happy december!

As if prompted by the turning of calendar pages and the pending opening of that first tiny door of the Advent calendar, snow began to fall on Tuesday night, and December greeted me with a thin blanket of white and a shaken snow globe of sky.

After a rainy Tuesday, I had gone to bed hoping for snow to greet me in the morning. And as soon as I could force myself out of my warm bed on Wednesday, the first of December, I scampered to the front window to peek outside--and lo! a winter wonderland. (I know, I'm five. But really, people, it's enchanting.)

Over the past few days, I pushed inches of snow off my windshield, narrowly avoided slipping on icy steps, holiday shop hopped and purchased a Christmas gift. This weekend, I plan to go to a holiday artists' market, make Christmas cookies and help pick out another Christmas tree.

And so, with those festive activities, snow, the month of December and food bloggers the world 'round posting cookie recipes, the season now begins in earnest! To inspire you, two photographs from Thanksgiving weekend:

(What, isn't this what your family does at the Christmas tree farm?)

I plan to return with a few fall summary/flashback posts this weekend, and then, I promise you, I will focus solely on the current season.

In sum: It's December! There is snow! Life is beautiful! Merry Christmastime!

the thanks giving post.

Though Thanksgiving has come and gone, I want to voice my thanks before continuing on with updates and new reflections and the Christmas-themed posts sure to ensue.

I got out of town and had a wonderful holiday weekend with family and an extension of my family (aka my brother-in-law's family...my family in-law in-law?) and also that boy I'm so fond of. We went to fetch the Christmas tree for my parents' house and decorated it with twinkly lights and cheery ornaments, which means that I will soon begin waxing poetic and becoming wildly excited about any- and everything even remotely related to Christmas. That's right. Be ready.

But first, some giving of thanks.

It's unfortunate that we need a national holiday to remind us to be thankful, but it seems that we do. (We don't need a national holiday to remind us to eat, so I'm going to stick to giving thanks as the primary purpose of the day/this post.) I probably complain more than I give thanks, which is a horribly skewed way of going about things in a life that has been filled with far more goodness than suffering.

And I want to live a life of gratitude.

There is much to be thankful for, after all. On the most elementary level, I am thankful for the material things that I have but don't need or deserve and so many go without--big things like plenty of food for the table and a little apartment all my own; simple and ultimately unnecessary things like cooling racks for hot loaves of bread; the electric blanket and humidifier that, though also unnecessary, make my Michigan winters much more bearable; shoes for my feet to stay warm and my body well, because it could be otherwise.

And of course, there are the good people surrounding me. There's this one girl who has now lovingly listened to a year's worth of joy and heartache and anxiety, who picked much of my summer sustenance with her very own hands, with whom I've never cooked a disappointing meal and whose single-syllable laugh I at some point unconsciously picked up. There's this other lovely lady in my city but from my hometown who absolutely makes my "short list," whose presence seems to ensure an eventful evening out and with whom a bottle of wine, a dessert (two desserts?), a platter of cheeses or a Valentine's day celebration was never unhappily shared. There is an incredible woman who believes in me more than I believe in myself, has a strength and vitality I strive to emulate and is the kind of mother that makes me want to be a mother.

I have a father who is a source of constant joy and offers much-needed guidance for my professional life on a regular basis, and my mom--who is also one of my very best friends--listens to me talk nonstop whenever I need to. (Seriously. My parents are awesome.) My sister and brother-in-law are living in the same country I am living in, which is something to be thankful for in itself, and on top of that, they are great house guests, read even my longest emails without complaining and are full of wisdom and hope.

There are good folks at my workplace; wise mentors from college and church; dear old friends now living in other cities, states and countries far off; kind landlords who fix even little things like broken doorknobs; new, inspiring acquaintances in this city that is my home.

And there is also a boy who makes me laugh until my face hurts, sees the bit of goodness in everything, listens to every last story even from a boring day, runs with me in the dark, cares about the world and appreciates a good meal or a well-made scone just as much as I do.

Along with all of that, I give thanks for the great big things, the things I ought to be expressing gratitude for with every breath: justice in my daily life, freedom, opportunity, health, peace in my neighborhood--and a good and sovereign God who holds everything, even that which is not just or peaceful or right.

Finally, I am thankful for a vast miscellany of other gratitude-inducing aspects of my life, such as my (currently) pest-and-rodent-free apartment, the fact that said apartment is in a house painted purple, my job (for both its good days and its bad ones), my little office with its fake plant, local businesses where they know my name and cardigans and baked goods and music and artwork and poetry and cookbooks and hope.

