Oregon Hygge

Posted on January 10, 2017 by alivingpencil

Hygge is that trendy Danish word that fathomaway describes as the art of creating intimacy: a sense of comradeship, conviviality, and contentment rolled into one. We’ve been snowed in recently, but aren’t snow days one of life’s delicious bonuses?

{Before any further rhapsodies, let me acknowledge we don’t have sick family members, stock (countryspeak for animals; think ‘livestock’), emergencies to respond to, or young children going bonkers.}

Fresh herbs (this is mint) are an affordable splurge.

My sister-in-law crochets these in small moments. They are a benediction.

Mid-century house, old cabinets.
Curt and I worked together installing pull-out shelves.
Out with stale, in with organization.

One of the most hygge activities we do is to listen together to Harry Potter.
We’re in year five; Harry is our tidy-up-after-dinner soundtrack.
And then we sit down and listen the way most people watch television.
I cut out stuff from catalogs to put into the small blank spots in my journal.

The timing couldn’t have been more fortuitous!
A friend gave me a box of Blue Apron meals. (Thank you, Dana!)
We have everything needed for a restaurant quality meal.
I supplied salt and pepper. Yum!

The smell of bread baking in the oven has to be hygge!

One way we keep warm.

Abacus gallery sells poster calendars with artwork by Dana Heacock.

This is more OCD than hygge, but I’m indexing my journals.

Candles seem a big piece of hygge. My husband is allergic to the scents. I roast garlic each time I turn the oven on. The fragrance wafts through the house.

Hygge.

A Carl Larsson Christmas

Posted on December 24, 2016 by alivingpencil

carllarssonchristmaseve
Christmas Eve — Carl Larsson

the-day-before-christmas-18921-jpglarge
The Day before Christmas — Carl Larsson

the-yard-and-wash-house1-jpglarge
The Yard and Wash-House — Carl Larsson

the-skier1-jpglarge
The Skier — Carl Larsson

27 Summer Benedictions

Posted on September 3, 2016 by alivingpencil

My summer has included grief, groans, and groping in the dark.
Same as you.
So this is not intended to be an episode of ‘my beautiful life’.
It is my retrospect of benedictions as I press onward.

:: Farmer grandson in line to show his sheep at Stock Show ::

:: experimental gardening growing Brussells Sprouts ::

:: captivating clematis ::

:: Mint, juice of one lime, Truvia, ice, and water ::

:: her hair reminds me of a Fibonacci spiral ::

:: halfway through The Pat Conroy Cookbook – a good book for foodies ::

:: garlic scapes and wood rounds ::

:: the moments before Susan from Munich arrived ::

:: anniversary camping trip, Curt reading Shop Class as Soulcraft ::

:: Hart Mountain National Antelope Refuge ::

:: reminds me of Hank, the Cowdog ::

:: glory, glory, glory!! a surprise sibling reunion! ::

:: Chris & Jessie’s table set for an extended family dinner ::

:: Who knew 80 could look so glamorous? ::

:: this girl, our youngest grand, lives life with zest ::

:: moving up the ladder ::

:: breakfast with Jack & Stacia, who mentored Curt in his teen years in Los Angeles ::

:: harvest golden tones ::

:: Papa cheesing it up with our Seattle grandsons ::

:: Fair is where you take the hogs in August ::

:: my ongoing magnet project — thank you, Shutterfly! ::

:: last year I saved zinnia seeds. My frugal self is exultant. ::

:: squash blossoms, garlic and cilantro from the garden; the makings of quesadillas ::

:: teddy bear doubling as a pillow ::

:: day is done (pinching myself that we live here) ::

:: chipmunk visiting during my day of silence and solitude ::

Six Word Saturday, October 3

Posted on October 3, 2015 by alivingpencil

Celebrating sixty years of ‘I do’.

