Scissors and Thieves

Add to the list of random things my husband has at the moment I need them: a cardboard mailing tube, a pitchfork, thick brown wrapping paper, and a long metal ruler. He can also fix pretty much everything. A few weeks ago when I was visiting my parents' house, my mom sent me home with a round-bottomed copper bowl, used for chilling and whipping cream. It had a good-sized dent in it, and she wanted to know if my husband could fix it. Dents are tricky, but using a cushion of towels, an old softball, and a wooden mallet, C massaged the dent away until it was all but gone. He enjoys doing stuff like that, and is always looking for a new project. Unfortunately, I think I reached the limit of his skills this week, when I knocked my prized Gingher scissors off the sewing table, causing them to land hard on the wood floor and form a little burr on the blade. "You're going to have to take them to a professional sharpener," he said to me. I was already practically in tears because they are my best (and most expensive) scissors, still practically new, and I felt so bad for being careless. Then, surprised that my husband wasn't able to fix them, I was forced to confront the fact that he can't do everything. He's spoiled me up until now! But where do you get scissors sharpened?

Meanwhile, C has had problems of his own, trying to secure the yard from scrap-metal thieves, who snuck into our yard and took a few things last week, while we were in the house. Our neighborhood is full of empty houses, easy targets for thieves who steal and sell metal wires, pipes, and whatever else they can get their hands on. They were probably running out of houses to loot and thought our yard looked like easy pickings, with C's collection of old drainpipes, bales of wire, and metal roof sheeting, there for the taking. My dad said, "Oh, you got rid of some stuff!" which is true, but I would rather sell it myself and get the $2.50 (seriously, why not get a job instead?--scrap metal foraging does NOT seem worth it to me) than have strangers sneak into my yard (and possibly my house!) to get it.

So we've been thinking of ways to secure our little homestead, and this was the list I made of possible solutions:

1. Get a mean guard dog
2. Put up better fences
3. Set booby traps
4. Put all our metal items in one pile and electrify them
5. Put up motion/infrared detecting alarms
6. Put up video cameras, or signs saying we have them
7. Spend a lot of time doing target practice in the backyard so everyone knows we have guns

I like the booby-trap idea (covered pits, bear-traps, etc.), but apparently they are against the law. So are pellet guns in Durham, as it turns out. In fact, I don't think you can really do anything to hurt a trespasser these days, because they can sue you, even if it is their fault for trespassing. But this whole incident has made me think that it might not be a bad idea to brush up on my shooting skills and get licensed to carry a weapon, in case anyone were to break into the house. Meanwhile, I think the motion/infrared detecting alarms are the best solution. C's idea? He cut down the brush in the woods behind our house, put up No Trespassing signs where the men came onto our property. Then, underneath one of the signs, he hung a dead squirrel. So far, the thieves haven't come back.

New Year!!!

Well, I'm a little late, because I've been so bad about blog writing lately, but anyway, I just want to write down my New Year resolutions because they always say that if you write stuff down then you are more likely to do it. So...

1. Do my visiting teaching. I'm assigned to visit one woman in my church--just one! And yet for six months I have not visited her. I have no excuses. I resolve to visit her every month this year. (And actually, I'm off to a good start on this one, because I visited her last night.)

2. Do family history. I'm really excited about genealogy, and always have been, but with a really bad internet connection, it's pretty impossible to work online at home, and I'm too lazy to drive to the family history center, so for Christmas I bought C a new computer (well, it's for both of us) and we are going to sign up for our very own internet connection so we no longer have to steal the neighbor's, and then I'll be all set to go online and research both my family tree and his. I'm excited about doing his! Also, we have afternoon church now, so what better way to spend my Sunday mornings than doing family history, or indexing so that others can do theirs?

3. Go to the temple. This is a personal goal that I won't really talk much about here, but it's something I want to do and plan to do soon. I think it will make a big difference in my life.

So those are my goals, and I don't think they are overwhelming or anything, so I should have no problems, as long as I remember them and stay focused.

Meet Me At the Met

Even if you don't live in New York City, I encourage you to become a member of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Not only will your contribution help care for an immense collection of the world's finest treasures, but you will receive the quarterly Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin. Catching up on my periodicals, I've been reading mine from Fall 2010, devoted to highlights from among the museum's recent acquisitions. With gorgeous photos and captions written by the Met's experts, I feel like I've spent an afternoon strolling through the museum itself, though I haven't had to leave my comfortable chair.

Auld Lang Syne

The turn of the new year is always magical. For some reason, we as people like to mark days, record time's passage, and celebrate the closing of another chapter and the opening of a vast, unwritten page. It's also amazing to look back at a past year and remember everything that happened in that space of 365 days.