May I remain thankful all the year 'round.

summer in review.

Though it is not officially fall, summer has undeniably begun to slip away, marked by shorter days, cool morning air and the occasional gold leaves at the fingers of trees. Summer has flown by, and I'm astonished that it is over, but it was a delight, full of good times with lovely people, notable happenings, some wonderful travels, much fresh produce and the simple joys of the season.

And before I begin to speak of tights and scarves, brisk winds and fallen leaves crunching underfoot, apple cider and winter squash, I give the following photographic review of the summertime (note: stay tuned for an addendum of food photos later this week).

There were days at the beach

and beautiful sunsets

and lazy Saturday mornings spent at coffee shops

and the farmers market.

(That girl is my favorite farmer.)

There was a trip to Chicago with dear friends,

and numerous visitors graced the city of Grand Rapids.

These folks got married,

as did these.

(There was much celebration.)

And in culmination of everything, my dear sister and brother-in-law returned to these United States, a delight I'm still reveling in.

It has been a lovely summer.

We have picked berries,

and we have picnicked... What more could a girl ask for?

In the summer, the song sings itself.

--William Carlos Williams

race day + my mother = good weekend

This has been quite the wonderful weekend.

I ran my longest race yet, the Fifth Third River Bank Run 25K (just longer than a half marathon), on Saturday morning. Of course, the temperatures dropped from the lovely warmth of earlier days to low forties accompanied by strong winds and misty rain, but it really wasn't as bad as I had begun to anticipate. Besides, when I'm running in that kind of weather alone, I wonder at my sanity, but running in those conditions with so many other people is simply invigorating. There are 21,000 other people running this morning! I think to myself. I can't be crazy! (Though I hear the cries of the non-runners out there, and yes, there is that chance that we are all crazy...)

There is so much I love about races: the energy that comes from being surrounded by so many that love to run as much as I do, the camaraderie of strangers in this together, the conversations overheard, running in the middle of the road, the children with signs to cheer on their mom or dad, new scenery and parts of the city I rarely see, the feeling of accomplishment when I've crossed the finish line. I'm quite happy with my time and still feel energized. It was a great race.

Now I'm on the lookout for a half marathon to run with my dad in the near future... and dreaming of training for a marathon in the further-off future... someday!

My lovely mother then came up on Saturday afternoon and stayed through today for our celebration of Mother's Day. We had a wonderful time; it was so fun to have her here and play hostess to the woman who showed me how to host in the first place. Dinner out last night at a favorite Spanish restaurant played tribute to our shared love of that country. After church today, we cooked brunch together and sat at my little table, light streaming in through the front window, and as we sipped our coffee out of my favorite bright tea cups, my mom remembered aloud when we purchased these cups and their matching saucers several years ago, from an earthy little coffee shop in Montreal during a summer trip we took along with my dad. And here we were today, drinking our coffee together in my first apartment. I love seeing the threads that tie different times and experiences together, making a whole cohesive something out of our seemingly-random lives.

And on Mother's Day, I must just say that I am increasingly thankful for this incredible woman that graces my life with motherhood and love and friendship. She teaches me so much, from small and practical things--like how to keep mold from building up in my shower and how to scramble eggs really well--to the most crucial--how to love well and practice contentment and not be afraid.

My mother is strong and loyal and kind and compassionate. I want to be like her.

Sometimes life is not all that wonderful. But sometimes, like today, like this weekend, it is. And for that I am thankful.

Cheers, then, to long runs and the beauty of movement and strength in accomplishment, to mothers the world 'round, that very concept of motherhood and my own lovely mother in particular.

I hope your weekends were full of joy also.

springtime! in my office!

To further confirm what I already believed -- namely, that my parents are some of the most wonderful people. ever. -- they sent me flowers at work today, for no reason in particular save springtime (and maybe the knowledge that I wasn't having the best of weeks, which may or may not have involved, among other things, a mouse that did get caught in a trap but did not die). There is now a basket overflowing with purple and yellow and white and green in the corner of my desk. My flowers are beautiful, they smell of wonder and Easter and hope and finally there is something ALIVE in this office (other than me).

I was having trouble making my thankful list this morning. No longer.

Okay. So long as this loveliness doesn't distract me too much from the enormous manuscript to be edited, I will make it through this day.

(Thank you.)

14 things.

