on a quilt, a bucket, water, and soap…

The sun casts its warmth over the green earth as the quilt danced in the warm breeze.  Handmade by my husband’s great grandmother it has aged with charm and grace.  Tiny squares of soft cotton, so many squares, have faded and frayed, but unlike superficial beauty, time does not diminish its quality.

It dries in the sun because of a sick child and certainly not for the first time, I’m sure.  And it hangs on a brand new clothesline, as of today, because necessity is indeed the mother of invention.  We still don’t have a washer and dryer in the large laundry room, off the kitchen, but like the Beatles, we get by with a little help from our friends and it hasn’t been anything more than a slight inconvenience of hauling laundry baskets from cars to houses and back again. 

But, rather than letting vomit wallow and stew on blankets for later, which would be just as disgusting as it sounds,  I greeted my inner-pioneer woman and set to work with a large plastic tub, soap, and water.  Some soaking, swishing and rinsing later, problem solved.

Sometimes I think I would have made a good pioneer, except only ideally, because while I enjoy kneading bread and sewing clothes, I also like lattes, the internet, and air conditioning.  Still, today, as my afternoon was quiet thanks to sleeping children and a hard-working husband, I found the act of hanging clothes on the line and watching them dance in the sun peaceful and mesmerizing.   A great awareness of provision swept over me, reminding me though at times we may lack materially, we remain in such abundance.  In the way that sun gives us energy and life and power and sustains the whole world, it also freely and effortlessly dries wet blankets and cotton shorts. No questions asked, no machinery needed.  And it’s free and available to all.

I’m not anti-technology one bit, as I type this and instantly post it to be read by anyone, anywhere, but there is something calming and reassuring about doing things the old fashioned way, something gratifying and real, participating in timeless rituals.  In working with the hands, clarity comes to the mind and connects us to what is before us, both visibly and unseen.  And these days we’re constantly managing machines, while our heads run at frantic speeds with thoughts that aren’t given proper time to be wrung out, straightened, and arranged.

This act of hanging laundry on the line, it also speaks about control and reminds us how little we have, as we wait for the sun and depend on its presence.  It’s overwhelming how much the earth tells the story of God, the one who sustains and provides, and does it all in his timing.  It’s everywhere, isn’t it?

And they were calling to one another: "Holy, holy, holy is the LORD Almighty; the whole earth is full of his glory." Isaiah 6:3

On Ophelia and more tales from the neighborhood.

I snuck away to the front porch during bath time, which is always more fun, messy, and loud with daddy.  The darkness that teased of another thunderstorm had passed and the bluest sky was scattered with thick chiaroscuro clouds. 

Four feet away, she was sweeping her front porch and it being the first time we’ve crossed paths in five weeks, I introduced myself.

I wonder at which I point I should use fake names for my neighbors, in case I become wildly famous and one day, they start reading stories about themselves on the world wide web.  Until that point, I’ll call her Ophelia, which may or may not be her real name.  And which allows for the opportunity to say, “Ophelia and Olivia,” in the same sentence, which she thought was pretty spectacular too.  Bonus points to the one who immediately thought of Shakespeare.

Ophelia wore a stylish yet comfortable denim wrap dress and a bright orange tank top underneath with a pair of cute flats.  She’s a single black lady who has lived in the house for 20 years, in her 50’s perhaps?    Upon getting a good look at me as she pulled down her glasses, she asked how we liked the neighborhood.  I felt like it was a trick question.  If I loved it, was I oblivious to its horrors? If I hated it was I an awful and judgmental Northerner?  I went with the truth and responded, “We like it, and we haven’t had any trouble so far.  It seems like it’s an interesting place, but we like it.”  And with that, she stopped judging me.  Apparently, I passed the test.  I noticed her eyes soften during our chat and when she told me that she had been wanting to meet us for a while, but  wasn’t sure if we liked black people, I laughed out loud, at her bold, unhindered honesty and assured her that we did.   I like a person that doesn’t prance around with the small talk. 

