LIGHT

Erasmus - 15th Century Dutch Christian
humanist and scholar

[We're back to the subject of Light vs. Dark, as in the end of "daylight" time and return to "standard" time. When I read this post published a year ago, I couldn't think of anything more to add to the topic. I even enjoyed reading it again . . . hope you do, too.]

Three more days . . . and we're going to "gain an hour" by setting our clocks back before we go to bed. Or, if we're lucky enough to have current technology ticking away our minutes and hours, our atomic clocks, cell phones, and computers will do the changing for us.

That's all I'm going to say about going back to Standard Time.

And the only reason I bring it up at all is that for a little while, maybe a couple of weeks, we'll have sunrise in my neck of the woods around 7:00 AM.

Which  means, in case you're not already asleep from this convoluted intro, that we will have a little more light in the morning, and not so much at night.

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Light, as a topic of interest, has intrigued me for a long time.

Who among us can say we've never--never--felt we were stumbling around in the dark?

It doesn't have to be literal darkness--power goes off, or light bulb burns out, or we're out camping and the only light is the campfire, so don't go wandering off to the latrine unless you have a flashlight.

Darkness can be metaphorical--we simply can't see/understand/perceive a way out of our dilemma. We often need someone to guide us back to the light.

Edith Wharton - American Author - 1862-1937

At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us. 

     Albert Schweitzer

The flip side of that metaphor is that each of us becomes the guide.

A smile is the light in your window that tells others that there is a caring, sharing person inside. 

     Denis Waitley

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I've never been a good traveler--going into the unknown was, and is, 'way beyond my comfort zone. (Pretty much everything is outside my comfort zone, but that's a story for another day.)

Anyway, when I found the above quotation from Christopher Columbus, who, in the 15th Century made numerous explorations by sea far from his homeland of Italy, I recognized in those eleven words a profound statement: We followed the sun, we left our home. But the important part is this: They followed the light of the sun. They didn't sail off into darkness. They may not have known exactly where they were going, but they followed the light.

I find that thought comforting.

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Francis Bacon - English - 1561-1626

At first this would seem to be a Duh statement--but when Francis Bacon wrote it in his century, it held great truth: We recognize light only when we also know the darkness is there. It's the contrast that determines the brightness of the light.

And you don't have to be a creationist to understand that God brought light into being and separated it from the darkness--day and night.


Ursula K. LeGuin, an American author, expressed it this way:

American novelist - 1929-2018

Artists, especially painters, know the value of light and shadow. In fact, many painters make small "value studies" to indicate where color changes from light to dark.


May your days be filled with light.

GIVE ME PATIENCE . . .

The rest of that little petition goes, "and give it to me NOW!"

Last week's post about wishing for autumn colors to fill my world reminded me that I could do with a good dose of Patience. Capsule, liquid, painted on . . . whatever works, the faster, the better.

I'm happy to report the trees are getting into their autumnal clothing, and more and more of them are dressed in every color on the wheel, except blue--that's in the sky. (October-blue ought to be a crayon in the big box.) And I have to admit, my very public whine last week had very little to do with autumn colors appearing.

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Let's talk about Patience--that's a virtue, right? As children, we were encouraged (in various tones of voice) to just be patient--Santa is coming, school is almost over, your birthday is nearly here . . . . Then we had to endure adolescence and its endless waiting--for school to be over for good, to be old enough to drive (or drink alcohol), to find the one person we wanted to spend our life with, to find a job and make a lot of money. (We did dream big, didn't we?)

There was the long, long, looooooong wait for a baby to be born. (Did anyone ever discover why nine months is so much longer than a year?) 

Adult waiting-with-patience seems to lurk around every corner of life. Patience while the children grow and explore and discover and nearly get themselves in deep do-do, or hot water. Patience while a spouse goes through a life crisis--family problems, health issues, job concerns. 

Everybody has had to wait in line for something or other--at the bank, the pharmacy, the movie theater. Somebody always has advice about how to endure such waiting--nowadays, it seems everybody just glues to the phone and reads texts or sends messages. (However, some of the big stores now offer us self-checkout; beats waiting in line, huh?)

Then there's Patience with oneself during times of doubt and worry and discouragement. Will this ever end, we ask? Am I doomed to live like this until I finally wither on the vine? Will the workout program or the yoga ever make a difference?