For me, this time of year now holds even more significance, as I look back at last New Year's Day, and remember that it was the day that I acted on a most incredible feeling. Home from New York City for the holidays, I had suddenly and unexpectedly been struck by the knowledge that I was going to marry my longtime friend, C. I explained it to him on New Year's Day, as we sat together on a desperately cold winter night, warmed by the fireplace inside the art gallery where he worked. The gallery was closed for the night, dark and still, but comfortingly full of beautiful artwork, made more intriguing by the firelight. However, C and I had our minds only on the future, and then-unknown possibilities. Could it work? How? Was it crazy?

Nothing was settled, but when I arrived back in New York the next day, I couldn't keep it from my roommates. "The strangest thing has happened, and I think I'm going to get married soon!" Nevermind the fact that C and I had never dated. I just knew, as certain as I knew my name, that it was going to happen. And it did. Six months ago we were married, and each day since then has been a treasure. It's hard to explain spiritual gifts, but this year I feel I have been inundated with them. My husband is a blessing, a wonder to me, an incredible gift, as well as a challenge. This year I was reminded that God knows me, has a plan for me, and has more blessings and miracles for me, if I will only look to Him.

Last night C built a fire in the backyard, and we sat together in its light, with warm hands and warm hearts, amazed at everything. Sometimes we feel like children, led along by a great Father, who we trust. Childlike, we listened to all the fireworks going off in the neighborhoods around us, the sirens, the lights, the loud booms and crashes, and we were thankful to be there together.

The Christmas Wrap Up

Another Christmas has come and gone, and this one quite memorable for a few reasons. First of all, it was my first Christmas as a married person. One of my wishes came true when we got our Christmas tree. C got it to please me, but I know he loves having it just as much as I do. Now he doesn't even turn the tree lights off at night, but we keep them on all the time, because it's such a pretty sight. The gift-giving was multiplied, but C did all the shopping. I thought I could make all my gifts, but of course I ran out of time. Anyway, we picked names in my family, and so we were only supposed to buy one gift, but C couldn't resist getting something for everyone, so when we drove up to my mom and dad's house on Christmas Eve, C had a Santa hat on his head and our car loaded with gifts. My nieces and nephews were overjoyed to see him, not just because of the gifts. He's their favorite uncle by far, the only one that will play games with them, carry them up into the tree-house, and run around the yard with. The kids were adorable, but little did we know that they carried a horrible secret...

After a wonderful Christmas Eve spent with my family, C and I spent the next afternoon and evening, Christmas Day, with his family. It was a lot of fun. So much delicious food, and the anticipation of snow in the air. His family is delightful. We arrived home late and went to bed, and three hours later I awoke as sick as sick can be. Ugh. A day or two later, my dad called and said that he, my mom, and my two sisters were all sick too. We'd caught it from my littlest cutest niece, who'd had it two days before Christmas Eve, and apparently these things are still contagious after the symptoms manifest.

Nobody likes being sick, but its worst of all when its a stomach bug and you've just eaten a huge Christmas dinner. Not to mention the scads of leftover cookies, pies, meats, and breads that you've been sent home with, and all the gifts of chocolate, nuts, and candies, which you now cannot enjoy. As the snow started covering the land, I moaned with agony, and have been too sick to eat anything but pretzels for the past three days. It's not fair! When everyone else was out making snowmen and sliding down hills on saucers, I was in a cocoon of blankets, sleeping all day and all night. Only today did I finally begin to feel a little better, to finally venture outside, to get out of bed for more than just a few minutes.

But the snow is already almost all melted away. The weekend half-lost. All the things I was going to do, undone still. Sigh! It was a really great Christmas nonetheless. I was able to enjoy both family get-togethers before getting sick, and now I've had three lovely days in bed watching TV and movies, with a wonderful man doting on me. I've read half a book, crocheted half a hat, and best of all, C is feeling fine. I guess he was blessed for being such a fun, kind uncle.

Stuff

I know I complain about all the stuff that C hoards, that is filling up our house, but there are times when his propensity for collecting comes in handy. Every time I need something, he miraculously has it! No need to go shopping for random things. Whenever I ask him for something, he just goes into another room, roots around for a few minutes, then appears with the thing I needed. So far he has provided me, on the spot, with: bay leaves, tiny earrings with real silver backs, pads of paper, a metallic gold pen, a knob for my crock pot, Christmas tree lights, and tapes of Christmas music.