It has been quite awhile, hasn’t it? My apologies for the absence. I’ve been… living life. Working, doing a lot of cooking and running, spending time with people I love, slowly s-l-o-w-l-y learning how to balance things in this full-time-working-woman life. I’m learning quite a bit… they seem like boring lessons sometimes, but I think they’re important ones. Anyway. I wanted to take a few moments of my lunch break to finally end this too-long hiatus with the following reflections…

I’ve been in a bit of a slump these past few weeks, which has manifested itself in several different emotional states as I rollercoaster from week to week. Last night, I was sharing with a dear friend the following predicament, which has been one of numerous recurrent themes during the aforementioned slump: I feel completely unable to live fully in the present while also planning for the future. I just cannot seem to manage both at once. My friend replied by sharing that in these times, when the present seems not-that-exciting, she stops herself to remember all she has to be thankful for. It is just so easy to forget.

As I walked out into a gray-but-pleasant morning earlier today and crossed my front lawn, feeling not as excited as I wanted to be about beginning another day’s work, I urged myself into reflection on all of the beauty and goodness around me. It helped. Later this morning, an hour or so into work, I pulled out a piece of paper and started scribbling a list, quickly covering the small scrap with the marks of my pen, the marks of undeserved blessing and a response of thanksgiving.

I have a lot to be thankful for. So this is me, being thankful.

14 things of many:

the peace of morning.
warmer weather.
the blessed green grass peaking out.
my own little place with a window to the street (peering out while eating my oatmeal).
a wonderful coffee shop/bakery just up the road (just up the road! from where I live!).
a café au lait on a weary morning.
the luxury of being able to purchase unnecessary things like coffee, particularly on weary mornings.
a job. a roof. clean water. money to pay the bills.
the fake tree in my office (I may not have a window, but I do have plastic vegetation).
lovely, caring, wise people in my life. technology to communicate with them even when they are far away.
stability to rest in while dreaming about the future.
possibility, opportunity, hope.
another morning.
another day.

May you also be thankful today. Peace, friends.

jumble.

I don’t have any one specific point to make today, just a few thoughts to offer, and as I haven't posted for so long, I feel quite alright forgoing my usual attempt at a thematic post. I hope you all are well, and many apologies for my brief absence!

Life continues, and it really is good and altogether quite lovely. I recently celebrated a birthday, enjoying the company of my parents and lunch at my favorite restaurant ever (free of charge as a birthday gift from the kind owners of said restaurant!) the weekend before, a peaceful dinner with a few of my dearest friends at another favorite the night of and a small potluck this past weekend, which also served to christen my new home--more on that in a moment. I love potlucks. At this particular potluck, I gave very few specifics when asking people to bring a dish to pass, which resulted in a meal consisting of my big pot of vegetarian chili and batch of Dorie Greenspan's World Peace Cookies and guests' contributions of eight bottles of red wine, five types of bread, two batches of hummus and Dave's promised package of Oreos. As one friend very aptly put it, it looked like a glorified communion. But the 20-or-so of us ate well, laughed much and were happy.

I am feeling somewhat old, in the most positive sense, of course, at what I realize is still quite a young age. As I begin this new year of living, I have once again been thinking about everything I have learned in the past few years, but particularly in the past few months, and how very glad I am to be in this post-collegiate, great big world before me, young single and free, idealistic and hopeful stage of life. Honestly, my friends, the world is glorious! There is so much life to be lived! There is so much hope to be held! It is not always easy or beautiful, I know, especially at first glance, but I am convinced more and more each day that we must indeed choose joy if we are to have it.

In other news, I have been working full-time since the start of the month at a job that most days I like reasonably well, and I recently poached my first egg. Today I am wearing dark pink tights, which, as always, is making me feel a little better about the world, and I wrote/edited up a storm at work today. A storm, people. And finally, most excitingly, I have moved yet again and am now happily settled into a new little place in a big old purple house. I love it. I think it is absolutely perfect. The space, the location, the hardwood floors and brightly colored walls, that amazing little hutch in the kitchen, the fact that the kitchen is so adorably tiny, the pocket door between the two biggest rooms, the footsteps of my upstairs neighbors, the bay window above my bed. With all respect and love to past roommates, I have not been this happy to come home in a very, very long time. Goodness, I haven't felt this at home while home in a very, very long time. Furthermore, when one of my landlords asked me to be sure to regularly take out the trash because they do not have mice in this house and told me that they have all of the paint colors to touch up my walls once I’ve decorated and explained that I could call if it gets too cold and they would come adjust the heat, I wanted to throw my arms around him and embrace him and then burst into tears of pure joy. I didn't. But let me tell you, I was very close. All that to say that I love this new little place of mine. Come visit anytime. I have a fold-out couch. And leftover wine. Just saying.

