Tag Archives: hope

Perfectly ordinary

22 Friday Jun 2012

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May 11 was beautiful here in Tennessee. The weather was sunny and warm, and the day was fairly predictable, in a wonderful sort of way: cookies were baked and dishes were washed; a neighbor’s kids stopped by for a few hours, and we enjoyed dinner and a family game night. The last of the homeschool lessons were finished up, and summer break danced tantalizingly on the next week’s calendar page, along with dance rehearsals and slumber parties and orthodontist appointments.

All day long I hugged a little secret to myself, trying to make the most of May 11 without granting it any special attention. It was a day that cried out to be noticed, but a day I hoped would blend into the others around it, on its way to becoming ordinary. One year ago that day — on May 11, 2011 — a medical error almost took my life. On May 11, 2011, my heart stopped and started again, fast and furious and broken. And with it sped away my sense of security and trust in the safe places, and in rushed a year of hurting and healing, searching and finding, a year of so much pain and so much more beauty.

I didn’t mention May 11 to anyone until it was over. Didn’t point it out or raise a banner that said “I SURVIVED” precisely because I did survive, because all those days in between May 11, 2011, and now are the real story. I didn’t blog or reflect or reminisce with others. Instead I prayed and said thank you, as I do every day, and I went on with the business of making the most of this gift of another day with my loved ones.

I love to share ideas about cooking and crafting, about what I’m reading and thinking, and hopefully I make somebody smile along the way. But May 11 reminded me again of what this blog is really all about: creating today and making it matter — not because it’s pretty and perfect, but because it’s here and its ours. I celebrate May 11 because it was another perfectly ordinary day, and I’m so thankful for every single one of them.

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Build

24 Tuesday Apr 2012

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I got the very best birthday present this year: a passel of rusty old metal, courtesy of some dear friends and their 140-year old farm. There are nails and screws, washers and springs, hinges and handles, locks and keys: all lovingly hand-picked, colored by history in shades of deep orange and warm red. Who wants a pristine, shiny package when you can have a gift pulled from the clutches of spiders in the back of the barn? To some, all that rust may just seem like tetanus waiting to happen, but to me it is the sweetest kind of treasure.

Maybe I appreciate it all the more because I’m feeling a little bit vintage myself these days. I’m certainly showing some wear (I like to call it “patina”), but I still work hard and have some pretty good stories to tell. If there is beauty in being authentic, then all my creases and chipped edges make me positively radiant. :)

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It was that theme — the value in building a life with layers of wear and age — that inspired my most recent collage. I used my favorite hinge from my collection of vintage bits (yes, I have a favorite hinge) because its dusky blue reminded me of the sky in an old oil painting. I also picked out a few gears and some rusted nails to bundle in twine, then set to work assembling a multimedia landscape.

The background is a 5″x7″ watercolor illustration board painted to look like a piece of worn metal. This was the perfect opportunity to use Sophisticated Finishes, a liquid copper finish that can be custom-antiqued with a selection of blue and green patina solutions. It is little more than chemistry in action, but it gives me a thrill every time I watch a metallic surface fade and oxidize before my eyes.

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The paper pieces are from a 1952 travel magazine highlighting the charms of the midwestern United States, a great fit considering most of the vintage pieces I used hail from Kansas. I snipped and sanded a little balsa wood house, wallpapered with a page from an old hymnal, and set it against a fence made of sculpture wire. The final addition was a grove of stamped, embossed trees.

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There is such an obsession in our culture today with looking younger than we really are, smoothing out our wrinkles and blemishes until our faces have all the interest of a buffed wax floor. I am not sure how having the forehead of a 16-year-old became so important, but I think a society that values appearance above character has just hammered the perfect, shiny nails into its own coffin.

I value wisdom and experience, and that stuff usually comes with the price of aging. I would rather show and feel those years and know I really learned from them, than stay the unwrinkled, unknowing me I was a decade ago. I suppose that line of thinking also makes me sound increasingly vintage, but I don’t mind, because I’ve figured out how much promise that holds.