It's Christmas Time

Finally! I'm going to try to start posting pictures of Durham churches, to follow my tradition of posting Harlem churches every Sunday when I lived in New York. I picked this one for today, partly because I already had a picture of it, and also because if you look carefully up at the very top, there is a tiny window and, though it's hard to see from my picture, the window has a nativity scene etched in the glass, with a manger and a star.

Yes, it's that time again! Christmas is almost here, and my mood has been very festive since Thanksgiving, when my sister-in-law gave me and C a handmade wreath bedecked in hollyberries, pine boughs, and spotted feathers. We hung the wreath on our front door, and then a week later it snowed, making the Christmas music on the radio all the more apt. At work, we had a big holiday open-house for our customers, friends, and family, and spent the entire week decorating a huge tree and making all sorts of last-minute decorating projects. Then, at church, we had our ward Christmas party, and C and I were in charge of coordinating the food. It was fun shopping for industrial-sized amounts of cider and hot cocoa, and manning the refreshment table to make sure no kids burnt their hands on the pot of hot water for the cocoa. I got to see children helping themselves to heaping portions of marshmallows as if it were a side dish. C voluntarily washed everyone's baking dishes after the entire table full of food was consumed, while ward-members performed talents on stage, decorated cookies in the back of the gym, and Santa himself made an appearance at the end. My mom told me that her ward party was going to center around "A Walk To Bethlehem" where successive rooms of the church would be decorated with the scenes of the story of Christ's birth, and kids would reverently go along and see all of them. Our party was more of a raucous hullabaloo, probably a result of all the sugary foods, but it was a lot of fun.

But outside the party, it was a rainy, dreary winter Saturday and, besides Christmas, my mind has been occupied with the tragedy of a wayward sibling. There's not much I can do about the situation--I've already given all the advice I have to give, and not even sure that it's welcome--so all I can do is pray, try to be a good example, and be available for any help or support that other family members might need. Sometimes I feel like doing something dramatic to try to fix the situation, but then again, I don't know that anything can really fix it except the person whose decisions are affecting the family peace. Then I wonder if I could have been a better sister, stayed in closer touch or given advice that would have prevented what has happened, but I don't know that, either. All I know is that from my own experience, keeping the Lord's commandments are the only way to find happiness, and I cannot keep them for another person. They must find that out on their own. But how hard it must be to be a parent and see your beautiful children falter and fumble in life and make horrible decisions and mistakes! I wonder if it seems like a waste, or if it is somehow possible to retain hope that your children will turn around, wake up, and become better? Certainly, it is possible, but it must be so hard. I know it's hard enough just being a sister!

Meanwhile, my own tiny family of me and my husband is doing wonderfully, and despite the wintry weather, we went and got a Christmas tree. Speaking of people changing, C has lived in this house for 16 years and never had a Christmas tree. I guess he didn't feel like making room for one, or going to the trouble for just himself. Yet I somehow convinced him that he could move a huge pile of his stuff into another room and thus clear a perfect space in our little family-room for a tree. He did it, and we brought home a lovely little Fraser Fir, which is now all bedecked in colored lights and flashy baubles. When he set it up in it's stand, the tree was still all tightly bound up, as it had been for travel, and C told me to wait until it relaxed and opened before decorating it, but I just couldn't wait. I found a radio station playing Christmas music, and set about rediscovering all my treasured ornaments--some handmade by my mother during her first year of marriage--while C brought down some of his own from the attic. When it was all done, he looked at it with wonder, like a kid for whom last Christmas was eons away and so everything about Christmas is new and amazing again. Not only is it his first tree in this house, but our first Christmas together. For that, I feel so blessed and happy. So, despite the weather and family drama, I'm going to enjoy this season! Sitting here, warm beneath blankets, beside my twinkly tree, my husband nearby, I feel perfectly content.

Thankful

This Thanksgiving season, I'm thankful for so much!

I'm thankful for my husband. One year ago, I had no idea I would ever get married, and I was just enjoying my life in New York, without a real plan. But the Lord had a plan and opened my eyes, and I've never been happier than I am now with my beloved C, who is a genuinely honest and principled man, a gem. He constantly cares for me, makes me laugh, and loves me like crazy. This morning we both woke up before the sun was up and just stayed in bed talking for about three hours until we had to get up or we'd be late for church. I have the feeling that if given the chance, we could just sit and talk to each other without losing interest for several days or more. And often, on Saturday mornings, he makes me a pancake breakfast in bed!

