Perspective changes everything

Have mysteries ever happened to you? Have cool stone walls narrowed into dark passage ways only to open out into brighter corridors?

All the while I walk, I can't help but hope that the holy rood is set firmly over the edifice that is my life. And if I should be summoned to leave these walls behind...



post script: I just re-read this and think it sounds utterly depressing. Sorry. It was not meant to be! By leaving the walls behind, I was thinking more along the lines of "being called to greater but more challenging things"! :)

Yesterday, I co-hosted my first-ever bridal shower for a bride named Caroline.





As I arranged the flowers on Saturday night, it quickly became evident that I hadn't purchased enough paeonia. And the stores close at 4! I remembered having seen a bush of the same color just down our street, and in a burst of un-Swisslike boldness, I grabbed my wallet and walked to a neighbor's house with two kids in tow.

"Hi... I'm your neighbor...pleased to meet you... I'm throwing a Bridal Shower... no, you don't know what that is, but .... I've run out of flowers and... may I please buy some of yours?"



Her generosity was moving; out of her house she buzzed like a worker bee, armed with shears and a smile overflowing with the solidarity of a true voisine.



Naturally, she would take no payment - but pictures are on the way!





A word for the Silver Spoons. There was once a woman named Ida. She lived across the street from where I live now, after having spent a lifetime as a governess for wealthy families. Over the years she had saved and poured her earnings into a set of silver for her hope chest... only no one had ever asked for her hand in marriage. She died alone... and there was no one to inherit her silver.



The silver fell into the hands of an executor, who eventually asked me if I wanted it. Did I ever!




And so, every time I use her silver (still brand new) I say a word for Ida. I tell her how beautiful it is, and thank her for it; I compliment her choice of pattern, and remember her.



Three toilet paper brides conclude an afternoon of feminine good-wishing. A lovely life for you, Caroline... showers of wishes and hope!

We were sitting outdoors in the early dusk finishing off half a watermelon when my family asked me... "Why don't you post pictures anymore?"

Why, indeed.

Last week I was chiding a friend for letting the stress of his daily doings fizzle the life out of him when he asked me... "You mean like your work is doing to you?"

Cornered on every side. Drat.

I looked up to let the evening sunlight flood and rinse my eyes and saw this:



Hanger hook caught in spider web. What are the odds? And I thought to myself... you are the hook this time, caught in a web you didn't ask for; but you are letting it fizzle the life out of you.

Love came around me tonight - honest, unmistakable love.

My absence from gallimaufry is the upward climb you see here ... too many changes and conflict in my daily doings have me climbing a twisting staircase, carefully treading as I go round and round, gripping the handrail lest I slip and fall. I am ascending slowly and hope to come out into the sunlight soon enough. Until then ... I will be absent but am watching you all from where I sit. Warm hugs.

My Russian's cousin lives out on a farm deep in the surrounding hills. She had come out of hiding yesterday to buy this year's flowers for her window boxes.



All smiles and warmth, she never fails to warm my heart. We compared notes on what we were picking out, talked about shady spots versus full sun, lice on petunias, the courage to select an unexpected and as yet undiscovered specimen.



She is a hard-core farmer (I have great respect for hard-working rural women) ... but never makes me feel like the gardener en herbe that I really am.



My compliments to a farmer's wife who is utter elegance and grace.

Would you like to hear a little Mom-rant from the other side of the world?

This morning... after a long and arduous meal of bread and Nutella (oh...such a hard food to choke down, too) s-o-m-e-b-o-d-y put the bread back in the bread box.

"Is there any more bread for dinner tonight?" I ask.

"Yeah, there's lotsa bread left."

After having spent 30 minutes grinding cabbage for cole-slaw (I am such a nice mom sometimes), slicing tomatos and mozarella for salad (again... exceedingly nice) and setting the table in the sunlit kitchen for an inviting family meal, I opened the doors to the cabinet and rolled up the bread box lid. This... is what I found.



Lotsa bread for dinner...

The thing is, I popped the pathetic piece of torn (or is it chewed?) bread into our bread plate to take my spiteful picture... and then noticed what was written inside!



I guess I will start praying for my twelve loaves...