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Have you ever watched a fisherman with a line in the water? (I never had the patience to wait for a bite.)

Or how about a kid watching the cookies bake through the glass door in the oven? 

And then there's the teddy bear or blankie running through the wash and dry cycles . . . . Charles Schulz got a lot of mileage out of Linus and his anxiety over the blankie in the dryer.

Most of us experience a modicum of impatience while waiting for the latest update to load on our phones or computers. 

Gardeners are among the most patient people I know--my family has two avid gardeners. They till the soil, plant (and sometimes replant more than once when rain torrents down and washes everything away), water the plants in dry times, weed, chase critters and birds away--all in the expectation of crops to can and freeze and preserve when summer's waning. Their patience is rewarded--I can attest to the delicious results--and many of us receive jars of homegrown food for Christmas gifts.


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Yes, Patience exists. I've had it (fleetingly) throughout my life. Now that I'm slower of foot and possibly even kinder of thought, I find Patience easier to access. 

The big challenge now is to discover how to slow down the clock so we can enjoy the waiting. I can be patient, I promise. But really--only two months till Christmas?!

WISHING . . .

Not my house...but definitely "my" tree

Today is October 17th, on the downhill slide to the end of the month. And I'm wishing for autumn colors. Outside my big window I see nothing but green--lots of different shades and tints, but still, green.

A couple of my favorite trees in town have made a half-hearted attempt to color up. Half-hearted, I say, because there's a small area of colored leaves, and the rest, about 85%, still green.

Leaf color, I've read, comes about because of a couple of factors: (1) less light as autumn days "grow shorter," and (2) changes in temperature. Chlorophyll breaks down and the leaves stop the food-making process. Ergo, less green, more red/orange/yellow.

Okay, so I get up in the dark, and I go to bed in the dark. Sometimes I eat supper while the sky changes from day to night. I can attest to less light. Temperature? Our highs are ranging from 49 to 70 during the next 10 days. We certainly have changes, but consistently lower temps haven't found their way to my neck of the woods.

Looks like I'll be wishing for leaf color for a while yet.

Clearly, wishing for the leaves to turn their autumn colors is not going to have much effect. I can wish with all my might, pray without ceasing, and do any happy dance I can contrive--won't affect the leaves at all. (Magic wands don't work for me, either.)

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A better use of my time might be sending "good wishes" to folks who need support or encouragement. Notes, emails, texts,  phone calls . . . . And there's always prayer time to petition for good results, happy events.

Or offering up gratitude for blessings I enjoy--especially the ones I didn't work for or earn. Maybe that's the best definition of a blessing--a benefit unsought; a grace bestowed.

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As a much younger person, I know I wished for things--material goods, what I wanted to take place, a sudden bodily makeover (never did get taller, no matter how much I wished). 

Sometime along the way, the obvious began to sink in--if I wanted something a lot, I ought to throw away my magic lamp and think about working for it. Earn the money to buy the material goods--a house or car, clothing appropriate to my job; consider the event I wanted to happen to see if it really was a good thing for me--did I really want to be a best-selling author, devoting time to publicizing my book? As for the makeover, I (wisely) gave up on that one; I can affect my strength and stamina, even find a hair style that isn't too weird for my age and stage in life, but the only way I'll be taller is to go back to wearing three-inch heels. My feet tell me that's out of the question. (I always listen to my feet.)

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There's an old saying: "If wishes were horses, then peasants would ride." The occasion it was used would often be to a child who "wished" for something.

So, what's the point of wishing, you ask?

Maybe wishing is related to vision--seeing possibilities in the future. Perhaps encouraging ourselves to try something different.

Maybe it's also related to hope--we keep hope alive, until it becomes clear that what we wished for, what we hoped for, isn't going to become fact. (The important part is that we continue to hope.) And we can learn something about ourselves--an important life lesson.

The best lesson--the one that stays with me always--is that what I wish for may not be the best thing for me; but what I get, is always the best. Thanks be.

WHERE DO YOU FIND WISDOM?

[It's been a manic week...and more to come in the near future. So I thought a little rereading might provide us with a chance to catch our breath and ponder on wisdom learned in our youth.]

Sometimes Wisdom arrives unexpectedly. A chance remark by a stranger . . . an old saying pops into mind . . . a half-remembered quotation that I have to look up to get the proper wording.

