knit, purl, pray

The diagnostic imaging waiting room is a scary place to sit. It's like the whole room is holding its breath, everyone hoping, praying that their unspoken dread won't materialize on screen.

Today I sat with my cousin and her husband as he went in for various scans to determine the extent of his already diagnosed cancer. A few weeks earlier, when oncologists and CT scans and carcinomas were completely out of the realm of conversation topics, I taught my cousin to knit. Although an insanely busy yet extremely capable working mom of three young high-energy girls, she thought it would be nice to have a productive yet mindless activity to do in her "downtime": sitting through one daughter's ballet class, waiting for her plane to board on a business trip, pausing for a stoplight.

Although I have taught probably 20 people to knit in my lifetime, I am not a particularly proficient or productive knitter. I have at least a dozen sets of needles, more than 50 random skeins of yarn and 10-20 half-knitted scarves, sweaters, hats and blankets abandoned and unraveling for one reason or another. I always think I like to knit but once I get into it, I get bored or frustrated or tired. The projects (i.e., scarves) I have finished have all been gifts (save one) and have all been fun to start and grueling to finish.

Part of what I did when I sat with my cousin today was to help her unravel some mistakes in her scarf and restart her knitting. As I sat in that scary waiting room, repairing her project and working some yarn of my own, knitting felt different. Each stitch reminded me of what praying a rosary must be like. Because when you're living in the utter chaos of not knowing, clinging to any scrap of hope you can find, every stitch, like every breath, becomes a prayer.

"Knitting seems like a good way to pray," I said to my cousin as we sat together, fumbling with our stiches, waiting.

"Yeah," she said thoughtfully. "It a lot easier to pray while you knit than it is to pray while you're reading a magazine."

Maybe this is what every diagnostic imaging room needs, not a bunch of People magazines, but a knitting teacher to ease the dread by helping waiters find a better way to pray. All I know is that I plan to keep my knitting out for a while. With all the praying there is to do, I expect to have one long scarf very soon.

a beautiful day to fly

Yesterday was as near perfect as a day can get. Liam dressed for the occasion. Since it was a holiday, I figured, Why not wear your PJs out to play? But to a superhero, these ain't no bed clothes.

linnaeus makes my day

Yesterday was the birthday of my brother Mark who was a mere 28, and of Carolus Linnaeus who would have been, were these Old Testament days, a whopping 301. I know this odd fact about Linnaeus (the Swede who basically named all living things) because of The Writer's Almanac, which has hit my inbox daily for several years now. Every day there's a poem and a treasure trove of Trivial Pursuit tidbits that someone like my dad could actually scan and remember. If I even have time to read the "what happened on this day in the humanities history profiles" (which isn't often, as I mainly signed on for the poetry), I would certainly forget whatever I took in the second I opened another email or walked into another room. Yet I will remember Linnaeus.

You see, here's a botanist, university professor and all-around genius who developed a Latin naming system and listed 4,400 species known to science at the time (today there are over 1.5 million!), and then announced, when his life was near its end, that his proudest achievement was introducing rhubarb to Sweden. Yes, that's right, rhubarb. Linnaeus apparently imported exotic plants and animals to Sweden and attempted to grow them, including coffee, tea, ginger and coconuts, and the sole surviver (and thriver) was rhubarb. The only thing I can figure is that Linnaeus had my recipe for rhubarb muffins, rhubarb oatmeal crumble, rhubarb bread, strawberry-rhubarb pie and, especially, my grandma Gaye's rhubarb sauce. Because to have growing rhubarb as his proudest achievement, he must have loved to eat this strange fruit/vegetable/weed as much as me.

Although most rhubarb recipes involve lots of sugar to combat the intense tartness, my grandma's rhubarb sauce includes very little. Because my grandma does not have this recipe written down, she just told me what she does. And now, that's what I do. If you are an exacting cook, you will not like this recipe. (Because what I am giving you is just my interpretation. For a thicker sauce use more rhubarb. For a thinner sauce, more apple juice.) But if you like rhubarb, you will be glad you made it. It is divine on vanilla ice cream but it also turns plain yogurt into dessert. I am eating it right now. Thanks, Linnaeus.