I'm thankful for my family. My parents are so wonderful, and my brothers and sisters teach me so much. And now I have a whole new extended family with C's relatives. We went over to his brother's house for Thanksgiving dinner and had a wonderful time talking with them. I admire his brother and sister-in-law's desire to adopt children from Africa, and I love the creativity and energy of his niece and nephew, as well as the wisdom and kindness of his parents. My new sister-in-law made us a gorgeous bent-wood wreath with holly, pine, and feathers on it. The day after Thanksgiving, we went to my parents' house and spent time with my mom and dad, my brother, and with my sister and her family. Her four kids immediately glommed onto C and he spent the next 4 hours tirelessly playing games with them. They are the cutest kids! And every time I go home, my parents have their arms open, wanting to know how they can help me and C in any way. I aspire to that kind of kindness and generosity.

I'm thankful for the gospel of Jesus Christ and how it blesses my life. I know where I come from, why I am here, and where I will go after I die. I know that I can repent and be forgiven of sins, and I know that I am a child of a loving Heavenly Father, whose son Jesus died to atone for the world's sins. I know there is a prophet, and that he teaches the truth, and I know that the truth can be found in scriptures, both ancient and modern. If I follow the truth, I can be reunited with my family and with Jesus after death. This knowledge gives me so much comfort and direction in my life, and I know it has saved me from a lot of sadness.

I'm thankful for the beautiful earth. C and I often go hiking, and even though the woods are brown and barren seeming this time of year, and the air is cold, the earth still has so much beauty to offer. Our garden is dead and withered, but in the backyard a huge camellia bush has begun blossoming, and the flowers are large and pink and gorgeous. Birds fill the air with color and song, squirrels chatter and play, and the days have been so sunny.

I'm thankful for my job. Since C lost his job in September, I've become the breadwinner in our family, but I make enough money to support us in all of our needs, and not only that, I really love what I do. Me working gives C the opportunity to accomplish much-needed repair and maintenance on our house. I bring home tons of fabric with which to make things really cute things for my home, my relatives, and to sell. My coworkers are fun and friendly, and I have really enjoyed learning some new skills.

I'm thankful for my health, which is strong, and for C's health. I'm so thankful for my generous, happy, fun, and interesting friends. I'm thankful for delicious food, for a warm home, and for television. I'm thankful for well-written books, my sewing machine, good neighbors, and the fact that no mice live in my house! There are so many things I am thankful for, and so few things I lack. I thank my Heavenly Father for all these blessings, and hope that everyone might be similarly blessed.

The Bachelorette: Cat Edition

Just as I predicted, the neighbor's cute little gray kitten that used to spend all day pouncing on things in our backyard has grown up into a slender gray siren, and is currently attracting every male cat within a mile radius. She rolls around in the piles of oak leaves that C has raked up, and purrs invitingly at her suitors, who lurk in all the bushes. So far there are three principal tomcats vying for her attention, and I'm accepting bets on which one will become the baby-daddy. Bachelor #1 is white with dark gray spots, and may or may not belong to the guy who lives two doors down from us, who comes out at dusk and calls "Kittykittykitty." Bachelor #2 is a short-haired gray guy, who seems tidy enough to be someone's housecat. Bachelor #3, who C is betting on, has long gray Persian fur, and has been a long-time stray in this area. A year or two ago he had a hurt paw and was so bedraggled he looked like a dustmop, C tells me, but he's looking fine now, and since he doesn't belong to anyone, he hangs around here the most. All three of them constantly chase the gray lady-cat around and when she gets exhausted from the attention, she hides in the rafters of our garage. Meanwhile, C takes shots at all the males with his bb gun, just to scare them away but, nevertheless, our yard has turned into a cat soap opera.

The cat's don't bother me so much, though I'm torn between wishing the neighbor would get his cat fixed and anticipation at the idea of having adorable gray kittens being born, probably, in the crawl space under our house. Kittens are so cute!!! I'm mostly just hoping that the freshly turned dirt in my garden beds doesn't become a giant litter box for all these gentlemen cat-callers. I've been weeding and turning the earth, so it will be ready for spring planting. I've also been investing in spring: planting daffodil and tulip bulbs in little clumps around the backyard. It was a warm sunny morning today, and felt so good to be outside working the land. We still haven't had our first frost, and there are still some hardy mosquitoes out there; you can be sure they found me. C did battle with the fence on one side of the property, and replaced some old wooden posts with metal ones. The sound of his cursing, as he extricated wire and wood from the tangles of ivy, kudzu and barbed ilex, drifted on the breeze and mixed with chickadee tweets, wind-chimes, Latin music, and the sounds of kids playing somewhere in the distance. But when he's done with a project like that, the frustration instantly melts away, replaced with satisfaction and pride. We have a stronger fence now, and in the spring-time we'll have lovely flowers. And kittens.

