got ready for dinner. Cut the grass that afternoon and was covered in dusty grit. Went to clean up before guests arrived. Walked through the rooms and up the stairs and thought about past, present and future. How lives and memories and emotions get woven together. I wondered where her inscriptions were, and smiled.

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

In the woods

"I went into the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms."    Henry David Thoreau, Walden: Or, Life in the Woods
 If you guessed I cried when I read this, you'd be right.