Grandma Gaye's Rhubarb Sauce
4-6 cups chopped rhubarb
1/2 can frozen apple juice concentrate
1 pkg. gelatin
1 pkg. sweetened frozen strawberries (this is the "sugar")
1-2 chopped oranges (optional)

Bring rhubarb and apple juice to a boil. Simmer 10-15 minutes until rhubarb is mushy. Turn off heat and stir in gelatin. (Vegetarians could probably use tapioca as a substitute.) Cool a bit and stir in the strawberries. Add oranges.

things we learn from nature

Yesterday Andrew took Liam with him to run an errand. When they got in the car Liam called out from the backseat, "Hey dad, there are two flies on my window. I think they're wrestling."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it's a mommy and a daddy fly."

"How do you know they're wrestling?"

"Well," he paused. "Because the daddy's on the mommy's back and she's flapping her wings."

a visit to our farm

Lately we've been stopping by our favorite farm store Heritage Prairie Market at least twice a week. We come to buy local dairy products, just-picked produce and the occasional hand-crafted gift. We come to pet the dog, chase the cats and say hi at the farm animals. We come to soak in the sunlight, get kissed by the wind and breathe in the musty, earthy scent of growing things.


Today we got to peek at the chicks that will soon be egg-laying hens. Our resident animal lover probably would have stuffed this sweet peeper into his mouth given the chance. A poke at the chick's downy head was all the farmer allowed Elliott, but he loved every second of it.


After buying some rhubarb and aspargus, milk and eggs, we slid into our favorite adirondack chair for a late afternoon breather. I could never get Elliott to look at the camera because the cat had his full attention. Liam, however, was all about lounging. I was so happy to be away from work and sickness (been a lot of both around here lately) that I considered pitching a tent and calling it a day. Instead we waved goodbye and had eggs and asparagus for dinner, guzzling down the milk so we'll have a good reason to go back soon.

birthday boy

If Elliott could talk I'm quite sure he'd tell you the best thing about turning one was getting to eat cake. With his exceptional fine motor skills, I expected that he might eat his cake in nice little bite-size pinches. Oh no. The boy stuffed his cake down in two fistfulls. The whole slice was gone, crumbs and all, in less than a minute. The bib was definitely an afterthought, and really not even needed. He made sure all the cake went into his mouth.




Happy birthday, Elliott!

simplify your life

Yesterday I heard June Englund speak on simplifying your life. I was looking for practical, implementable tidbits that would help reduce some of the chaos in a day, and I was not disappointed. Here are some of the takeaways that I plan to put into action:

S start your day the night before
-Put your house back in order. (This I already do, particularly to give Andrew a relatively decent environment to come home to and because messes in the visible areas drives me nuts by the end of the day - messes in the hidden areas, that's another story.)
-Get a jump start on laundry by putting in a load before you go to bed.
-Create a weekly breakfast plan so you know what you're doing before you get up. Don't ask kids what they want for breakfast; let them know the schedule. If they're whining for pancakes, let them know that's great because they'll be able to have pancakes on Friday, but today we're having oatmeal.
-Set out clothes for kids for the next day. Give them two or three options. If they don't like what they picked, well, they get another choice that night for the next day. (This will hopefully help us keep Liam from ransacking his closet every morning. Worked today!)
-Create a list for the next day and prioritize it: A) has to be done by me that day; B) can be delegated or put off to another day; C) needs to be done by someone else (maybe a child!); D) never has to be done (our "good intentions" - like putting photos in albums, making a quilt, cleaning out the basement). The idea of making some of my list items a "D" was a huge insight and relief. I can get paralyzed by all that I have to do, when really it's just stuff I'd like to do and in the grand scheme of things none of it "has" to be done!