The Glass Castle

For book club this month, we read The Glass Castle, a memoir by Jeannette Walls. Unfortunately, I got completely mixed up and thought book club was tonight, not last night, so last night I was curled up in my bed, finishing the book. It would have made for a great book club discussion, but from what I heard, several of my friends didn't like the book very much. I actually liked it a lot.

Jeannette Walls tells the story of her childhood--a tale of incredible survival. She seems to honestly report memories of being raised as one of the four children of a pair of grifters. Her alcoholic father could never hold down a job or money to support his family, and her free-spirited artist mother neglected her children's basic needs in order to pursue her own flights of fancy. The children were fending for themselves from the time they could walk. Jeannette recalls being able to cook herself rice on the stove when she was 3 years old, which in itself isn't a bad thing, but when she gets burned and hospitalized, then busted out of the hospital by her parents in the middle of the night so they don't have to pay the bill, the reader starts to see the problem.

With Jeannette's mom and dad it was feast or famine--small periods of stability when her dad would get a job and they'd enroll in school, like the one in Arizona that gave the kids free bananas, then times when the family was living in a rotten rat-infested house on the side of a freezing West Virginia mountain with no plumbing, electricity, or telephone. When the kids miraculously found a diamond ring in their dirt yard one day, their mom declared she'd rather keep it for her self esteem than sell it to buy food, of which they had none. On one hand, you curse the dad and mom for being such horrible examples, and then you admire the fact that they taught their kids to read and write at age 3, do their math homework in binary code, and to think about things like planets, geology, and polar exploration.

The book is written so well, the reader rolls right through, seamlessly transported through experience after jaw-dropping experience highlighting the struggle these kids had to grow up. It reminded me of a tragic Little House on the Prairie. The memories were sad, but engaging and enlightening, so I can say that I enjoyed the book while I certainly do not condone the parenting style it described.

The kids do survive and three out four seem to turn into amazingly talented, successful people, especially the author. At age 17 she follows her older sister to New York, becomes a journalist, and goes to Barnard College. Meanwhile, her parents become homeless on the streets of New York City, but seem to enjoy it just as much as anything else they did in their lives, and it's hard to feel sorry for them at all. One of my favorite parts in the book is when Jeannette relates a college class she was in, where her professor was talking about homelessness. The teacher asked the question whether homelessness is a result of drug abuse or the lack of proper social security and economic opportunities. Jeannette answered that she felt it is sometimes neither, that "people get the lives they want." Her professor became angry and asked, "What do you know about the hardships and obstacles that the underclass face?" and Jeannette, a bit ashamed of her past at that point, and unwilling to expose herself, did not explain that she knew firsthand. I think this book is her way of finally explaining to that teacher, and the rest of the world. Sometimes I would stop reading and wonder how she could be so honest about everything, and wonder if there were even darker memories that were just too painful to write down, but then, some of the things she shares are so horrible, I don't know that she could have experienced much worse.

The title comes from a grand scheme Jeannette's father had, or at least a tall tale he told his children. He was working on the plans for a glorious mansion he was going to build, all of glass, powered by solar cells, where his family could live in luxury and self-sufficiency. It struck me that a glass castle was an apt metaphor for the bubble of artificial security that Jeannette's parents built around the family, a fragile gloss that was so transparent and easily broken every time they betrayed their children's trust.

I liked this book because it had a happy ending for Jeannette and her siblings, so it was in many ways a satisfying story of growth and the overcoming of obstacles. There were small moments of fun, adventure, and redemption throughout. I also liked it because it opened my eyes to the fact that there are people in the United States probably still living like Jeannette did, in similarly crazy families, in conditions that would shock us. I wondered if being separated into foster families would have been better or worse for these kids, who formed their own team against the world early on, and loved and protected each other. It made me remember being a kid and how there were always certain kids at school that didn't really fit in because of what they wore or how they smelled, and I wonder why other kids are so cruel and don't realize that children are entirely dependent on their parents for everything. I also thought about alcohol addiction, and this book only added fuel to my belief that alcohol is one of the most dangerous and destructive substances on earth. I read with interest about the author's final conflict: a woman with a Park Avenue address has homeless parents. What would I do in that situation? What would I have done as a child in such a family? Would I have even survived to the age of 7 with such a life?

I admire the author and am inspired that she could become so successful after such a childhood, and wonder how much of that success came from the strength she gained from growing up fast and struggling to survive. Nature or nurture? Not all poor neglected kids turn out great, and not all rich pampered kids do.