Many folks go to the Bible for words to live by. They have favorite verses, favorite psalms committed to memory; or perhaps favorite hymns from their worship services. These bring comfort in times of distress or sadness. Brick-and-mortar bookstores have shelves sagging from the weight of such books—whatever direction your faith has taken you, there’ll be something for you to read if you want to. Or try the public library, or the library of your faith community.

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Then there’s the Wisdom—or what passed for Wisdom—that we grew up with. Such as:

Waste not, want not!  How often did we hear that one in our youth? Folks who grew up in the Depression  (roughly, 1929 to 1941) would understand this one all too well. And they passed along the message to their children.

A penny saved is a penny earned. Well, not really, not in today’s financial climate; but there’s no denying, a penny saved is a penny saved.

See a pin, pick it up, All the day you’ll have good luck. Offering us good luck was one way to keep pins off the floor where little kids and pets might come to harm. Or barefoot adults. A good reminder for safety. And the corollary worked the same way: See a pin and let it lay, Bad luck you’ll have all the day.

If your nose itches, company’s coming. This was one of several dozen my mother quoted—if it wasn’t an itchy nose, it was dropping silverware, each type indicating the gender of the company to come. Later on I heard it another way: If your nose itches, you’re going to kiss a fool! Hmm, not a very exciting prospect. I’d prefer company coming.

My mother also told me about itchy hands—and to this day, I can’t get this one out of my head. If your left hand itches, you’re going to receive money. (Yay!) If your right hand itches, you’re going to shake hands with somebody. (Meet someone new.)

Another one about money: Foam on the top of a cup of coffee or tea was called “Money on your cup.” (I don’t think this includes cappuccino, though. Just bubbles that form when you pour the liquid into the cup. Sorry about that.)

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Some sayings had honest-to-goodness sense behind them. 

Take this one: As the twig is bent, so grows the tree. That was about more than bending your young tree into an interesting shape; it was meant to warn us how to rear our children (twigs) is such a way that they would grow up into the type of adults (trees) we would like them to be.

Or, The apple never falls far from the tree. Seems obvious, if you’ve ever had/seen an apple tree. After all, the tree doesn’t fling the apples around, even in a windstorm, and the fruit is heavy enough to fall pretty much under the tree it grew on. This was another metaphorical piece of wisdom: Don’t expect your children to be much different from the parents. (I seem to recall the children so described were usually budding delinquents.) In the Nature vs. Nurture debate, this one seems to straddle the fence.

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From what I’ve observed, what we glean from old sayings, proverbs, and family wisdom depends on our family’s history and experience. We were pretty much Midwestern agrarian—hence the practical nature of the quick pieces of advice I learned from childhood on up.

Dig around in your memory bank for those words to live by that your family treasured. Bet you haven’t heard them recently. But they’ll still resonate with you.

If you don’t think they’re especially wise, see if you can file them under Advice. Or Insight. Or, Old Sayings.

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Here’s my current favorite saying (on a whiteboard at the Y)—hope it says something good to you:

YOUR SPEED DOESN’T MATTER…FORWARD IS FORWARD.

LET ME COUNT THE WAYS . . .

[I racked my brain for new things to say about Autumn, the season that tops my list of favorites. There was nothing more that I needed to add to this love song from a few years ago.]

(With apologies to Elizabeth Barrett Browning, I'm borrowing her phrase, "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways." From Sonnet 43 in Sonnets from the Portuguese.)

This is my love song to Autumn.

I love Autumn for its colors--never the same twice; adjusted and revised, tinted and deepened, over and over and over. Leaves, flowers, pumpkins, cornstalks.


I love Autumn for its fragrances--smoke from wood-burning fireplaces and stoves; the last barbecue of the season; the wine-y smell of fresh apples gathered into the barn at a local orchard; the spice of chrysanthemums ready to plant in flower beds.

I love Autumn for its sounds--lawn mowers and leaf blowers, the municipal vacuum truck; homeowners and carpenters finishing the last bit of repair or construction before the weather changes; rain--wind-blown or gentle--against the roof at night.

I love Autumn for the tastes we create, now that we can heat up the oven--raisin-studded oatmeal cookies, muffins, brownies (so quick to make!), apple pies and fruit crisps; chili in the slow cooker; pork roast with root veggies in the oven; soup, any kind, just so it's soup.

