On Losing Something

This morning I woke early for the farmers market. It was cold, and we don't dress up. But for some reason I decided to wear a favorite pair of earrings, a pair I bought 25 years ago in Poland. I cherish them. I thought fleetingly, "I hope I don't lose one," because these earrings tend to slip out of the ear easily. Still, I put them on and went my way.

It was a busy day. I did the market from 9:00-11:00ish. I went to a friend's house for some socializing and chatting. (She has, btw, the world's best stereo system, the old kind, with speakers as tall as I am, and a gorgeous lucite turntable. And she likes all the old music I like. But I digress.) I trotted on home, ate a late lunch, changed clothes, went on a church visit with Adam for a couple of hours, and came home to do some serious cooking for church tomorrow. I went in to change clothes and looked in the mirror, and I saw that thing all women dread to see.

I saw only one earring. The other one was  G  O  N  E .

When I was a younger woman, I'd have been more upset. But life is full of loss. In a way, life is about learning to lose everything but God, and then in the end you lose your own life too. I'm better at losing things. Those earrings were special; they were a small image of beauty from a far land that I'd loved, a reminder. How lonely that one earring looked! I sighed, and I hunted. Oh, I hunted. The house first. Then the car and driveway. I went back to the farmers market parking lot, and hunted all around. My friend with the great stereo saw me walking while staring at my feet and came over and asked what I'd lost. She promised to look at her house too.

It's not a huge parking lot. The sun was setting, and I decided to give up for the day. Adam made French onion soup for dinner, and I marveled a little inwardly at my lack of anguish and distress over the earring. It's better to hold on to this world's beauty with a limp hand.
This evening I had a little thought. What if, when I changed clothes later and took off my necklace, the earring had caught on the necklace? It's possible. This necklace hangs on a hook on my bathroom mirror. I stepped in the bathroom and looked at it. I fingered it gently for a bit, but there was no earring there, clearly. I let the necklace drop. Then I wondered a silly thought --

What if the earring had been on the necklace, but when I hung it up, the earring fell down, behind the lotion bottle, into the corner of the counter? (These are the silly possibilities that one considers in the mind, but they're never true. I'm the oddball who has to check though, because otherwise I'll always wonder.) So I picked up the bottle, and I heard a little clink as something fell down to the counter.

I reached into the dark corner, and there was the other earring.

I'm embarrassed to say that if I hadn't looked there today, I would not have found that earring until we moved from this house. I am not that much of a house cleaner.

I'm thankful. The first thing I did was thank God, because I attribute the find to him. I'm ashamed to admit that the second thing I did was wonder smirkily to myself about my own cleverness to find it. What a little puddle of sin we all are!

Thus is the saga of the lost earring. I'm happy to have the pair together again. Losing things distresses me because it's an ugly little reminder of how broken our world is. Things ought never to be lost -- not earrings, not books, not pets, not people. All things are meant to be found and known.  That earring could have been in literally dozens of places, but God decided the best place for it to be lost, and found, was my bathroom counter.  I felt His kindness when I found it there.

Welcome Home, Willows Tea Party!

Today is the day! Many Wind-in-the-Willows lovers all over the world are having a Tea Party today! We're welcoming the Willows Three back to their home in Colorado with Pom Pom. Click over and check out her party today.
Here's the watercolor I painted over a year ago, of Mole, Ratty, and Badger. They had their tea party outdoors by the river.

Tea and cake was on order for our partying today, so I made a half-cake from a recipe given to me on Tuesday by a church friend. She brought this Pineapple Nut Cake to church, and Julia and I loved it.

Such a quick cake! I whipped up the ingredients in a jiffy.

It turned out so well, and I prefer to have only half of a cake around the house. Not so much temptation.

Julia and I pulled out the pretty cups and saucers in honor of our world-traveling friends. The yellow roses cup was given to me by Adam for Christmas many years ago in Iowa. The shamrock cup belonged to my mother, who gave it to me. It was a birthday present to her many years ago from a dear friend, because my mother's birthday is on St. Patrick's Day.

Here's our cake. I ate two pieces; Julia ate three. Yummm.

We were, unfortunately, not in the mood to deck ourselves out in frocks, as Mags recommended. As a compromise, we each put on an apron. Does that count? It's been a busy day; we've been dashing around and I only barely had time to make the cake!