Come Rain or Come Shine, The Book

Posted on September 25, 2015 by alivingpencil

I once prayed, Lord, please let Jan Karon live long enough to get Dooley and Lace married. The answer to that prayer was a whelming flood; I started crying on page 32 and sniffed and sobbed my way—punctuated by laughs—to the final page. Redemption, benediction, healing, holy amazement, connection. Reading this brings the satisfaction of resolution, the “two bits” after the “shave and a haircut”.

Weddings are my thing. Joyful solemnity, giving, sharing, joining, celebrating, laughing, crying, hugging, singing, dancing, rejoicing, thanksgiving. I love a good wedding and I’ve been to a few profoundly remarkable ones.

There was joy in the air; you could sniff it as plain as new-cut hay.

The focus of Come Rain or Come Shineis on the month before and the day of The Big Knot. Dooley and Lace want a small, intimate ceremony at Meadowgate Farm. Karon enjoys poking fun at the myth of a ‘simple country wedding.’ There are obstacles and annoyances. There are secrets and surprises. There is the unrelenting pressure of diminishing time to get the place wedding-ready.

The main character is Lace Harper. Her journals reveal her heart, her hopes, her fears, her loves. She wants to find a wedding dress for under $100; she is thankful for the callouses which document her hard work. She wants to get it—this whole starting a new family—right. I appreciated the ways Dooley and Lace honor the memory of Sadie Baxter (benefactor) and Russell Jacks (Dooley’s grandpa) in their wedding. Fun stuff: there is a Pinterest page for Lace Harper’s wedding!

Jan Karon and Wendell Berry are both skilled at portraying a community where giving, helping, and reciprocating are the norm. In their novels they don’t cover up the hurts, the anger, the tensions, the troubles. Weddings can be awkward with family drama. Karon handles the presence of Dooley’s birth mom, Pauline Leeper, in the same room as his siblings with utmost care. There is no easy resolution, no instant reconciliation, just baby steps, tiny beginnings towards the on-ramp to healing.

I connected with this book in many ways. This summer we went to a small, simple country wedding (see picture above) in a pasture. My son and daughter-in-law have a wind storm and fallen trees in their wedding story, too. I know what it is to be gob-smacked by blessings, reduced to silent tears of joy. Live music is the best for dancing the night away. I love the song in the title.

‘Why can’t life always be lived under the stars,’ she said, ‘with great music and family and friends?’

♪♫♪ Come Rain or Come Shine ♪♫♪ is a standard (music by Harold Arlen, lyrics Johnny Mercer) that has been covered by scores of recording artists. I used it ten years ago when I made a PowerPoint slideshow for Curt’s folks’ 50th wedding anniversary. In the course of my work, I listened to B.B. King and Eric Clapton on endless repetition. And I can honestly say, I never tired of it. But there are so many recordings of this song, that I put my listening of them in this post.

This book.

I finished it last night. I started it again this morning.

Back Home Again

Posted on November 2, 2014 by alivingpencil

October was a friendship-saturated month.

When I had an empty day in a city far from home, I contacted Faith,
an online friend. We picked up as if we had known
each other forever, drinking pots of tea and talking nonstop.

A week of solitude meant garden clean-up, reading, walking,
and a trip to the wildlife refuge to feast on the Harvest Moon.

My husband and I had a few days in the middle
where our schedules synced. The joy of reuniting, ah!

I met two year old Max and his mom on a flight to Minneapolis.
When he got antsy, I snapped a photo and let him see.
Take another, he urged. He drew in my journal with many colors;
years from now his drawing will remind me of our brief friendship.

A fire is a great conversation accessory. On my cousin’s
back deck we not only caught up on our 17 years apart,
but I—thanks to her transparency—got a tutorial
on life as a new widow.

We gloried in fall colors.

Our dads were brothers. We talked through our
family history, all those quirks we recognize.

And we laughed.

Then to Chicago for my annual visit.
I enjoy studying each my sister Dorothy’s dozen grandchildren:
their gifts, what motivates and aggravates them,
their unique personalities.

My sister Margaret soldiers through many infirmities.
Cancer and a stroke have attacked but can’t quench her spirit.
Through the pain I never hear her complain.