I love Autumn for the touch of soft leather gloves, the rasp of a hand-knitted scarf against my chin; the weight of a shawl or ruana over my turtleneck; corduroys and heavy denims for warmth. And socks! Heavy socks, reaching up the shins to keep out chilly air.

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As I gathered my thoughts for this post, a phrase kept playing in my mind: "Heaven and Nature sing!"

Well, of course they do! In every season Heaven and Nature sing a different song. I celebrate all of them--yes, even summer, my least favorite--but my true love is Autumn.

Even when we have the little season called Indian Summer, with its few days of sun and warmth, Autumn is much too short. Frosty nights are a foretaste of weather to come. 

But until that time, celebrate Autumn. Revel in her colors and tastes. Make room for cookies and soups. Heat up the outdoor grill one last time. Wrap up warm and go to your favorite team's football game.

Yes, indeed. Heaven and Nature sing!

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COVERS

Ocean Waves Quilt

Blankets, sheets, quilts, afghans, lap quilts, cover-ups . . . whatever the size, whatever the intended use by the manufacturer, my house bears witness to my obsession with covers.

Some of these I can explain away as clearly utilitarian--where I live we have mostly very cold winters, with an occasional lapse by Mother Nature (or the global warming goddess). Temperature drops into the forties and farther down, starting in October, call for an extra layer of something on the bed to keep body heat in and outside chill out.

The number and style of coverings became obvious recently when I had family visiting for eight nights in August. We covered up in variety:

     - quilts (3 that I made)
     - duvet (purchased long ago and still serviceable)
     - flannel sheets (bottom and top) 
     - regular sheets (a couple of those for whoever didn't want flannel)
     - ancient woven throw (falling apart but still cozy)
     - lap quilts (for an extra layer, if needed)

But utilitarian doesn't explain the four baby quilts, four fleece blankets, and two (super-heavy) all-cotton blankets (used as bedspreads in years past), all stored in a convenient closet.

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The real explanation possibly--even probably--lies in my upbringing. Grandma Jenkins made a quilt every year. She started piecing the blocks in the spring, working through the summer and into the fall; by Thanksgiving she had a quilt top ready to join with batting and backing on the heavy wooden quilting frame. Grandpa hauled it down or in from wherever it had been stored for the past six or eight months, set it up in the living room, and the quilt was loaded onto the frame for hand quilting by my grandmother. That was her main occupation through the winter months. After all, gardening was over--everything that could be canned was already in jars on the shelves in the spare bedroom, the canner was scrubbed and put away, and next year's garden was only a dream occupying Grandpa's winter months.

Double Irish Chain

Memory grows hazy here. I don't know who received Grandma's quilts. Perhaps one or more of the 10 Jenkins kids--all grown and flown by the time I came on the scene. Or perhaps grandchildren as they married and started a new home. The only covers I remember at Grandma and Grandpa's house were two she made, one on their big brass bed that stood so high I couldn't climb on by myself, and one on the smaller bed in the spare room where I slept when I stayed the night. In memory, one quilt is blue and white--in a pattern I now know was an Irish Chain. The other was made of small triangles in every color God created--that one was probably an Ocean Waves quilt, but that's guesswork from the distance of more than half a century.


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My personal experience with making quilts started roughly 30 years ago when I took a class with my oldest daughter. It was called Quilt in a Day--a technique made possible by Eleanor Burns who revolutionized quilt making by introducing us to strip piecing. No longer did we cut each square, rectangle, or triangle for our pattern . . . we could cut strips, sew them in explicit ways, and then cut into pieced units. The class we attended made it possible to turn out a baby quilt (about 40 inches square) in one day of cutting, sewing, more cutting, more sewing--and then we put the quilt top, batting, and backing together. Voila! A finished baby quilt. 

After that class, both my daughter and I were hooked. She went on to make many baby quilts for people she knew starting their families, and eventually joined a large quilt guild where she was inspired by many innovative practitioners. I tried various patterns--some with more success than others--and learned what parts I liked best about quilting, what parts would need a lot of dedicated time, and what patterns I'd pass by as too demanding for the time I wanted to give to a project.

Over the years, I've felt a connection between my grandma and my aunts who made quilts. Once it was what we had to do if we wanted our family to be warm in the winter. Now we often make quilts just to be trying something different--new color combinations, new patterns, new sizes. Wall hangings, table toppers, table linens (placemats and napkins), bed toppers . . . there's always something new coming down the pike.