I initiate your plan
-Make your bed. (I'm still not convinced about this one. I've never been a regular bedmaker, but the idea is that it makes your room look 80% "done." Considering I never return to my room until I plan to pull the covers off again, I'm not sure how much it really matters.)
-Thank God for a new day and ask for help.
-Get dressed.

M make wise choices
-Decide your meals for the week. This is something I already try to do because I know that in the long run it saves me money. If I go into a grocery store with a list that will provide the ingredients for specific meals, I am much less likely to impulse buy and waste money.
-Do some basic cleaning throughout the day. If someone is coming by in 15 minutes, it's amazing how fast I can clean up my house. It doesn't have to take more than a few minutes to wash a floor or clean the bathroom.
-Declutter by implementing the rule "If something comes in, something must go out." (I am still not sure how to do this. Clutter is my nemesis.)

P perfectly imperfect
-Allow yourself to do a job less than perfect.
-Learn to do something fast and furious.
-Break a job down and get moving. (Boy, do I need this advice. But, knowing myself, I'm not sure it'll make any difference.)

L learn to say NO
-Make a purpose statement. What do I want my family to be about? The idea is that this will help you decide what to say "yes" to. Admittedly, this is my most challenging area. I hate to say no. But, as Jane noted, you end up saying "no" to good things but you save your "yeses" for the best.
-If you need to give an answer on the spot, say "no" or that you need to think about it.

E end well
-Be at home and stop running by 4 p.m.
-Eat meals together as much as possible. We create a family unit around a shared meal. (And, as I'm learning, kids learn how to share and sit and enjoy being together, and, if we're lucky, develop some table manners.)
-Put your house back in order...and so it goes.

In addition to this great advice from Jane, I would add that a simple life enjoys the outdoors, reads a lot, spends more time creating than shopping, and keeps one big calendar updated with every event, deadline, due date that applies to each person in the family. We are working on this! If anyone has other suggestions, I am all ears.

picture perfect

Today was an absolutely gorgeous spring day. So while Elliott was napping I asked Liam if he wanted to go outside with me to take some pictures. My gardener, sewer, artist friend Ann had suggested that I post some photos of what's growing in our yard. Liam thought this was a great idea because he thought I was suggesting that he take the photos. When I saw how much this opportunity meant to him, I figured, why not, I can always take the "real" photos again later. So, I let him go completely undirected. Boy, was I surprised. Liam did a better job than I ever could have. I am still in awe.

(not) capturing the moment

Yesterday was Liam's birthday and we didn't remember to take a single photo. I was really bummed out when I realized we'd let all the photo ops slip by. I'd like to chalk it up to living the moment rather than capturing it. But I think maybe we were just in a banana cake stupor. It's such a great birthday cake, I can't bring myself to make anything else.

Banana Cake

2 1/2 c. sugar
1 c. butter
4 eggs
1 c. sour cream
2 tsp. baking soda
3 c. flour
1 T. vanilla
5-6 very ripe bananas, mashed

Preheat the over to 350. Grease and flour three 9-inch cake pans and set aside. Cream together sugar and butter. Add the eggs one at a time and beat well. Mix in the sour cream. In a separate bowl, sift together the flour and baking soda. Add to creamed mixture and beat well. Add the mashed bananas and vanilla and mix well. Divide evenly between the prepared cake pans. Bake 30-35 minutes, swapping pans around in the oven halfway through baking. Cool a few minutes, remove from pans and cool completely on wire racks.

Mocha Frosting

6 c. powdered sugar
1/2 c. cocoa powder
1/2 c. butter
1/2 c. brewed, strong black coffee

Sift the powdered sugar and cocoa powder in large bowl. Add softened butter and mix on low speed until incorporated. Add coffee and mix until smooth.

===
As for Liam's thoughts on turning four, the fact still hasn't sunk in. This morning he said to me, quite concerned, "Mom, I still feel like I'm three."