To close this post, as it is Martin Luther King Jr. day, I offer a few of his own beautiful words, with somber reflection on our soiled human history, recognition of the inexplicable and confounding tragedy that has now fallen upon Haiti, awareness of our brokenness and the brokenness of this world and persistent hope for the future:

“Now let us begin. Now let us rededicate ourselves to the long-but-beautiful-struggle for a new world.”

Amen. Let us begin indeed.

cocoa almond meringues and a new year.

Happy New Year, dear ones! I hope that you are enjoying this close of the holiday season, celebrating the year that has ended (and possibly that the year has ended; that’s okay, too) and looking ahead with hope to 2010, a new year promising new adventure, new joy, new beauty.

I have learned so much in this year, mostly adult/real world kinds of lessons that were not always enjoyable but brought new and beautiful depth to my life. At the end of four years filled with good, solid academic education (which I loved), I learned how to finish well and how to close and then open chapters of my life, how to say goodbye well and how to stay in touch (an ongoing lesson). I learned how difficult it really is to find a job in this economy and how to piece paychecks together and how little I really need to sustain myself. I learned how to best fit all of my belongings in my car when moving and how to ask for help. I learned more about loving well and about making hard decisions (although I still have a long way to go on both of those).

This year, I have come to see more clearly that in every situation, there are difficult and painful things as well as beautiful and very, very good things. I have learned how to first see that whole honest picture of my life and to then cling to and give thanks for the good things... a job, a roof over my head, food on my table, people to eat it with, the amount of justice and freedom I’m afforded. It could all be otherwise.

And this year, I learned the truth of something I always knew in my head but maybe not deep in my bones: that God is always faithful, regardless.

To celebrate the old year and welcome the new, here is what I would call a celebratory recipe from Dorie Greenspan’s big and incredible cookbook, Baking: From my home to yours. I got this book from my cousin for Christmas, and I’ve already paged through the whole thing at least twice. Great recipes, beautiful photographs. I made these meringues first, and they are delightful: light and airy on the outside and dense and slightly chewy on the inside. They are craggy and beautiful, rich with chocolate and a hint of almond, and they are amazing. AMAZING. Happy new year indeed.

Cocoa Almond Meringues

Adapted from Dorie Greenspan’s Baking: From my home to yours

Ingredients:

1 cup confectioners’ sugar, plus extra for dusting

1/3 cup finely ground almonds

1/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

4 large egg whites

Pinch of salt

1/2 cup sugar

1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

1/3 cup finely chopped bittersweet chocolate

Position the racks in the oven to divide it into thirds, and preheat the oven to 300 degrees F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper or silicone mats (I just purchased my first silicone baking mat with Christmas money from my grandparents, and it is incredible!).

Mix together the confectioners’ sugar, ground almonds and cocoa.

Using a stand mixer with a whisk attachment or a hand mixer in a large, dry bowl, whip the egg whites and salt at medium speed until the whites are opaque. Increase the speed to medium-high or high and continue whipping, adding the sugar about a tablespoon at a time. Whip until the whites are firm, hold stiff peaks and are very shiny. This will take a very long time, up to 15 or 20 minutes (so don’t panic if it seems like nothing is happening!). Beat in the vanilla.

Quickly and gently fold the dry ingredients and then the chopped chocolate into the egg whites. Work with a light touch to minimize the deflation of the egg whites, but realize that they will deflate somewhat, regardless.

Drop the meringue by tablespoonfuls onto the baking sheets, spacing them about 2 inches apart. Dust them lightly with confectioners’ sugar (very pretty).

Place the baking sheets into the oven and bake for 10 minutes. Then, without opening the oven door, reduce the oven temperature to 200 degrees F, and bake for one hour more. Remove the baking sheets from the oven and allow the meringues to cool. Peel them off of the parchment paper or silicone mats. Marvel at their loveliness and enjoy!

Store the meringues in a cool, dry environment, either in an airtight container or uncovered in a basket at room temperature.