Several other friends blessed me with time and attention,
a precious gift. Our friendships span the years.
Stories jogged memories.

Tender mercies, all.

Emma’s Wedding

Posted on September 27, 2014 by alivingpencil

Today, it’s been two months since my niece Emma married Glyn. In my life, the big things aren’t cemented until I’ve written them. From writing this wedding I have cowered, knowing my word hoard hasn’t the depth or width required. I refuse to use ‘epic’ and ‘awesome’, yet I’m still searching for the best words.

It was a grand Coming Together. Emma is American. Glyn is British. They live in Turkey. Their friends live all over the world. Each mileage sign represents someone who came to the wedding. The only continents not represented were South America, Australia, and Antarctica.

This wedding occupied three days. Everyone was invited to the rehearsal dinner aka Lobster Feed, the wedding the next day, and a brunch the day after the wedding. It resembled the medieval feasts that I read about in my books.

The ceremony was held under the ancient apple tree.

The background was my sister-in-law’s glorious garden.

She grew almost all the flowers for the wedding.

My daughter-in-law made the bride’s bouquet.

A sail cloth tent hovered over the festivities.
My grandson said, “Nana, it looks like Narnia.”

The tables were set.

Mismatched china completely charmed me.
‘Elegant simplicity’ set the tone.

All the cloths under the flowers were purchased
at the bazaar in Istanbul.

My brother, the tenor, sang Simple Gifts, a song
that he sang at the wedding of Emma’s parents.

Emma and Glyn listen.

Kids were welcomed with open arms.
Not often does one hear, “I’m so glad you brought all your kids!“

We’ve always loved Emma; it was easy to see why she loved Glyn.
They are both strong, generous, compassionate, and fun.
Not to mention smart. They have our deep respect.

As long as I’m giving honor, let me say that my brother Jim
and my sister-by-marriage Kathleen were stellar. This event was
the culmination of a lifetime of love invested in their family, work on
their homestead, their habits of beauty, blessing, and hospitality.

Emma’s older brother Will—best friend of bride
and groom—officiated. This was his first gig. We called
him—tongue in cheek—”Brother Will.”

There were some great toasts: sweet, witty, heartfelt.
But at the end of the day, what everyone remembered
and remarked on was Jim’s toast to his daughter.

Then we took the party to the barn.

My grandson (with the hat) rocked the reception
with his unique style of dance.

It is a Turkish custom to have fireworks at a wedding.

It was a magical evening.

This is our family (missing our son Collin).
The extended tribe (my siblings and their descendants)
present numbered 39. There were gaps here and there.
We cherish time together and relished the gift.

With the help of Facebook and texting, my kids and their cousins
are much closer than my generation was with ours.
It is a delight to see their friendships deepen.

2014 will forever be the summer of Emma’s wedding.

My photographer brother’s photos.

Link to the magnificent photographer’s pictures.
(She shoots film.)

The Saturday Big Tent Wedding Party

Posted on June 6, 2014 by alivingpencil

(Public transportation in Gaborone, Botswana – photo Wikimedia Commons)

Alexander McCall Smith did a good thing when he crafted the character of Mma Precious Ramotswe. In each book, she is consistently the kind, traditional, perceptive, tender-hearted, contented woman I’ve come to regard as my friend.

And yet, he doesn’t filter out all the unsavory aspects of Botswana life. In this 12th book of the No. 1 Ladies Detective series, we see a young mother who treats her children with utter indifference, cattle killed, a menacing man and a cowed woman.

I recently finished The Saturday Big Tent Wedding Party, the twelfth book. I’m reading them out of order, according to library availability.

The title of the first chapter is The Memory of Lost Things; could it be an allusion to Proust?

As with every book in this series, I care about Mma Ramotswe’s culture ten times more than whatever mystery needs to be solved. There’s a dig at mobile phones, complainers, fathers who don’t take responsibility for their children. On the plus side is Mma’s abiding love for her late father and for her ‘late’ tiny white van, her compassion for those who suffer, the poetry of night sounds, her gratitude for Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, her encouragement to an undeserving recipient, and the joy of an abundant wedding feast.