That's funny, I still feel like I'm twenty-five. Welcome to the club, honey.

listen generously

When I am baking or cleaning up a very messy kitchen (two things I did tonight), I often listen to an NPR program. Many of my favorites have come from the Speaking of Faith series. Tonight I scanned the archives for something that might calm my heart a little and give some perspective as I anticipate a very emotional and bittersweet day tomorrow - a wake and funeral for a just two-year-old Gabe and a birthday celebration for a just four-year-old Liam.

I couldn't have found a better way to spend the evening. The first program I listened to, The Wisdom of Tenderness, was an interview with Jean Vanier, the founder of L'Arche, a community centered around people with mental disabilities. His simple and plain speaking on tenderness and pain, living in and loving reality, and the incredible vulnerability of a God of love and how that love can transform our suffering and our lives was an amazing gift. The second program, Listening Generously: The Medicine of Rachel Naomi Remen, focused on the art of listening as a physician, the difference between curing and healing and how loss can help us live. Toward the end of this program, Dr. Remen reflected on our uncomfort with loss and suggested a better way to respond to someone suffering a great loss. It was a beautiful reminder on how to love and truly be a friend:

"Our first response to loss is to try and fix it. When we are in the presence of a loss that cannot be fixed, which is a great many losses, we feel helpless and uncomfortable and we have a tendency to run away either emotionally or physically distance ourselves. Fixing is too small a strategy to deal with loss."

Dr. Remen goes on to say that it is the power of our presence that makes a difference - being there, listening, witnessing and caring about another person's loss. Letting it matter. Listening generously. Because loss is not the end of the story.

cathartic (for a farmgirl)

Last night I started a mother's day project (just a wee bit late) that involves embroidery. Although I really am a farmgirl at heart, I've never embroidered and probably never would have except for this extremely cute idea that hopefully will turn out not to be a disaster. Embroidery has always seemed like an old lady hobby (my apologies to any old ladies who might be reading this) and not something I, with my type A personality, would particularly enjoy. What embroidery is, surprisingly, is cathartic and meditative and satisfying.

Since I didn't know what I was doing, I got out a book that I bought a while ago because of my farmgirl infatuation, MaryJane's Ideabook, Cookbook, Lifebook: For the Farmgirl in All of Us. In addition to illustrating (in an absolutely lovely way) every basic hand stitch and machine stitch essential to a new seamstress, this wonderful book covers every basic life skill a farmgirl (or one anticipating doomsday) needs in her repertoire, including how to dry fruit, churn butter, grow gasoline (yes, the author really fuels her 1981 Mercedes Benz with mustard meal grown on her farm!), remove stains, make marshmallows, build a wall tent and outsmart garden weeds. I am so happy I remembered this book was a good primer for stitching because as soon as I master embroidery, I'll be planning my next project... crackly pear cake, tin can spatulas, knotted hammock or, yes, when fuel reaches five dollars a gallon, possibly even home-grown gasoline.

incomprehensible

Tonight I walked outside and was nearly overwhelmed by the fragrance of lilac, rain and flowering crabapple. The sight of spring right at this moment, even in the dark, is indescribable. There are no words to adequately capture the beauty of the Dr. Seuss-like trees swaying and stooped with their dripping boughs or the velvety-petaled, eggplant-colored iris dancing in a patch outside my backdoor.

But just as the beauty of the world leaves me sighing and speechless, the sadness of the day does me in. Our precious neighbor Gabe, two years old on Sunday, died today. It is incomprehensible. There are no words to adequately capture the ache of knowing a treasure of a boy is gone from a family we love and care for. How can we possibly reconcile the pain and the beauty? The agony and the ecstacy? What is seemingly random and wrong and what is so surely ordered and right? How can both exist right here and now on this pinhead of time?

Some neighbors gathered tonight to comfort each other and share our sorrow. The thing that sticks in my mind is hearing from my friend Laurie who was with the family as they said goodbye to Gabe at the hospital today. She said that Gabe's dad was crying because he is worried about Gabe being alone. He kept saying, "But he doesn't know anyone in heaven."

