funny dreams

I had a funny dream last night that I wanted to write about but now, of course, it has faded and I can't remember a thing about it. Lots of time I have lucid dreams, which I think means dreams in which you're aware that you're dreaming. I like those.

Here's a real dream, one I've had for many years: to get a big old house (preferably on a chunk of good land), fix it up, and make it a home for children. I don’t know what kind of children… just ones who need a family, a home. I want these children to know they are loved, to experience acceptance and some kind of stability and love that cares enough to discipline and provide boundaries; to learn of the kind but troubled things in life, and the wild things, and the wonderful passionate things. To know they are safe. To give hugs. To value work and play and to know what dirt feels like and how to mix water and flour to make bread. To be a constant, a community. Maybe this dream could look like… adopting a lot of kids. Or maybe working in an already-established home like this. Or maybe just living. Or maybe it means something else. It just seems that we’re not given strong feelings if they were for nothing or meaningless. At the least they must be there to further shape our thinking, our hearts, even if they don’t work themselves out in a literal or tangible way. So if anyone has any old, awesome houses they need a use for, let me know.

four good things from the earth

Earlier this week I was out running on a wet morning, and was rewarded by encountering four creatures that I like. First, two birds: an Eastern Pheobe, which has been gone all winter, and then a Pileated Woodpecker, which is always an amazing bird to see. I was pretty excited about those and was thinking about them, when I looked down and almost stepped on a little salamander! Yellow-murky brown with bright orange dots. Delightful. Then not 20 yards later I came across a good-sized land snail, inching along. I brought him home with me, though I'll release him soon. He's in a jar and not very happy, but also not dead.

So these things are gifts. I recognize that pretty easily, because I'm delighted by them, and it seems natural. There are other things that are gifts too, though I may not ask for them or believe I want them. But they have been given to me. I'm not much of a poetry-reader, but recently I've discovered a poet named Mary Oliver, and I read this by her the other day:

The Uses of Sorrow
Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.


I think there probably are many boxes of darkness stashed away, and hopefully I can find some use for them.

a short write

I didn't sleep last night, again, although this time I could blame it on my parents' couch. I should have moved to the spare bed, but once you get warm (and there's a pellet stove blowing hot air four feet from you) why move? I was feeling frazzled all evening (changes in plans does that to me sometimes, and purchasing large things I don't understand, like cars) and was resolved to just watch tv until my mind stopped... which turned into watching a movie (Once, I think it was called), but after about an hour of that I just wasn't really interested. so I read. I'm nearly finished with a book of selected writings of Dorothy Day, and she's been giving me much to think on. Too much - I feel like I have to pick and choose. There are a lot of things I'd like to write about here, and maybe later I'll put some thoughts, but not this morning. She talks a lot about love, and the difficulty of actually loving people in action and not just in dreams. She quotes a character from The Brothers Karamazov when she says, "Love in practice is a harsh and dreadful thing compared to love in dreams." It's even dangerous to write of such things; it is so easy just to talk, to be stirred in my heart while my life remains unchanged. Well I want to say more about this but my time is limited. To end, the other short tidbit from her (she was speaking of their community in general) that I wrote on a scrap of paper says, "We want land, bread, work, children, and the joys of community in play and work and worship." Yes. These are good things, many of the important things that life boils down to. I want to live more in a way that embraces these simple, meaningful things. I want to love more deeply and truly. I want to write more about these things and share them (which scares me a little), but now I really have to get dressed and go buy a little car. I think it is blue.

Good morning, sun. Good morning, chickadee and wood-pewee.

chomp

This morning I finally witnessed Calvin eating a cricket. It was a big one, too, all wiggly. I wonder what it's like to eat something whole that's alive and that's as big as your head. Do different crickets have different flavors? I might not mind a cricket if it was covered in peanuty-chocolate substance - like Reese's Puff cereal, which is basically corn balls covered in candy.

My mind's been pretty active recently (mainly the last 48 hours or so), which means I've been writing a lot, which equals good. I've been a little disappointed in the fact that I've been pretty lazy lately, thinking-wise, or feel like I have anyway. I've been thinking and writing about: death and the beauty and meaning of steadfast, sacrificial love; of not being insulated from pain and brokenness; of reading books written by people I value and learn from, some written on paper but most written on lives, on my life; and seeing lives of young women I've met here and not understanding why I'm not them, and it hurts. I've been talking about these things too, which is extra good.

i like boxes

It's true. I prefer boxes that are surprises and that contain secret contents, but I'll also accept packages that come to my door because I told them to. For example, two days in a row this week I got home from work at night and there was a box on my porch! Two days! Amazing. Of course I knew what they were - a dress for my sister's wedding, and shoes to go with it the next day - but still... I guess all I need to do to keep myself happy is to order something every week or so. Happy thought indeed.

the new me

One of the people at the Timothy House said the greatest thing to me today. We were walking up the basement stairs and he asked if I ever did any skateboarding when I was younger. That's a weird question, I thought; he can't be serious. I replied with a wary and surprised "no" - aside from my yellow Banana Board from when I was 6 or something (remember that, Em?). And then I asked, "Do I look like a skater?" and he totally thought I did! He said something about my demeanor and the way my hair fell across my eyes looking very skaterish. "No way!" I said. "Yeah!" he said. Then my friend Amanda chimed in, verifying this apparent "hipness", as she put it, that I wasn't aware of having. I think I can honestly say that I've never been involved in such a conversation before. I think I'd like to have a skater alias; any suggestions?

firsts

Finally, finally I got out my first, newly-received-as-a-gift sewing machine. It makes a mean straight stitch, let me tell you. Pretty exciting. Looking forward to finishing my 1914 dress.

Another first: rutabagas. Scaly and earthy-looking, not as peppery as turnips. That's what I hear, anyway. I have yet to eat them, but they look great and rustic on my sideboard.

And another food first: tarts. The great thing about tarts is that you make them in a tart pan. Mine (and I think most) have scalloped edges and are shallow and just look cool. So I made a blackberry one, and then a smaller one with honey curd that was delicious in a sweet almondy crust.