Yield: about 30 little chocolaty mountains

So may this year be filled with laughter, new lessons to humbly learn, community and good meals shared with friends, and much beauty and thankfulness throughout your days. May this year bring more justice and more peace in our homes, neighborhoods, cities, countries and world, and may we live and love with more compassion and grace and hope.

It’s a new year.

merry happy christmas part 2: justice and endless peace

For a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. His authority shall grow continually, and there shall be endless peace for the throne of David and his kingdom. He will establish and uphold it with justice and with righteousness from this time onward and for evermore. The zeal of the LORD of hosts will do this.

Isaiah 9:6-7 (NRSV)

These words from the prophet Isaiah have been circling continually through my mind this Christmas season as again and again I am struck by the promises of justice and endless peace. Now, these values did not reign during the life of Jesus or even after he died and rose and ascended, and I think we are all quite aware that we do not have justice nor endless peace today. Rather, these promises are part of that "already and not yet" tension of our world: justice and peace, in some very small measure, are here, but their completion has yet to arrive. God's beautiful redemptive work began with the infant in a dirty manger, but it was not finished there. Rather, it continued and continues still and will continue onward until that distant day when justice and endless peace really do come and stay and reign and change everything, that day when God will make all things well.

And all this begun with a little child, a tiny Messiah... and long, long before he was tangible and here and lying naked as an infant before humanity, there was this ancient foretelling by the prophets... and outside of time and in complete control and knowing every word of the story is God.

How incredible.

So as this holiday season moves towards its close, may we continue to wait on and seek endless peace and justice, and as we do so, may we rejoice in the child born for us. Much love tonight and always, dear ones. Merry Christmas.

giving thanks.

I hope that today was a beautiful day for you, wherever you were, whomever you spent the day with, whatever variation on the national theme you ate for your Thanksgiving dinner. I had a lovely day of celebration back home. It wasn't hard to enjoy the day -- I'm quite the fan of any event that gives cause for the gathering of family and friends and the preparing and eating of good food.

And I am glad for the reminder to be thankful, as there is so much to be thankful for...

I am thankful for people: this wonderful family of mine, my beautiful community in GR and the friends that scattered but remain so dear.

I am thankful for these last few months of confusion and complication and lack of direction and for all that they taught me. I am thankful that God is larger and greater than I imagine and his plan more complex and difficult and better than mine could ever be.

And oh heavens, I am thankful for a job, for a job that pays the bills, a job that, on most days, I like! May I never forget to be thankful for this.

And I am thankful also for coffee and poetry, for words and correct punctuation and photographs, for resale shops and community gardens, for farmers markets and a warm winter coat, for ovens that function and chimneys that stay put, for art and music and those that create them, for food and friends to eat with, for a great big beautiful world and people who want to make it better and a God who lets us be part of the change.

Oh yes, I am so thankful. May the same be true of you, today and always. Happy Thanksgiving, dear ones.

i thank you God for most this amazing

e.e. cummings

i thank You God for most this amazing

day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees

and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything

which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,

and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth

day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay

great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing

breathing any--lifted from the no

of all nothing--human merely being

doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and

now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

My contribution to the feast: Fruit and nut stuffed acorn squash

thankfulness can be hard.

At my present job at Crossroad Bible Institute, I have my very own office. This office houses a big wooden desk, a computer, a phone with its own extension, several drawers for my very own use, a comfortable chair, another chair for visitors and even a (fake) plant. I also have an email address. This is all very new for me. In my nonprofit experiences and internship days, there was nothing like this. I am no longer perched at a desk-like table in the midst of other people’s offices. I am no longer using the organization’s oldest computer and oldest desk, made of cheap and flimsy plastic. I am no longer sharing an office with another person. Nor am I sharing an office with two other people, people that have jobs requiring a great deal of phone communication. I no longer have to make do with just one little file drawer. I no longer have to use my g-mail account for work correspondence, nor do I have to tote my laptop to the office each day. I no longer have to borrow my coworkers’ phones to make calls.

I should be thankful.

Especially since tomorrow is Thanksgiving.

And I am! I really am. Very thankful, even.

But.

I really wish I had a window.

late fall in chicago: community, place, getting dirty, drinking deep

I traveled to Chicago this past weekend with Sarah, Lindsay and Taylor to visit our very dear friends Laura and Jer who married and began settling into a new home in Westmont early this fall.

married.