And that’s when I learned that Ophelia is full of wisdom and she knows the not-so-secret workings of some of our neighbors, including the ways of the drug culture.   It wouldn’t take Sherlock Holmes to know which section of the street this may or may not be happening and she is tired of the “visitors” parking in front of our houses.   In her words,

“ The drug culture, they don’t care.  They don’t care because they don’t have anything to lose or anything to work towards. And they certainly don’t care about parking in front of people’s homes.  In fact, this guy, (pointing to an SUV), he pulled up here three days ago, with no overnight bag and nothing but a towel on his shoulder and he hasn’t left since.  Now, he doesn’t live here and he only shows up with a towel, he can’t be up to any good.”   

She’s fed up and she’s tired of the drug culture messing up our neighborhood. She’s going to call the cops.

I mentioned that we had only met the neighbors across the street and that we’ve heard some interesting stories, and as I did, I noticed Rose (the cat lady)  rocking on her front porch with her fire red ringlets and company of cats.  Ophelia’s eyes got a little shifty and gave me a knowing smile.

“Honey,” she said, “everyone has stories about everyone and they all think the other person is crazy,”  she narrowed her eyes over the rim of her glasses. “How in the world are we supposed to know the truth?  I’ll tell you. You believe what you know and what you see, that’s how. You trust your instinct and you’ll know the truth.”

And then she remembered that a blue Frisbee landed in her yard a few days ago,  and that she was keeping it safe until she could properly return it to us.  I went to leave my porch to retrieve it, but she stopped me, “Oh no, I haven’t done this in ages,” she laughed with a twinkle in her eye.  “Now stand back, I don’t know what’s going to happen.”  And she tossed that Frisbee into the air hitting the top of my porch and it fell directly two feet from where she was standing.   She nearly fell over laughing and I started and we both just really laughed together.  It was kind of great.

Our conversation came to a close as the family who lives across the street from her came home and she had to talk to them about all this traffic problem.  Ophelia is a woman of action, I tell you.  And she told me not to be a stranger, to knock on her door sometime soon and we’d have coffee.  And that she’s so glad she met me, she’s probably going to bake us a cake.

This neighbor is a gem, a real gem.  Until next time…

on the richness of life

The generous morning sun streams in, casting a halo on the peach and yellow blossoms in the jar, early birthday flowers.   And two little kids who were promised a treat for going to bed early eagerly devour the reward, even though they only kept up 70% of the bargain.  But, when a floppy child with bedhead stumbles into your room and says, I just woke up so that I could have my treat for going to bed,  the many attempts and long delays are forgotten.  
He wants to know where all the people are, because he can’t find a single person who was here, when he came out to use the potty last night, probably just to be sure there were in fact, no kids.
I fell asleep stuffed with delicious sweets and laughter and a heart completely blessed a night of friends new and old; conversations ranging from hilarious and ridiculous all the way to encouraging.   As I walked throughout the house closing windows and twisting shades, gratitude spilled out into the quiet darkness, for a home that is big enough to be filled and for the people to fill it.
I thought of the friends we left in Minnesota and I missed their presence in my home.  I thought about the fantastic contributions they would have added to the table.  Perhaps one of Danielle’s famous flourless cakes? Or the latest new culinary experiment that Elle would have tried.  I wondered what stroke of consistent genius my sister-in-laws would have presented.   And the local girls who couldn’t come because of last minute life.  The friend who would have brought cookies fresh from store bought dough, because no one at all hates cookies and everyone has something to offer that is uniquely them and beautiful.   And the one who recently moved away, but insisted upon telling me what she would bring, anyways.  I love that about her and I can’t wait to taste that Very Berry Coffee Cake.
In the last 11 years, in my winding trail from Michigan to Florida to California to Tennessee to Minnesota and now,  North Carolina, I’ve been fortunate to collect some of the finest people and moments in my vault of life.  And unlike the vault of a banker, the value never decreases, it only grows and memories sweeten with time.
Everyone has something to offer that is uniquely them and beautiful and we’re all better off when we believe it, about each other and ourselves. 
It’s the richness of life, the way the pieces are shaped just so.


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