There is a tender moment between two bereaved women. I have a late baby, Mma. It is a long time ago. ~ I have a late child too, Mma. McCall Smith understands the permanence of grief. Almost every book has a small reference to the baby Mma Ramotswe lost.

In the end Grace Makutsi marries Phuti Radiphuti, which means she will never have to ride in public transportation again, and she can indulge her love of loud shoes. The wedding doesn’t have the prominence that the title gives it, but that’s OK.

Here is a quote to whet your appetite.

Nowadays, people are always thinking of getting somewhere—they travelled around far more, rushing from here to there and then back again. She would never let her life go that way; she would always take the time to drink tea, to look at the sky, and to talk. What else was there to do? Make money? Why? Did money bring any greater happiness than that furnished by a well-made cup of red bush tea and a moment or two with a good friend? She thought not. 230

To Those Who Wait

Posted on December 21, 2013 by alivingpencil

Good things come to those who wait. It’s been a l-o-n-g time.

Redwall is now available in hardback. I never understood why all the other titles in the series could be bought in hardback, but not Redwall.

And this bibliophile, this relaxed-about-dustbunnies but OCD-about-books, the gal who loves sets of books that match… she’s exceedingly glad.

Babette’s Feast

Posted on December 13, 2013 by alivingpencil

A year ago I received Babette’s Feastfrom . Yesterday morning, a full ironing basket beckoned. I was in an unhurried mood one needs to watch Babette. After all the shirts were pressed I grabbed some tea and just soaked it in.

A great movie rewards each new viewing. Like many foreign films, the story is acted with subtlety rather than told point-blank in the dialog. But one shouldn’t be fooled by the slow pace. There is humor tucked into pockets of every scene. And irony—rich irony—becomes more evident, and more enjoyable, each time I’ve watched.

Babette’s Feast delivers a blow to gnostic pietism: the belief that worship is divorced from the way we dress, chop wood, sing, balance accounts, do laundry, have sex, eat and drink.The small Jutland community despises the physical—read: body—; only the “spiritual” is valued.

The two sisters, Martina and Philippa, have a heart for good works, but the disgusting bread ale fish stew they bring to shut-ins is a symbol of the impoverished culture in which they live. Their French servant Babette fixes a feast in which every sense is heightened. Her preparations are the pinnacle of the film: simmering soup, sauces, pastries, wine, chocolate. But she also pays close attention of the table setting, the presentation of the food, the order in which it is served.

I had no sympathy for the “dear Pastor” whose control of his daughters excluded the possibility of their getting married. His mocking laughter—I had not noticed it before— as he delivers a “dear John” letter from his daughter exposes him for the shriveled soul that he is.

I’m quite sure now that I didn’t “get” this movie the first time. The extravagance of one fine meal defies logic. As I grow, my appreciation deepens. I see layers upon layers, deeper meanings.

And the juxtapositions! In their paranoia the dinner guests agree to not mention the food. “It will be just as if we never had a sense of taste.” That was a laugh out loud moment! So they sit, silent and suspicious, while the general can’t stop talking about the exquisite dishes he is eating.

The general’s driver sits in the kitchen, watching and eating the same feast in a warm corner. Unlike the general, for whom the food recalls a Paris restaurant in his past, the driver has never before tasted French cuisine. He resides in the background of the movie, but his bright nose and twinkling eyes, his one word benediction: “Good!” is a fitting contrast to the others’ silence.

One distraction: the movie is Danish with English overdubbed. The chasm between the dubbing and the subtitles was hilarious!

I am eager to read Isak Dinesen’s (Karen Blixen’s) short story that is the basis of the film. After a long search, I found a pdf copy of it. It has been twenty-five years since this movie was made. I would love to see a talented filmmaker remake this one.

A Living Pencil

Solid joys, deep sorrows, aggressive hope

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