A lovely cup of black tea:

Phuzzy Photo, sorry. I was trying to show you how amazingly moist and dense this cake is.

My apron is floral and feminine. Under it are gray sweats and black slacks. Not feeling frockish today :)

Here's the recipe for the Pineapple Nut Cake. This is the full-size recipe:

Mix all ingredients together by hand:
2 eggs
2 cups flour
2 cups sugar (I used less.)
2 tsp. baking soda
1/4 tsp. vanilla
1 can (20 oz.) crushed pineapple, with the juice
1/2 cup pecans

Bake in greased 9x13" pan at 325º for 40 minutes or until tested done.

Icing:
Mix together and frost while cake is still warm:
1 8 oz. pkg. cream cheese, softened
1/2 stick soft butter
1 3/4 cup powdered sugar
1 tsp. vanilla
1/2 cup pecans (opt.)

I had no pecans, so I used some chopped, sliced almonds instead, and it was good, although pecans are always better. Notice this is a fat-free cake; the juice from the pineapple is the liquid. It's a moist cake with a great flavor.

The Faith of M.F.K. Fisher

I've read thousands of pages of MFK Fisher's writings. She is almost like a friend.

As a Christian, I've grieved a little inside, over the years, in my assumption that she was probably not a believer. One should not make assumptions, especially on that topic. But immersed in her words and thoughts as I was, I felt that I knew her. And anything as permeating as faith, I thought, would surely be evident in her books somehow. She seemed to me a spiritual person. But a Christian?

I'm reading a compilation of excerpts from her journals, 828 pages worth. What a revelation! In chronological order, her growth as a human, a lover of food, a student of her fellow men, and a writer is laid bare.  Her final years' writings are taken from her last book, Last House. I'd read that book, or thought I had. I'm at the end now, of these journals, reading her thoughts in the last few years of her life. And I found these words from "My Grown-Up Ears":

"It was in August 1945, and I was sitting in the North Reading Room of the New York Public Library. There was heavy dark rain falling, and the enormous hall was full of the scratchy rustlings and the smell of unaired clothes inevitable when many research workers congregate. I was grubbing in a concordance, looking up some such word as gluttony and thumbing here and there in a very neat practical copy of the King James Version.
And then I was reading:
'In the beginning ...'
"The words came out clear and strong and in a most beautiful order. They were the most straightforward words I had ever read, and although they were familiar to me from my youngest day, I knew that I had never really heard them before. I read for many hours without any knowledge of time or weariness ...."
Fisher tells of her childhood rearing in the church by her stern, dispassionate grandmother, of her own rejection of Christianity and eventual mockery of it, and finally of a drift into agnosticism. But the event in 1945 in the NYC library was pivotal. It shifted permanently her attitude toward faith. She was 37 years old.
"It was not the fault of my grandmother or boredom or my own stupidity that it took so long. I was simply incapable of it, until the summer of 1945. Since then, oh rich fortunate me, I can go almost anywhere in [the Bible]. The violence and the plottings and the blood and tenderness are more exciting than in any book I have ever read, I think, and they are told in a better simpler stle. And the mystery of man and his faith, if no clearer to me, shows itself like a thread of water, forever flowing round and round the world.
"For when Israel sang a little song to the well -- 'Spring up, O well; sing ye unto it' -- and the well did spring up to slake his people's thirst, and when I remember that wandering Arabian tribes still sing thus to their wells, I know more about faith than I ever thought I would, and I am glad of it." ~1989 (p. 795)

I don't presume to know another's soul, and I don't attempt to plumb the depths of Fisher's elegant prose. But it seems to me that God's Word (for such it is) was the tool God chose to change her, to crack open her heart to the wonders of what He had to say. And as a writer, she could not resist such a book, such a Tale-teller. Some may poo-poo her praise of the Bible as the finest of literature, but from a wordsmith like Fisher, there is no higher acclaim. Beyond that, she is transfixed by faith, the faith of humans throughout history, round the world and from ancient Israelite to the modern shepherd on his Middle Eastern hill.

The passage she quotes from Numbers 21:17 is telling. Buried deep in the Pentateuch, Fisher must have been an avid and frequent reader of Scripture to fix on such a verse to commit to her mind. God's people were tired, disobedient, punished, and wandering from place to place. In the span of ten verses, the nation moved nine times. Millions of desert nomads, packing tents and a huge tabernacle. And they were thirsty.