(Note: Sarah wrote about our travels more promptly than I, so for our shared readership, please forgive the inevitable repetition!) It was wonderful to see Laura and Jer -- we miss them so much back here in GR -- and to establish an accurate image of their new city and apartment in my mind. The six of us wandered together, cooked together and laughed together. Because of shared values, loves and experiences, comfort in this community runs deep, and that is a very beautiful thing. Community itself is a very beautiful thing. Yes, it is hard to establish and to maintain, and it really is kind of a crazy endeavor, but oh! how good and pleasant it is when God's people live together in unity! (Psalm 133:1)

Then, on Sunday, Sarah, Lindsay, Taylor and I journeyed to the Rogers Park neighborhood to visit a wonderful community coffee shop called The Common Cup.

We loved it. Clearly.

As we drove through the city towards the coffee shop in North Chicago, past row houses and old architectural beauty, rundown neighborhoods brightened by community gardens and people on sidewalks under buildings market by graffiti, I was overcome by a desire to go and, once there, to stay, to invest in a place, sinking my feet in deep and being part of it, cultivating hope and making things more beautiful. I hungered for adventure and change and envelopment in something bigger and more powerful than I am. I was drawn not to any specific street in Rogers Park or to any particular place at all, really, but rather to the act of jumping into life completely and without abandon or fear or hesitation, immersing myself fully its enormity and overwhelming complexity.

And as I felt all of this, I wondered where it all came from, these firm beliefs about and desires for community and city and place and intentionality that course so deep and so fiercely within me now.

And then I wondered what to do with all of it.

I was somewhat overwhelmed, to be honest. I want so much from life, and I hadn't realized this before. I want so many experiences; I want such depth of feeling and passion. I want complexity and difficulty and unpredictability, because that is what is real. I want to get dirty, to run as fast as I can straight into the mess of humanity and its intersections with space and environment and God and to live right in the middle of all of it, forever, until I die. I want to reach out with hands cupped together tightly, to fill them with water and to drink deep of life, renegade drops splashing my eyes and soaking the front of my shirt.

But though I want so much, I am so small. It is hard some days to fit my dreams within a world that necessitates money and health insurance, a world of broken structures that complicate the path. And yet, I am hopeful, because although I remain unsure of what my very near future holds, I realize that whatever comes will be beautiful. Staying would be beautiful. Leaving would be beautiful also. Wherever I am and whatever I am doing, I can and will drink deep of life and settle right into its tangled center.

This weekend refreshed my spirit and renewed my vision for life. And if that wasn't enough, there was Ethiopian food, a trip to Trader Joe's, innovation and the casting of dreams, relational problem solving, seeking ways to change the world and giving thanks for grace.

In closing, a reminder to do your part to save the world: recyle.

Ahem... pardon, recycle. Thanks, Sarah.

happiness. yes.

Today, I am happy.

In this season of my life, I am happy.

And it is really good to be happy.

But I am realizing, more and more all the time, that happiness does not result from today being what it is or from this season of my life being what it is or from any one influence in my life. Happiness comes when I choose it, when I look for reasons to be happy and wrap my fingers tightly around them, when I pull them up and lift them high above my head, when I open my hand so that the light falls on them and no one, not me or anyone else, can deny their existence.

This is nothing profound or new, not at all. But it's what I am learning in this coursing, continuous life, the one unmarked by exams and due dates and semester breaks, the one in which I make choices for significant periods of time and consider jobs that have no date of completion... you know, my great-big-real-world adult life. I want it to be a happy life, and I am learning that it can be happy, regardless of the good and the bad and the otherwise of what happens within it.

I could choose to look at the frustrations, at the confusion of the moment or the uncertainty of the future or that fact that life is kind of ridiculous. Because, of course, it is not all rosy here: I spent a recent afternoon hour in tears on the telephone with my mother because I am so confused about my next steps. I really miss my sister and brother-in-law and all of my friends that have moved away. I will need to find a new place to live and go about the awful business of moving once again come January, whether I stay in GR or go elsewhere. I cannot seem to catch all of the genius mice that live here in my flat, the mice that keep on reproducing their genes of brilliance, increasing the population of really intelligent, not-fooled-by-traps-of-any-sort mice and causing me to fear that one day the ceiling will break open and the whole colony of thousands and thousands of genius mice will run squeaking through my home, like that scene in Ratatouille where the rats pour out of the old woman's ceiling and she shoots them with her rifle (though, of course, I wouldn't reenact that part).