Hope

22 Thursday Mar 2012

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I have had a creative, messy, rewarding week, although it wasn’t spent in the studio or kitchen. Instead of paint or cake batter, my preferred medium the last few days has been soil. It says something that I had to return my brand new pair of suede gardening gloves because I wore them to shreds in less than 24 hours. After all that hard work, our front yard is full of dozens of blooms and the rich, wet-forest smell of mulch. It looks neater and more loved than it has in years, and at this point, I’m sure our neighbors think we are about to put our house on the market. :)

But this flurry of activity is about something much more significant than curb appeal. It is a tangible, exciting picture of hope. The years of neglect our property suffered were born of a home so full of illness, complications, and coping that it would have been sheer folly to expend energy on something as trivial as pulling weeds. For many slow-motion months in a row, I survived from one moment of God’s grace to the next, through multiple hospitalizations and setbacks. I needed desperately to be assured that all that pain could legitimately be called growth, that it promised to bear fruit somehow. When catastrophic flooding in 2010 washed the last of our topsoil and mulch down the hill and into the Harpeth River, it was so metaphorically appropriate as to provoke disbelief. Upon encountering the same scenario in a novel, the reader would be warranted in grumbling, “Really? Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t we?”

That’s the hard, brilliant truth of this life: it comes on strong, in heaps and waves. Our trials don’t conveniently wait in line until the trouble before has been tidily resolved. There is much hope to be found in today, to be sure: my son’s exuberant teenage smile, full of braces and potential; the smell of Banana Chocolate Chip muffins baking; a homeschool math lesson finished without angst. But sometimes my soul needs a good power-washing, to have the doubts and fears blasted away by Something That Shouldn’t Be but is anyway.

All this playing in the dirt, raking and planting, planning and doing seemed impossible a few years ago. It certainly felt out of reach last summer, lying in an ICU bed without the strength to lift my own head. It never entered my small, unimaginative mind that my body would be restored to this extent. After four spinal fractures in two years and a suggested maximum lifting limit of ten pounds, here I am hauling around bags of garden soil and digging holes? Most people talk about back-breaking work, but back-broken work is an altogether different story. I am not pain-free, but I have mud under my fingernails and the promise of springtime. For me, that’s hope.

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Paper plum blossoms

02 Friday Mar 2012

Posted by in Make, Read

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Usually, surviving February merits a celebratory rush of energetic, brightly colored projects in the studio. But it has been so unseasonably warm and mild this winter, I don’t feel quite the same urgency about ushering in springtime. I wore shorts the last week of February, and the weather is already playing its April games, revolving between sunny 70’s and thunderstorms. Tornado season also seems to have arrived earlier, much to my children’s chagrin. (There are only so many times you can make a game out of doing your schoolwork in the downstairs hall closet by flashlight.)

However, the last few weeks have felt distinctly February when it comes to matters of the heart, and this paper craft seemed the perfect fit: hopeful, but fragile. The blooms and leaves are made from pieces of a coffee filter. I folded and watercolored the small shapes, then glued them in place on a tree branch. (That’s twice now our Bradford pear tree has done something useful — pretty sure that’s a record.)

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This is another project from Margaret Van Sicklen’s fantastic Modern Paper Crafts. Like the pleated paper bowl I made from the same book, this also required some complex paper folding and a delicate-but-determined touch. I found the leaves much simpler to make than the blossoms, but the instructions were clear and detailed enough to get me through it without frustration. And the nice thing about a paper craft with coffee filters is that your raw materials only cost a few cents, so it’s no great loss if (when) you have to start over.

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Watercoloring the blossoms and leaves also required a gentle hand, but I love the effect gained as the paint bleeds into the fibers of the filter. I used to make watercolor coffee filter art with my kids when they were little, so this was a sweet reminder of those early homeschool years. My son and daughter are more complicated creatures now, but we all still revel in doing art together.

In the end, that is what my plum blossoms speak to: fondness and nostalgia for a more innocent time, determination to get through winter’s challenges together, and growing hope for the future. I think that’s a pretty good way to end February.

