HONK!

In these dark, predawn hours I'm imagining the household awakening - ZEB crying a bit, his Nana or Grandpa comforting him. Mom's hands are busy with Meimei, his little sister, and they shake a little as she bathes her in the special soap and dresses her in the freshly laundered clothes. Dad helps out, or just stands behind Mom with a comforting hand on her shoulder.

And then they're off. And the hospital staff welcome them in. And the day begins; the day that a surgeon will fix Meimei's heart.

Through it all she's probably gurgling and charming. This baby girl who came into the world almost unobtrusively - she scheduled her appointment and kept it perfectly. She came home on time, without a fuss. She's lived the past four months in a home with a boisterous older brother and a great mom and dad, and lots of neighbors. Most of the time you would not think a thing is wrong - but from the very first day we thought today might come - just a little murmur through the stethescope - but it could lead to this.

Today is the day, though, that it gets fixed. And we'll all breathe a little easier.

So I look at the picture of the baby on my fridge, flanked by her brother, overlooked by her grandparents, kitty-corner from an old card from a friend that says, "HONK! Fact # 4 - Geese in formation honk at each other as a means of encouragement." And I think of all the "geese" honking for Meimei today, and I trust that God hears those honks, and I look forward to tomorrow.

The things we don't see

I've walked past the display for months now. I helped, a little, in setting it up. I have my favorite pieces - the mask with the enormous beak, the woven rugs.

But I never saw this one before.

Forced to go and take more photos of the Charis: boundary crossing exhibit for a project I'm working on, my eyes were suddenly opened to the simple beauty of one piece - tucked away in a corner, its neutral tones almost blending into the wall behind it. Perhaps it was the spilling rice that caught my eye. Or the rose petals. Maybe just the brown paper, so different than the garish gold, green, and red typical of this season.

I don't know why I saw it this time. But I love it.

Oblation, 2008

by Jo-Ann VanReeuwyk, United States, Canadian

Fiber; variable size installation

Why He Came

For he grew up before him like a young plant,

and like a root out of dry ground;

he had no form or majesty that we should look at him,

and no beauty that we should desire him.

He was despised and rejected by men;

a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief;

and as one from whom men hide their faces

he was despised, and we esteemed him not.

Surely he has borne our griefs

and carried our sorrows;

yet we esteemed him stricken,

by God, and afflicted.

But he was wounded for our transgressions;

he was crushed for our iniquities;

upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace,

and with his stripes we are healed.

All we like sheep have gone astray;

we have turned—every one—to his own way;

and the LORD has laid on him

the iniquity of us all.

Crazy, Small-Town Parades

I thought that the small-town parade had been left behind me in Glennallen when I moved here from Alaska - really, who could compete with the shutting down of a main highway for 45 minutes at the height of tourist season so that the Electric Company and Parks Service can drive big trucks down the road and throw candy to the crowd.

But Newtown almost compares. There is a whole lot of character - and a bunch of characters, too.

Textures of the 18th Century

You know those days that are just right? The ones where you wake up in the morning, having slept just enough, and you get up, and you do the things you need to do to get the day rolling, but no more. The ones where you take a walk, pick up a hot cocoa at Starbucks, stop in at the jeweler's and find that you only owe four dollars for your fixed earrings, and then continue your meander down the street. As you go you pass the Tubby Olive and the Grapevine Grocer, the Lubavitch and the Newtown Borough Hall. Flakes begin to fall as you approach your destination, the Newtown Theatre, and you cross the street to the chattering voices of children, coming out from their viewing of The Polar Express to the sight of snowflakes.

You make your way inside, buy your ticket, and find a seat, thrilling in the old red curtain that covers the screen and the miniature town and train that stretch from side to side of the stage. And a few moments later the lights dim, and the curtains open, and you take a trip back to your childhood as you watch a Disney fairytale and melt into your seat at the song where the hero and the heroine fall in love.

It's those days that make you think that it can't get much better. That this must be the pinnacle, but you realize that it's only 3 PM and you still have much to do. You walk back out into the chilly town and you remember that the Half-Moon Inn is open for visitors, so you wander back through the streets, approach the stone building at the corner of Center and Court, and reach your hand out to open the door...

And that's when you realize you were wrong. Because, as much as the day had been perfect so far, it only got better when you stepped back two centuries into the wood, metal, and stone of an old inn, full of the smells of crackling fires, mulled cider, and roasting duck.

After all that, the best part of your day were the textures of a lost century.

Scarlet and Silver

Tonight was a party to kick off the season with Bing, Rosemary, Danny, and Vera Ellen - i.e. White Christmas. But, my favorite color of the season is the reds - from the deep rubies to the dark crimsons. So, here, shades of scarlet:

Not Quite Winter Yet

I sometimes have a hard time believing that winter will really come here, to Philadelphia. Already, the sticky heat of summer has pushed the memory of snow piles up to my elbows deep into the recesses of my mind - I have to force myself to realize that I made those snow piles less than a year ago.

A reliable weatherman, a coworker, has predicted that there will be a snowstorm within the next two weeks, and, based upon his track record, I'm inclined to trust him. But for now, I look out at the sunny early mornings and late afternoons, at the brown leaves clinging to the trees, at the rakes still standing in front of the hardware store, and I think, "Not quite winter yet."

The view out my office window, late afternoon

Newtown Hardware, ready for anything

The single tree across the street, whose leaves alone have filled my driveway