So, I guess I liked the book mostly because it was so well written and engaging, because it inspired me, and because it was so thought-provoking. It illuminated a slice of American life I might never have known about otherwise, and real life fascinates me. If this book had been fiction, I would not have believed it, but because it is true, I am fascinated.

Shoes

My husband and I bought matching slippers yesterday. As she rang them up, the checkout lady at the shoe store eyed us and said, "Ya'll are too cute." But I couldn't help it. We were actually at the store looking for some sensible shoes for me, because all I have are high heels, flip flops, a pair of running shoes, and a pair of boots. I need something normal, that I can wear with socks, to book club or to the grocery store. But while I was trying to justify a pair of cute Pumas or some low-top Converse, C went over to the men's section and started putting on fleece-lined suede slippers. He needed some, and the price was good. And they looked so comfortable and warm that I went over and dug out a pair of men's size 7 that just barely were small enough to stay on my feet and announced that I was getting some too. I didn't get any sneakers, but that's okay. My feet are warm and cozy right now.

On the way home from the store, we passed a couple out for a late-afternoon walk, and they were wearing identical hooded sweatshirts. "Are we going to turn into one of those couples that dresses alike all the time?" I laughingly asked. "Only if you start wearing ripped up camouflage pants and pocket T-shirts," he said.

Randoms

1. Hopefully I'm not getting a sinus infection. I've had allergies pretty much since the beginning of September, but I hate taking pills because they make me feel like I'm sleepwalking, so I just suffer, and some days are better than others, but today I feel like I'm really getting sick. Ugh.

2. Is it possible that an oven thermometer is wrong? I'm still getting to know my new/old oven here at my new/old house and the thermometer reads about 50 degrees higher than the knob on the oven, which seems crazy, so who do I believe? It does seem like my cookies are taking longer to bake when I obey the oven thermometer, but maybe I've always had hot ovens. Anyway, just so you know, you can't put under-baked cookies back in the oven after they've been out for a while. It just never works.

3. It's time to make a list of things to make people for Christmas!!!! Hopefully there is still enough time to make everything.

An Update

What's new? Well, C continues to work on the kitchen, which is great, but there is still no where for the home teachers to sit. They want to come over soon, but I don't know what to tell them, and now it's getting too cold to sit out on the porch. The days are sunny but brisk now, and yet we still have not turned the heat on in the house. Instead, we have about 8 blankets on the bed, and space heaters, and I bake as often as I can. But mostly I have been sewing--making things for Christmas gifts, because it's coming up soon! I'm going to make all my gifts this year, if possible, and since there are a lot of people I want to give things to, I'd better start now.

Work is great--I've learned how to operate the fabric printers, which is very exciting. It can be either very rewarding or very frustrating depending on whether or not they decide to work properly. They are very temperamental. Half of them are named after Three Stooges and the other half after Star Trek characters. Then there is Edna, the only girl, and I have no idea who she is named after. They like humid air, so the print room is rather dank at times, but it doesn't bother me, because I get so caught up in the printing process that I become focused and addicted, and I don't even want to stop for lunch. "Just one more print!" I say, but there is never an end to them.

We printed a lot of bacon fabric recently, I think for Lady Gaga meat dress Halloween costumes. So much bacon fabric! I didn't do anything for Halloween. I was super tired that night, and knew I was going to be useless, so I just got into my pajamas around 8 and watched TV and ate popcorn. C went to visit his mom and dad, so I was home alone, and then the doorbell rang! I remembered that I'd turned on the porch light, like usual, having forgotten about trick-or-treaters. And I think it must have been some sad kids out there, because I didn't answer the door. For one thing, I didn't have any candy, and for another thing I couldn't open the front door if I wanted to because it is nailed shut. That is one of the things I'm trying to get my husband to change about the house, but it is a pretty sketchy neighborhood, and I know he doesn't want anyone to break in again. Still, it would be nice to eventually open it for guests, at least. Meanwhile, I was quiet until I heard the kids leave and drive away and then I turned off the porch light. So sad!

The other sad thing is our yard, which is in need of some tlc. I know it's getting to be winter, and everything is going to be dead anyway, but I'm vowing now to go outside and weed for at least a half hour every day when I come home from work. Then things will be in better shape in the spring, and my husband and I can plant things then. He's been lamenting about how wild it all looks, but I rather like a wild garden, and it doesn't bother me when plants get out of control.

I'm really loving life right now, loving being married, and loving the time that my husband and I spend together. Sometimes we make a fire in the backyard and roast hot dogs and marshmallows, and sometimes we do more mundane things like Saturday night when I cut his hair for the first time. I'm kind of impressed that I was able to do it, and he didn't hate it, either. He just hated sitting still, but what boy doesn't?