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Storms

25 Saturday Feb 2012

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Is anyone else having one of those days? Actually, I think I’m having one of those weeks, the “when it rains it pours” kind that make me want to yell in frustration or stomp my feet, quite possibly both at the same time. For my family and those dearest to us, there have been more challenges than usual lately — many of them the wail-prompting, tear-stirring variety. These are not training-wheels sorts of days, these are all about wobbling and swerving while we try to keep our balance.

I spend a lot of time on this blog talking about things like yummy cheesecake brownies and delicate origami flowers, caramels from scratch and handmade valentines, and I really love making all of it. Creating keeps me aware and joyful, and it nourishes my body and mind. But I just want to be sure I am clear that these things are not born of a frivolous, unhurried life. My bookshelf holds dozens of beautiful art books, but right now I’m reading Boundaries with Teens; my calendar holds the promise of lunch with friends this weekend, but it also has appointments with the dentist and pediatric cardiologist. For me, cooking and crafting are ways of celebrating both the plenty and the drought and the lessons I learn from both.

I made the watercolor sketch above because it says what my words cannot manage right now. The corner of it tore when I ripped it from my sketchbook, and I think that feels just right, too. No matter the frustration or obstacles today might bring, whether these hours feel overwhelmingly full or acutely empty, I am prayerfully hopeful for you and me. With that in mind, I have my next few posts planned about lovely things like almond granola parfaits and collages with cork and batik fabric. I am enjoying my time preparing them, and I am excited to share what I’m doing with you, even when times are not simple for either of us.

Hope Collection

30 Monday Jan 2012

Posted by in Make, Think

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I am a collector by nature. Not of anything obvious or mainstream, like stamps or rare coins, but of the things that inspire me: vintage valentines, old books and photographs, tiny resin flowers, and Japanese glass beads. I have a pair of antique opera glasses that thrill me with their aged mother-of-pearl, enamel, and brass, and the single-word inscription Paris. I have tucked away fall leaves that look as if each one was hand-watercolored, bits of wool and velvet ribbon, a handful of board game pieces smoothed and worn by the fingers of children who could easily have been my grandparents. None of them bear much monetary worth, but measured in sentiment and beauty, they have great value to me.

When I set out to make a birthday gift earlier this month for one of my dearest friends, I thought a lot about the items I have collected and what they mean to me. She is also a lover of history who understands how a connection to the past can give you steadier feet in the present. We have both had our share of challenges recently and discovered that there is great faith and hope to be found in the midst of pain and loss. I set out to build her a collection of items that symbolize hope to me, then give them words — a sort of visual and spiritual scavenger hunt.

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The container itself is a printer’s tray, sometimes also called a specimen tray, depending on whether you lean more toward bibliophile or biologist. I filled it with the kinds of things I think someone might make and collect over a lifetime, a very personalized sort of natural history museum: rocks and feathers, shells and dried flowers, bits of embroidery and handmade paper snowflakes.

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Underneath each smaller box is a Bible verse that links directly to the item above, so that each little compartment hides a secret message of encouragement. My hope is that after reading the verses a few times, just seeing the pieces of the collection will be enough to call to mind the words behind them.

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The most challenging task in the whole project was covering each of the 21 inner boxes, ranging in size from 1-1/2″ squares to 3″x6″ rectangles, with a half dozen layers of tissue paper, cardstock, and sealant. The vintage text and rich green, purple, and mustard are much more visually appealing to me than its original gray craft paper covering. It was detailed, time-consuming work, but it gave me plenty of time to plan the contents and verses. As is often the way with this kind of artwork, I was definitely blessed and encouraged myself by the process of creating it.

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Creativity

15 Sunday Jan 2012

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You will never hear a child say, “I’m just not creative.” That declaration is reserved entirely for adults. Why? I don’t think we really mean we are incapable of imagining or making something new. But sometimes it is hard to separate being creative from how others will perceive our creations. The older we get, the more we feel the pressure of measuring up, and the weight of such expectation can stop us in our tracks.