Now, I do see those things, the frustrations and the sadness and the confusion. I would be being dishonest with myself if I ignored them. But then I look deeper. Instead of dwelling on these things or basing my happiness on life turning out ever-shiny and bright and easy, I am looking for the reasons for happiness, reasons that are always there, regardless of the state of my life in any one moment.

And yes, things have been relatively calm for the last several weeks and far less tumultuousness resides in my mind and heart today than did two months ago. I do have a quiet flat for the weekend, void of roommates, in which I can turn up George Winston's December album (too soon for Christmas? no. never. more on that later.), sink into my chair by the window, drink my strong black coffee and rest and think. This month did bring -- finally! -- routine in my job and an income that pays the bills and possibilities for the future. And I do have particularly wonderful friends and family and live in a particularly lovely city.

But I could choose to see or ignore all of that. And I could choose to see or ignore the wonder of a campfire on the beach in mid-November... the beauty of the many kinds of squash on display at the farmers' market... the humor in my dad's insistance on converting every moment of my visit home last weekend into celebration of his birthday... the simple joy in making fresh-from-the-bog-cranberry salad and cranberry bread with my mom in her bright, clean kitchen while home... the tremendous peace and truth that seep into my soul whenever I am with my dear friend Nicole, one of the most incredible and wise women I know... the wholesomeness of the food she and I ate together at Gaia this afternoon...

And I choose to see.

Nothing new, nothing complex, nothing I haven't talked about here before. But today, I am filled with joy and peace, and I didn't want to keep it to myself.

Welcome Morning

by Anne Sexton

There is joy

in all:

in the hair I brush each morning,

in the Cannon towel, newly washed,

that I rub my body with each morning,

in the chapel of eggs I cook

each morning,

in the outcry from the kettle

that heats my coffee

each morning,

in the spoon and the chair

that cry "hello there, Anne"

each morning,

in the godhead of the table

that I set my silver, plate, cup upon

each morning

All this is God,

right here in my pea-green house

each morning

and I mean,

though often forget,

to give thanks,

to faint down by the kitchen table

in a prayer of rejoicing

as the holy birds at the kitchen window

peck into their marriage of seeds.

So while I think of it,

let me paint a thank-you on my palm

for this God, this laughter of the morning,

lest it go unspoken.

The Joy that isn't shared, I've heard,

dies young.

oh the possibilities!

Everything. is happening. at once.

I do not know what is going on with my future. And I speak of the relatively immediate future, the one that starts around January 1. Honestly, several (3) job/place possibilities, none of them certain options, all of them quite appealing but for very different reasons, all of them at once.

I unloaded all of this on a friend tonight who, poor man, just came by the flat to pick up a pot. I loved how he responded, though, after pausing a moment to think: "at least things aren't staying the same."

True. Nothing stagnant here. And things are moving in directions that make sense, even if there are several directions in which they are moving. It's not just chaos or cloudy water anymore. So I resolve to be thankful that things are not staying the same... life is interesting and exciting, full of hope and always unpredictable.

And as I always always say, in this also we find beauty. If only we will stop shielding our vision in hopes that ignorance truly is bliss, stop running so fast propelled by our fear that the world becomes a blur, stop staring at ourselves in the mirror out of selfishness and vanity and just stand still with our eyes open wide, we will be overcome by the beauty.

See, the former things have taken place,

and new things I declare;

before they spring into being

I announce them to you.

(Isaiah 42:9)

functioning oven, poppyseed cookies and living gracefully

All of my posts thus far have been relatively serious, so on a lighter note, let me tell you two very good things that happened approximately a week ago:

1. Handyman Dave came and fixed the oven.

2. We turned on the heat in the flat.

I was so happy.

Let's talk about the oven. Our oven has been out of commission since the very start of the summer. It has been awful. The saga began with the pilot light being out. This seems like it should be easy to deal with, but it was not. First, a neighbor of mine lit it briefly, but the following morning ALL of the pilot lights (oven and stovetop) were out. Even Taylor, lying on the kitchen floor in his work clothes and reaching matches back into the depths of our oven, could not light it. And Taylor is good at these sorts of things. So finally Landlord Man sent Handyman Dave, who lit the pilot light but apparently did not check to make sure the oven worked. Because it did not. And then by this time, I was discouraged and frustrated, and I thought I was moving out at the end of the summer, so I just let it ago.

But when I realized I was staying, I was bound and determined to have that oven functioning. As Landlord Man was not all that responsive when the chimney fell off the house earlier this summer, I didn't expect a lot, but he was actually very responsive this time. But then again, I was quite firm. (As another result of this firmness, he has also now dedicated himself to the task of helping us catch our squadron of mice. But that's a story for another day.)