So, that's the news. I know, I know... I'll try to write more often!

Testimony

This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best,
Night, sleep, death and the stars.
~Walt Whitman, "A Clear Midnight"

This week I've been thinking a lot about death and life. When a friend or family member dies, it forces you to decide what you believe in. Are you going to see that person again? Where are they now? What do they think, and what are they doing? Being a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (aka Mormon), I've been taught things about life and death since I was a child. Still, when faced with the crisis, I now decide to accept or reject the things I've been taught. I accept them, for several reasons. Here I will give a few of the main ones.

I guess the first reason would be because it sounds great. LDS believe that after someone dies, that isn't the end, but the spirit lives on, reunited with spirits of ancestors and friends, and waits until the final moment when Christ returns to the Earth and everyone is resurrected. We believe that this spirit world is very similar to our world, and that spirits there can continue learning. For example, if they never heard about Jesus on earth, they can learn about him there, and accept or reject his gospel. So anyway, it's comforting to think that death doesn't just mean lights out, the end. To think that I can see my loved ones again makes me happy, and I want to believe that I will.

Second, it makes sense to me. With my belief in a loving God who is actually a Heavenly Father, I believe that he would not make us just for this earth life alone. Such an existence would not be very meaningful to him, and why would he put so much effort into teaching and schooling us if there is nothing after this. It makes sense to me that if there is a God, then there is life for us with him at some point after this life.

Third, I believe because I trust the people who have taught me. My parents are honest people, and they have shared with me the most personal moments in their lives, when the veil that separates this life from the spirit world has become so thin that they have seen for themselves that there is life beyond mortality. To deny it would be to call them liars. The same goes for prophets, both old and new, who have testified of life after death, which becomes possible because of Christ's atonement for our sins and his resurrection. I believe the prophets, and I believe in Jesus.

Fourth, and perhaps most importantly, I believe because I just do. There is a spiritual part of me that asks questions, seeks, feels, and receives answers. Many others believe in the Holy Spirit, by which it becomes possible to receive inspiration, answers, and comfort from God. To some it comes as a voice, to others just a warm good feeling. For me it is a good feeling, a clearness of thought, a burst of happiness from deep within, and a confirmation inside of myself that answers the question I'm asking. It's very hard to explain this sometimes, and I know that for others it can be much more of a struggle to receive answers and feel faith in things they don't understand. Death is very hard to understand, and separation from a loved one is painful enough to cloud the mind and heart for a long time.

However, I know that after winter comes the spring, after trials come blessings, and after hard work comes reward. Thus, somehow, after death comes life again.

I was thinking the day most splendid, till I saw what the not-day exhibited,
I was thinking this globe enough, till there sprang out so noiseless around me myriads of other globes.

Now, while the great thoughts of space and eternity fill me, I will measure myself by them;
And now, touch’d with the lives of other globes, arrived as far along as those of the earth,
Or waiting to arrive, or pass’d on farther than those of the earth,
I henceforth no more ignore them, than I ignore my own life,
Or the lives of the earth arrived as far as mine, or waiting to arrive.

O I see now that life cannot exhibit all to me—as the day cannot,
I see that I am to wait for what will be exhibited by death.
~Walt Whitman, "Night on the Prairies"

DLF

There was no one in the world like her. Seriously, is there anyone else who hates cinnamon? She loved dance movies, dance television shows, and we shared a huge crush on the American Idol contestant Constantine Maroulis. She loved Las Vegas, the color red, the Bob & Sheri radio show, sushi, grilled peaches, and bald tattooed guys. She had a passion for helping others, especially children. She worked with sight-impaired kids, and knew sign language and could read braille. She was always where there was work to be done. The last time I saw her, she was helping prepare a meal for over 400 people, just because she wanted to help a friend out. She was so excited about my wedding, calling it "the event of the year" but at the reception she rolled up her sleeves and helped out in the kitchen. She was faithful and religious, but so funny. She would gripe about having so many church responsibilities, saying "if only the Jewish side had won!" but I took great strength from her testimony and dedication. I had immense admiration for her, so much love, and enjoyed her friendship so much. I never thought there would be a time when I couldn't make plans to go to Shiki Sushi with her and the gang, or chat with her about the latest funny thing we'd heard on Bob & Sheri. In your thirties, you don't expect your friends to die. I'm going to miss her so much.