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Besides utilitarian usage and gift giving, covers have long been an ingredient in the creative play of children.

Take one big old cover, add a card table, and you have an instant cave/castle/den/secret room. No card table? Use the cover on a chair--upholstered or wooden--or the end of a sofa.

Nap quilts/covers became a requirement of nursery schools. Each child had a space to lie on, rest, possibly nap (though I doubt it). At home a nap quilt's individual space became a child's very own island--room for a book, a snack, possibly a cat.

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Another quilt that lives in memory came to my hospital room when I had surgery in 1995. My youngest daughter had found what looked to me like an antique quilt--not full bed size, but larger than a baby quilt--at an estate sale. She was intrigued by it and bought it just to have a quilt in her apartment. When she came to stay with me during surgery, she brought the quilt and laid it on my hospital bed while I slept. I think of that quilt as the first of many healing quilts I have known--they bring with them the prayers and good wishes of the giver, and that positive energy is somehow transferred to the person who needs healing. I like to think it's the alchemy of love.

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We're closing in on the season of quilts and covers. Sometimes I wrap up in a light cover while I watch a movie. And a little extra something is de rigueur for afternoon naps--grandmas take naps, too.

I'm grateful for the time I grew up in, and the family I had. They were folks who knew about love and laughter, and good food, and warm blankets. Thanks be.

Modern Strip Quilt--I've made this
pattern at least three times in different
color combos.

WELCOME AUTUMN!

[Not much new to say about the Equinox that ushers in the season we call Autumn. And from one year to the next, we'll usually find ourselves meeting the same colors, the same fresh fruit, the same autumn flowers, the same weather. So here's one of my love songs to Autumn published several years ago.]

Autumn in my little corner of the kingdom is a Janus-like season. Remember Janus? The Roman God of gates and doorways doorways--one face toward each direction.

Autumn is like that for me--looking forward, looking back.

One day, it's summer, and you'd swear August's picture is still on the wall calendar. The next morning, the leaves whip around wildly, skies are overcast (if not weeping buckets), and you wonder which closet you buried your rainproof jacket and umbrella in.

While the weather is doing its two-faced thing, I veer back and forth between two ways of thinking about life. 

Ahead of us is a season many people dread--Winter, with its more-than-generous servings of snow and ice, wind chills, and dangerous roads/driveways/sidewalks. In its nature, Winter is probably no more dangerous than other seasons, if we take precautions for our safety. But it's well to be prepared.

Behind us is summer (my least favorite season, as I believe I've said before)--a season many folks would love to see hang around a minimum of 200 days per year; the other 165 could be a little cooler, maybe a little rainy, but definitely not below 50 degrees. I prefer variety in my seasons.

But that's just weather. What about what's ahead of us in our lives? What changes will there be in my family? In my health? My town? My church? My friends? 

My grandchildren are young enough to be changing jobs, moving to bigger houses, looking for the best schools for their children. My children are more settled, but still open to new opportunities. My health is currently stable, so I keep on with my exercise programs to maintain the status quo. My town--well, they call it progress, I call it chaos: closed streets, tree removal. . . . My church constantly searches for ways, and people, to serve. My friends are going through their own challenges with health and other problems. 


What's behind me in my life is there for me to see in old photos, read in old letters I've saved, recall with my children in our telephone/email conversations. Some of the memories are smile-bringers--remembering a time and place and the people involved in a birthday party or a Christmas family celebration. Some memories bring sadness--folks no longer with us, relatives and friends lost to time and death.

But I count my memories as blessings--yes, including those memories I'd rather take out to the landfill and bury deep. Without who I was, I wouldn't be who I am today. Neither would you who are reading this post. There's always the possibility that we'll learn from our past mistakes, pass along some wisp of wisdom to a family member or friend, perhaps to a stranger.

My goal--my challenge to myself--is to dwell in the present. See the good around me. Help folks who need a boost, a kind word, a warm blanket. The past is past--I can learn from what's gone before. The future is not yet here--I can plan and prepare, but I can't live it until it arrives.

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In a few days I'll celebrate Autumn's arrival with a drive through the country. Not much color yet in our area, but it's coming, it's coming.

Welcome Autumn your way--football games, tailgate parties; trips to the orchard for cider and apples; stocking up on pumpkins and corn shocks for the October look.

And while you're at it, celebrate being alive. Today.