Thinking about that just breaks my heart. He wasn't thinking about himself and how lost he'll be without his son but about his precious boy being lonely and afraid. I have worried about dying myself for just this reason - my kids would be left alone. It is a pain unimaginable. But as I was sitting with my friends tonight, I thought of an unlikely passage of scripture. Something that is read at nearly every wedding I've ever been to but made more sense tonight than ever before. It is at the end of 1 Corinthians 13, the great chapter on love, and goes, "Now we see but a poor reflection; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known."

Tonight Gabe is seeing the unimaginable, the incomprehensible beauty and joy that we only get to glimpse. Tonight he is feeling the total embrace of a loving God who knows him fully. He will never be alone again.

In this life, we muddle through. White knuckled, we cling to our glimpses and to each other. We hope. We pray. With lumps in our throats and tears in our eyes, we trudge on through the beauty and the pain, living in shadow until we, too, get to see face to face. And, on that day, Gabe will give us his huge, bright smile once again.

wonder boys

One photo couldn't adequately capture this precious moment - three busy, active boys rendered completely rapt and still, while observing one of God's most bizarrely mundane creations, the inchworm. I doubt many adults would give an inchworm a passing glance, if they even saw it at all. Because to see an inchworm, you really have to be looking. The flexibility, the strength, the color, the endurance, the voracious appetite, the drive - for its mere inch, this wee wonder exhibits characteristics and traits a superhero would envy. But most of us would brush off or step on this garden pest without a second thought.

In the Spring 2002 issue of Orion (arguably the best magazine on earth), the feature consisted of twelve essays addressing the topic of "What the World Needs Now." I remember this because I loved this issue and saved it. One of the essays by Thomas Berry was on Wonder. He writes:

"The main difficulty in human affairs in these opening years of the twenty-first century seems to be the loss of our sense of wonder, our sense of the sacred, our sense of play and laughter, our inability to respond to the dawn or the sunset, the loss of our vision of the stars."

And, I would add, the loss of our view of the inchworm. Look at the photos. When was the last time you got this close? When did you last sit still and study a tiny green "bug" moving at a snail's pace, not because you were intellectually curious but because it truly delighted you? When was the last time you argued with your friends over who would get to scoop up the inchworm and what might be the best way to do this? When was the last time someone took ten photos of you over a five minute period and you were so in awe of your own subject you didn't even notice? On this gorgeous spring day Liam and his buddies showed me that nothing is more wonderful than seeing something for the first time, except maybe seeing a child see it. Thanks wonder boys.

the many faces of capeboy

To enliven a cold and rainy Saturday, we birthed a new superhero in our house. Here's where we found the super power:

Half of an old pillowcase
Fabric paints
Little paint brushes
A handful of sequins
A safety pin (could also use a binder clip or sew on velcro)

Capeboy quickly fashioned a paper costume for his stuffed monkey sidekick. They spent the afternoon as the dynamic duo, ridding the house of evil villians. If only there were a superhero who rid the house of messes. I think I'll work on that cape next.

a long-loved poem reappears and means something new

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
Then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
Go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.

Flare up like flame
And make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

-Rainer Maria Rilke

so long store-bought dressing

I've been perfecting a dijon dressing that has now become to me like ketchup is to Liam. It adds a delcious zing to everything. I especially like it on the everyday green salad. No store-bought dressing holds a candle to it (not even TJ's Tuscan Italian -- sorry dad, who is probably not even reading this post because it's a recipe). Anyway, tonight I had a brainstorm and boiled some fingerling potatoes and green beans, tossed them with the dressing and a little crumbled bacon and fresh parmesan. I ate the dish for dinner and dessert. (I let Andrew have some, too.) And I'm still thinking about the leftovers.

Delicious Dijon Dressing
1/2 cup dijon mustard
2 T wine vinegar
1/4 t. kosher salt
1/2 t. ground pepper
1 cup canola oil
1/4 cup water