I am certainly not immune — if anything, it might be the opposite. I have always been the artsy type, but I still have to make a deliberate decision to be creative. It gives me pause every time I am about to hit the “publish” button on this blog or show someone my most recent painting. I can do it only when I remember that, for me, the value of creativity is found in processing, sharing, and encouraging, of putting joy above judgement. (If I had named this blog “created for success,” it would probably be empty. :)

And I still have so much to learn… the little tree pictured above is proof of that. It is made out of humble materials — a toilet paper tube, copy paper, a bit of recycled gift wrap and some glitter glue — but it is such a mighty statement about the power of creativity. It was made by an inmate named Shannon at the Tennessee Prison for Women. It encourages me so much to know she found a way to be creative with limited resources, in the midst of circumstances that could easily foster only anger and despair.

Shannon believes passionately in the hope and possibility that come from creativity, and she pursues that passion and encourages others in it, despite where she is. What a beautiful reminder that being creative is not about showing off, it’s about showing up. Shannon’s art proves that imagination and inspiration exist outside of our imperfection, and I am so grateful for that.

Angela’s Sugar and Spice Pecans

01 Sunday Jan 2012

Posted by in Cook, Think

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It takes courage to cook for me. Severe food allergies can make the kitchen feel like a minefield — it requires a lot of attention to detail on the cook’s part (and a lot of trust on mine) to voluntarily enter this realm of label reading and ingredient monitoring. I love to cook and I love to feed other people, so I can understand that it must be frustrating to my friends and family for me to feel so off-limits when it comes to any kind of culinary care-giving.

This recipe is delicious, but it will always be among my favorites because it’s the first food gift anyone ever gave me after the onset of my food allergies in 2007. Angela certainly knew what she was getting into — she’s seen me through dozens of anaphylaxis episodes over the years and has even had the dubious honor of administering my epi-pen. It takes a real friend to stab you in the thigh with a syringe; it takes an even better one to make you food afterward, when she knows what’s at stake.

These only require a handful of ingredients, but the results are snacking perfection: salty-sweet, satisfyingly crunchy, warm with cinnamon and allspice. They have the added bonus of being gluten-free, sulfite-free, and stress-free. Everyone loves them, even the self-professed nut-haters. (You know who you are.)

For me, this recipe is just the right way to start off the new year because they are all about Possibility. The beautiful thing about hope is that it can bloom so unexpectedly: after a long, dark winter, in the midst of life’s compost. It can even come in the shape of a cellophane bag full of spiced pecans. When you make and share this recipe, I hope you can also share in a little piece of the comfort and faith they represent for me.

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Angela’s Sugar and Spice Pecans
makes 3 cups

1 large egg white
3/4 c. granulated sugar or vanilla sugar (see these Recipe Notes for vanilla sugar how-to)
1 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp. ground allspice
3/4 tsp. salt (not coarse)
3 c. pecans

Oven 250F. In medium mixing bowl, beat egg white with whisk or electric mixer until it holds stiff peaks. In separate small mixing bowl, stir together sugar, salt, cinnamon, and allspice until thoroughly mixed. Fold pecans into egg white until they are coated. Don’t stir too energetically, you don’t want to lose all that air you just whipped into the egg white. Sprinkle in the sugar-spice mixture, stirring until all pecans are thoroughly coated with thick, gooey cinnamon yum. (That’s a very technical cooking term, I know. ;)

Spread out pecans in even layer on large parchment-lined baking sheet. (You can try it without parchment, but butter your baking sheet copiously and get someone else to do the dishes.) Bake for 45 minutes, stirring thoroughly every 15 minutes with silicon spatula to bring the gooey bits to the surface. Add an extra 15 minutes baking time if they are not crispy and dry at the end of the 45 minutes; if your oven doesn’t maintain low temperatures well, it may take longer. Allow to cool on baking sheet completely before eating or storing in an airtight container at room temperature for up to 4 weeks.

Quick tip: this recipe easily doubles, just use larger bowls to mix and bake for a full hour. If you make more than a double batch, bake on two cookie sheets to be sure your layer of nuts is not too thick.

Prayers and wishes for a healthy, happy, fulfilling 2012 for you and yours. :)