In the midst of this weary, chaotic life, God gives water. Fisher led, in my mind, a weary, wandering life as well. It's a reasonable parallel. But what she seems to love about this verse is its connection to today. Shepherds still sing to wells. The actions of Numbers 21 are still performed. It's a shining evidence to her of how the tiniest piece of the Bible is so very true. The faith rang true to her ear, her heart.

That's why I have hope I will have many years conversing with MFK Fisher on God's New Earth. I believe such a love for God's Word can come from only one source, God Himself. I was thrilled to read this brief account of her joy in the faith of those who trust in God to satisfy their thirst. To the one-time agnostic, the twin spiritual mysteries of Jesus's life and death and the believer's faith in them became things of beauty and wonder, not fairy tales to be reviled. For a woman with Fisher's intellect and worldliness, that is a large leap indeed.

Still Life Crystal

In art class this week, Julia tried her hand at some crystal.

I think painting clear items is difficult, especially with watercolors. I really like the look she's achieving with watercolors now.

I love the base and how she got the effect so perfectly with so little paint. How do artists do that?

I don't really think Mr. Bob gives her a lot of instruction on technique; everybody else was painting boats and water with acrylics. He comes by and gives hints over the shoulder on little points. Julia often likes to choose something different from what the others are painting.

I was very pleased. Poor girl -- I never let her take her art to her room. I love to keep it in the living room so I can look at it all the time. I tell her she can have it all when I'm dead someday!

I couldn't remember if I'd ever posted this sketch of a duck she did last semester. Anyway ... here she is.

The Big Purse

I've been a finishing maniac, since that purple scarf is behind me. Today I tied the last knot on this large crocheted purse. I blogged about it here when I'd finished the front panel.

It's about 11" across and 10" tall, with a 1" depth -- I put in a side/bottom panel too. You could probably fit about 3 or 4 paperback novels in there.
Here's a photo so you can see the yarn close up. It's Simply Soft. The button is large too, about the size of a quarter.

I lined it, of course, a necessity in a purse of holey yarn. And I put a little pocket on one side for lipstick or keys, so you don't have to go diggin'.

Pretty roses.

Anyway, here's my question, readers. I'm selling this at the market. What do you think is a good, reasonable price? If you saw it at a market, knew it was all hand-made, what price would you expect? If you liked it, what price would you be willing to pay? It's hard, because a hand-worker can never really charge for labor; the pieces take time. I probably put at least seven hours into this purse, I guess? (It might well be more.) Can I charge $7/hour, plus cost of supplies? No. That's silly. But how much will people pay? I always wonder. So I make a stab at prices, and I usually price too low, which means things sell. But perhaps that's not wise. Any thoughts, entrepreneurs of the world?

Spring Smittens

Smittens were some of my best sellers during fall and winter, so I wanted a way to keep them going into the spring. I found some neat cotton yarn at the store. Sugar 'n Cream makes it; it's called "Twists."

The yarn is light, string-like, and fun. Instead of smittens, I'm thinking of calling these little lovelies "twisters," since some people call these kinds of gloves "wristers."  Here's a close-up of the yarn and how light and airy it is.

They're also shorter, not covering the fingers. They're for looks, not warmth. I think this is a look that the modern teen might like.

I also made a posterboard cut-out of a hand, to help me display them at the market. Julia adores this pair and made me promise to make her a pair this spring. Of course, I will.

Short Smittens

I've been needing a new pair of smittens for myself. My old pair -- about 4 years old? -- are pretty ratty looking. My soft green pair from last fall are lovely, but the yarn is so soft that they don't keep their shape. Plus, they're really hairy. Soft yarn is pretty furry sometimes.

So I whipped up a new pair with some yarn I bought and liked. It's Loops and Threads "Charisma," and the color is "Toadstool." These variegated yarns are fun to work with, and the "Charisma" wasn't too tricky on the hook.

I tried a new design for the thumb hole, a one-row slit. It gives more coverage to the thumb. I also made these smittens shorter, for spring. They're more for looks and fun than for much warmth. Although I wore them last night to chorale practice, and they were very toasty. Nice.

Julia says she wants them. Not happenin'. Oh -- also, on almost all rows, I only put the hook through the back of the stitches, which gives it that neat tiered look, like waves perhaps. I put a little scallop along the top edge too.