Companiable Silence

A friend visited me today, and after we had talked and eaten, she worked on the computer while I did ribbon embroidery, then she took a nap while I read, and then she read while I did dishes. It made me think of the time another friend and I ate almost an entire meal together without speaking (we were each reading something, I admit), and at one point she said, "We would make good hermits."

I think a good friend is someone you can be quiet with.

Large-Family Math

There are ten people living in my house with four cars among us, two of which are disabled in the driveway (including the twelve-seater); a third has been stalling randomly. My brother just arrived home for the weekend with his pickup (seats three). Tomorrow morning we must all arrive at church at two different times, along with the two fellow churchmembers who ride with us. After the service we must arrive home in time for four of us to depart for various activities including a work shift. If you do the math, you'll find it adds up to an irrational number.

Angel Street

Here is a review of my sister's latest play.

"Behind November came deep winter . . .

A calm day had settled into a crystalline evening; the world wore a North Pole coloring: all its lights and tints looked like the 'reflets' of white, or violet, or pale green gems. The hills were a lilac-blue; the setting sun had purple in its red; the sky was ice, all silvered azure; when the stars rose, they were of white crystal - not gold; gray, or cerulean, or faint emerald hues - cool, pure, and transparent - tinged the mass of the landscape.

"What is this by itself in a wood no longer green, no longer even russet; a wood, neutral tint - this dark blue moving object? Why, it is a schoolboy . . . who has left his companions, now trudging home by the high road, and is seeking a certain tree, with a certain mossy mound at its root - convenient as a seat. Why is he lingering here? - the air is cold, and the time wears late . . . Does he feel the chaste charm nature wears tonight? A pearl-white moon smiles through the gray trees . . ."

~ Charlotte Bronte, Shirley, ch. 9

Don't Forget to Dream

Today, my good friend said that my next step in life should be to plant a garden. "And you could have a chicken," she added. "In fact, you could have a farm."

And a longstanding dream came flooding back over me: the small house with the big garden and the goat or the cow and the donkey and the farm dog and the barn cats and the berry patch and the pond with weeping willows around it and the Easter lily bank and Christmas tree grove. As we talked I added a lighthouse or silo which would be my office where I would write. "And you need an apple tree or apricot tree," said my friend.

It's been a while since I've let myself really dream. I miss it.

The Amazing Charlotte Bronte

Okay, so I did not like The Professor one bit - it's no wonder Charlotte couldn't get it published during her lifetime. But I just started Shirley, and it's splendid.

The story of Charlotte's own life is like a novel. Her life must have been extremely barren for her to have assigned so much value to the experience of attending school in Brussels, being taught by Constantin Heger, and falling in love with him. But only a mind as rich, introspective, and imaginative as hers could have reevaluated that experience again and again in her various novels, repictured Heger as Rochester, Emanuel, and Moore, and recast over and over that deeply rewarding relationship of intellects. And then to settle down neatly at the end of her life to a loving marriage with an Irish curate who had a sense of humor! (One guesses that laughter is the thing she needed most after all those years of rigid loneliness.)

Strange Turns

My life has gone in some very peculiar directions. I am contemplating that thought because this week I am house/dogsitting, meaning that I have an entire house to myself and not a whole lot to do. So, what have I chosen to do with my time? That's the peculiar part.

Years ago (before I got sick) I always said that I would rather clean than cook. Things sure have changed. Given my own kitchen for a week, I'm thrilled to be using a convection oven and gas range. I'm picking out new recipes to try from The Joy of Cooking and following them exactly. Yesterday, for instance, I learned how to make a poaching paper that lays neatly on top of a simmering pot of fish fillets, lemon, onion, carrot, and celery. My biggest mistake with that dish was leaving out the salt. (Today I refurbished the fish and vegetables with a brown butter sauce.) I bought portobello mushrooms for the first time. I've learned how to dress a salad, not just slosh the vinaigrette on top. I've discovered that cheese, no matter how luscious, always tastes better with fruit.

Now, part of the reason for all this is that almost all processed foods make me sick, and I'm not yet wealthy enough to hire a cook, so I've had to learn to make everything from scratch. It's sheer necessity. And as they say, when life hands you lemons . . .

Another part of the reason that I now enjoy cooking is that as I've purged all processed foods from my diet, my sense of taste has changed. I eat hardly any refined sugar or additives. Believe it or not, because my tastebuds are no longer trained to look for the flavors of sugar and MSG in everything I eat, I can actually taste layers of flavor. My sense of smell is more sensitive now, too.

Another thing I'm doing with my time is writing - some of it for pay. My health taking a dive has been an odd blessing, in that I now work from home. But I happen to love meaningful work, which means that in addition to my paying jobs, I also have a bunch of projects I'm working on. I just love the fact that even on a day when I'm not feeling well, I can pop open my laptop and put in an hour or two of work. So while I've wanted to be a writer since I was about seven, what's amazing to me is that God actually made it happen. That's what I do now. I'm a writer.

The final thing I'm doing with my time is . . . nothing. This too is a new direction. Because for most of my life, I've put unbearable pressure on myself to produce, to accomplish, to do. And for most of my life I've been tired, go figure. Now I take things slowly . . . not only for my physical health, but for my spirit. I'm trying to learn to listen to God. As I go through the day, I'm listening for these moments: time to take a break and follow a train of thought. I need to pause and ask God about this. I'm worried - let me read a chapter out of that book. I'm tired, and I'm forcing myself to keep busy because I'm afraid that if I stop, I'll feel lonely and out of control - so stop! Now is the perfect time. Now is when I need to rest, to express my trust in Him.