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I’m often thankless and miserly in faith forgetting where Christ dwells – with the poorest and most afflicted among us. I am pierced by this child, Asher. Reminded of God’s great love and presence with “the least of these, my brothers and sisters.” And by inference, his dwelling with each child who wants him, even me.

Romancing Honeysuckle

Honeysuckle just hopped past where I’m working on the porch. She needed a drink after nibbling the rubber seal off the door to Anita’s studio. She’s doubled in size the last two weeks, (or is that bloat from rug fringe and Denis’ slipper toes?) and when she bounds up the ramp and bangs into her hutch you know it. This latest addition was added to the household because angora bunnies produce beautiful wool that can be spun into fine yarn and as a fiber artist, that is Anita’s intention. Whatever Honeysuckle’s value in that department, she has certainly been another interesting individual to indulge.

At first she was going to live in her hutch in the yard, but we’ve made room for her on the back porch where she roams freely using her litter box when necessary, eating dandelions, apple branches and rabbit kibble. As long as someone is around to make sure she doesn’t gnaw on electric cords, we let her in the house. She steadfastly ignores me unless I offer her a  banana slice which she will eat in any condition, peels and all. This does spare me from freezing them only to pitch them out six months later because I didn’t make banana bread after all.

She likes my donkey tails houseplant and I’m pretty lazy about removing her from it. Forgive me, dear Mary Jane, but I plan to sacrifice it to Honeysuckle even though almost every day the plant reminds me of you and all you suffered. But some day I’ll be where you are again and we will probably make gardens even more beautiful than the one you had in Durango.

I think it is awfully indulgent when Denis laughs as she pulls books off the bottom shelf in our front room and eats their spines and corners. (You would think this slightly inconsistent, too, if you knew how precioussss his books are.) I decided to buy her some special books when we stopped at a used bookstore so she could lay off the Tom Clancy spy novels. They can be her very own and she can snack on them whenever she wants. The cheapest paperbacks were bodice rippers and I carefully chose three for their titles: Hot to the Touch, Awaken to Pleasure, and Forbidden Temptation. When I went to pay I was going to tell the guy-clerk that they weren’t really for me, they were for our friend’s rabbit who liked to eat books, but then I thought that if he did care about good writing he’d just stare at me with pity. A rabbit. Like, right, lady.

Frost

Today Anita and I drove back from St. Louis. We left in dreary fog and heavy damp. Hadn’t seen the sun since we’d left home. As we headed north we began to notice clumps of wild grass thick and luxuriant - their heads floating like feathers above the ditches. We wondered how they had remained so intact, so beautiful this late in the season. I wanted to stop and gather armfuls, but immediately deleted that thought. From northern Missouri on up through Iowa they grew and grew, until finally we noticed the bushes, trees, fences had begun to take on the same light fairy look. It was frost. By northern Iowa the ground was deep in snow with frost fanning out, coating every surface, even the highline wires. I said wouldn’t it be wonderful to drive into sun with all this? And then we did, like God said here you are. For perhaps 40 miles it flared across blue sky making such glory. During those miles with the sun we passed a magnificent bald eagle right beside the highway eating road kill. (Very undignified.) We turned around to try to get a pic and as we rolled down the window it slowly took off looking extremely annoyed. No, that’s not true, eagles always look annoyed. All of this – the beauty of creation. And tonight, the beauty of my own bed. Being home. Magnificent in its own way. Much to be thankful for, including a great board meeting. Though I might be more thankful if Denis were here. He stayed in St. Louis at Covenant Seminary to teach a J-term class: Film and Theology.

It's like this...

Remember last winter when we whined and cried for fresh like this? Wes made us Victory Garden Chicken Soup. The flavors subtle and green, softly satisfying accompanied by the crunch of fresh bread. Saying good-bye to him for a season - easier when time slows for wine conversation and mannerly dogs laying their heads on your knee saying, Friend, I only just met you, but as you can see, I love you.

Glory, all glory

On our way to the Yarn Garage today Anita, Sandy, and I stopped to pick up Becca. We ran in for a minute to see her and Joe’s chicks. They’ve got 180 two-week-old peeping babies in a pen in their basement. In about four months they’ll begin laying colored eggs ranging from coffee to chocolate. My favorite might be the araucana’s teal blue egg. Who ever thought of eating so strange, lovely, and nutritious a thing?



When they hear or see a person, they all flee to the far corner, running over the tops of their mates heads, as though we were approaching with an axe.



A continuous chorus of peeping hangs in the air.



Just as suddenly they sit down, fall asleep, and waken to peck at another's eye.


It was worth the hour drive to the Yarn Garage past farms with dairy cows standing in the sun, the fields still dormant in buff and gold, water running in the creeks. I can’t even imagine how this place sprang up in an old farming town just south of the Twin Cities. Who knew? It’s run by a flamboyant designer from NYC, who designed and knitted many of the creations scattered through the store. Crammed and colorful, awed and overwhelmed by choices I stood nearly paralyzed. Corn fiber? Bamboo, wool, cotton?







Becca chooses ochre colors.



Anita likes Japanese Toro and milk fibers.



I thought I could sneak over and try on this amazing red and pink cowl sweater. Hiding behind a small mountain of yarn, I tried to get it on properly and was suddenly surrounded by a crowd giving advice, and a lady, not even an employee, who tried to adjust the sleeves and then the owner arrived, pushed everyone aside to arrange the collar, fussing and buttoning the front “under my girls.” And then yelled, where’s the camera? I think it’s my white hair?



Though I love tones of earth, I’m tempted by glitter so I finally choose these for some little projects I have in mind. Then Sandy surprised us by handing us each a gift certificate right there in the store. (She is moving to New Zealand and maybe we won’t see this dear friend for a long time.)

Feeling creative, beautiful, it’s 50 degrees outside, I think spring may be coming and this feeling may not last. But that’s okay. Just a taste now and then - a precious reminder of impending glory. Tomorrow I leave for Chicago to take care of Aunt Ruth for a week while Marsena works on a screenplay.