So last Friday, Handyman Dave (who is really not only knowledgeable but also very kind) came over and banged around under the oven for awhile and then informed me that it was fixed. As he explained to me and I now repeat to you, in my layperson terminology and probably quite inaccurately, there was gunk on the small pipe that the gas flows through to get to the big pipe where something else gets lit, at which point the newly lit thing, whatever it is, makes a whooshing sound and heats up the oven.

He knocked the gunk off the pipe.

There was whooshing.

There was heat.

I was thrilled.

Now, two good things did result from our oven being broken for this long, sad time. First, I now have a much better understand of gas appliances in general and our stove in particular. And second, I learned to be very resourceful in my cooking. I cooked many a thing on the stovetop this summer. I was particularly proud of my successful use of a skillet on the stovetop (rather than a pan in the oven) to roast tomatoes and to roast spiced chickpeas. I may not have been as innovative as my sister, but then again, she's pretty brilliant.

BUT.

But I couldn't bake. No scones, no muffins, no bread. And you cannot roast a butternut squash in a skillet on the stovetop. At least I don't think you can.

However, now the oven works! So as soon as I felt I could trust it, I baked. Constrained by a lack of baking ingredients, I perused my cookbooks until I found this recipe for poppyseed cookies in a little green book called The Peaceful Cook, written by Harriet Kolfalk in 1991. My sister got this book secondhand and then passed it on to me a year or so ago. (As a note, I must mention that my sister and I agree that the book takes the concepts of holistic living and interconnectedness further than we are comfortable with, but the recipes within are unique, healthful, seasonal and focused on whole foods. Good stuff.)

These cookies are soft and somewhat crumbly, just slightly sweet and with a faint crunch from the poppyseeds. My friend Abby said that they reminded her of scones; I think I'll try that next I return to this recipe.

Poppyseed Cookies for Celebration and Graceful Living

Adapted from The Peaceful Cook

1/2 cup skim milk

2/3 cup poppyseeds

1/2 cup raisins

1 1/4 cup white whole wheat flour

1 tsp. baking powder

1/2 cup butter

1/3 cup honey

1/2 tsp. vanilla extract

1/2 tsp. lemon extract

Heat oven (!!!) to 350°.

In a saucepan, heat milk to nearly boiling. Remove from heat and stir in poppyseeds and raisins. Set aside.

Mix dry ingredients together. Cream butter until smooth; add honey, vanilla and lemon. Combine butter mixture and dry ingredients. Fold in poppyseed mixture. (You may need to add a bit more flour as I did at this point if your dough is overly wet.)

Drop small spoonfuls onto buttered cookie sheet. Bake 15 minutes or until cookies are light brown at the edges.

Yield: about 3 dozen small cookies

Here author Harriet would insert some comment about harmony with nature through poppyseeds. I do like harmony. But today I just say this: Let the cookies cool. Eat. Enjoy. Be thankful for your oven. Be thankful in general.

That's the final thing I want to touch on today. Aforementioned friend Abby and I were talking earlier this week about being in this strange phase of life that we've found ourselves in and being confused and discouraged and disoriented. I had been frustrated about something, but with fierce independence, I said to Abby that I can handle this. I can. I can handle a lot of things, and I can take it, whatever it may be.

But wise Abby reminded me that actually, everyone "handles things." As long as we continue living, that is what we are doing. And so people handle tragedy, the death of those they love, cancer, unemployment, homelessness, depression, disappointment, betrayal... but sometimes they handle these things poorly.

So yes, of course I can deal with the situations I am in. The question is not if I can handle things (as they are and will be) but rather how I will handle them. Will I do so gracefully... or no?

I want to handle things gracefully.

But I don't always do a fabulous job of this. I think that at many times in the last few weeks in particular, I've been very far from graceful. And I apologize, flatmates, dear friends, family, all you who have had to deal with me being so clumsy. I'm working on regaining my balance, being stable, living as if I am dancing, figuring out what it means to be graceful when being graceful is so hard. Feel free to keep me accountable... but also please be patient.

Summary: The nice handyman fixed the oven, and we turned on our heat. I felt thankful. I made cookies. The thankfulness continued. I realized that life is not about just handling what comes my way but about doing that well. I decided that I need to live more gracefully.

And there it is. If I forget, I'll just go make some more cookies.