Exploration

The days were getting shorter and colder, and I begged to turn on the heat in the house, but instead my husband just put two more wool blankets on the bed and offered me a selection of fine aged flannel shirts to wear. I drove to my parents house and got all my sweaters out of their attic, and put away all my summer dresses and skirts. Then, a few days later, it was 87 degrees again and I found myself chasing the ice cream truck down the street because I thought I was going to die if I didn't have something frozen to eat. Such is the fickle nature of the Southern autumn.

Sunday was a warm and gorgeous fall day, and C and I decided to explore our neighborhood. We had heard tell of a new renovated pedestrian bridge that crosses a major highway near our house, and so we set out to find it. An hour later, sweaty, dirty, and clutching our knives (we have to arm ourselves in my neighborhood--or at least we feel better if we do) a seemingly dead-end street on the wrong side of the tracks led us to our destination, and we stood atop the R. Kelly Bryant, Jr. Bridge, feeling the refreshing breeze from semi-trucks speeding below us, and gazed at the romantic Durham skyline. But we didn't cross the bridge, because on the opposite side there was a sketchy looking man with a bottle in a brown bag, just loitering. The main reason for renovating the bridge, I heard, was to make the walls transparent so that people couldn't get mugged and beaten up on it without being seen by cars below, but we didn't want to test things.

Now, I may be painting a negative picture of my neighborhood and town, but I actually really love Durham, and I loved exploring my neighborhood with my husband. Walking, you see so many things you would never see in a car. We passed a cement factory with amazing huge cement-rendering vats protected by cement fences. We saw what used to be a huge train yard, where the depot is now a "green" flea market space. When we passed it, dozens of Mexican families were packing up what must have been a huge food-oriented gathering. We walked down shanty-lined streets, where the poorest tobacco-factory workers lived back in the 1930s and 40s, and where things haven't gotten much better. And we traversed streets of once-gorgeous Victorian houses, bedecked in crumbling gingerbread trim, now with broken windows and gaping holes. Someone's carefully constructed quartz-studded sidewalk is now cracked and edged with overgrown weeds. Some places in the middle of town felt like we were in a rural setting, the vines had so taken over. A red and white stucco church we passed made me feel like I was in a Mexican village, but the watchful eyes of a guard dog living on a tight leash under a porch brought me back to reality. People don't have much here, but they protect it fiercely. C and I both love to see the decay, the layers of time and weather, even though we wish things were better for the people and places on this side of town. We are fascinated with our neighborhood, even while alert for the danger it holds.

The pinecone-strewn trail leading away from the bridge brought us to a busy road, where a tattoo parlor vied with a beaux arts church for attention. A tattered awning fluttered from the side of the next nearest building, abandoned and caved in, but still bearing a trademark feature of this town: glass block windows, half broken, half gleaming in the brilliant autumn sun.

Playing Games

Note to self: Never play Scrabble with an ex-con. My brother was in prison for a little while, and one of the things he was allowed to do in the clinker was play Scrabble. So of course he decided that if he was going to play, he was going to win, and he memorized all the two-letter and a lot of the three-letter words in the official Scrabble dictionary. If you challenge his words, he proves you wrong and you lose all your turns, until he plays nonsense words and you're too scared to challenge them. Sigh. I guess I'm not the Scrabble champion in my family any longer. But that's okay. I'm really happy that he has gained his Scrab-fabulous skills, and I think he ought to go compete at the Scrabble Championship games, which I'm sure exist somewhere.

"So why won't you play with him anymore then?" my husband asked me. "Just because you aren't going to win, you aren't going to play Scrabble?" Sigh... What fun is a game that you know you can't win? I'll stick to Scrabble Beta games on facebook with E and Peter (not that you can't beat me, E! You have many times), and long Sunday afternoon Scrabble games with my husband where we go to look up a word in his gigantic unabridged dictionary and end up poring over diagrams of battleships or beetles.

And maybe I'm a word snob, but I just think that if you play a word in Scrabble, you should know what it means. Half the fun of playing an obscure word is the look on faces of people who go, "What does tripe mean?" The rest of the fun comes when you reply with, "Oh, you know, a cow's stomach." It's funny 'cause it's true.

Anyway, maybe I'll play Scrabble with my brother again sometime. I'm really happy for him because he and his wife are expecting their first baby and they just found out it's going to be a girl! I'm happy because it's so much more fun to sew things for girls than boys. Dresses are a hundred times easier to make than collar-shirts, I discovered recently. In fact, I think I will have a hundred dresses made before I figure out how to fit the collar to the yoke on the shirt I'm trying to make for my nephew. What's a yoke, you ask? Well, you'll have to play Scrabble with me to find out.