Arts, crafts, and life

     I spent a day with Widya Harsana in Ubud, Bali learning the ancient art of batik tulis.  Batik waxed by hand with a chanting tool is known as batik tulis.  It’s the oldest, most traditional form of batik.  A pattern is drawn in hot wax onto a piece of cotton or silk cloth.  When the cloth is dipped into dye, those parts which have been treated with wax will not take up the color of the dye -  leaving white lines and space where the wax had been.

   Struggling to carefully apply hot wax with the small chanting tool, I frequently dripped wax in the wrong place onto the design I had carefully pencilled onto the fabric.  “Ugh.  I made a mistake.”  I said with frustration as I dropped another blob of wax onto my fabric.  “No,” my teacher said gently.   “In batik, there are no mistakes.  You just draw this wax into the design.”  And he showed me how to turn my unwanted blobs of wax into soft shading for the flowers in the design.   It turned out beautifully.  

     Too often we try to cover up our mistakes, hide them, or erase them quickly before anyone notices. That was my first impulse - to try to scrape the wax out of the fabric.  But my teacher showed me that that would just make it worse - creating an even larger area of unwanted wax.  

    What if all our mistakes simply become part of the art that we call life?    In batik, there are no mistakes.  What about our life? 

AF

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I am making you a scarf

in your school colors,

my hands stained by blueberries

like the ones growing near your porch.

Eating them now I remember

how you called my name, 

excited to discover the first fruits,

how you inspected each berry, 

picked the sweetest ones

and gave them all to me.

What am I doing?

Do I imagine there is some magic

in recalling the sweetness

that will make you remember too,

some power in my hook and yarn

and blue-specked fingertips

that can stitch us back together

before cold weather comes?

I want to believe it.

Silly me.

SS

Tomatoes, lemons, and remembering Clay

Please don't take offense at this:

I don't like tomatoes,

Normally, as a general rule.

But you are certainly the exception.

See, you are MY tomato,

And that changes things.

When I put a few vegetable plants in the ground,

Just a corner of the yard, two weeks ago,

I was only half-joking when I said aloud,

"Be fruitful and multiply"

As I covered your roots with compost and soil,

Hoping but fearful.

The problem is that I kill everything.

Keeping plants alive is not one of my skills,

And I told the man at the garden center as much.

"Not to worry," he said. "These are hearty."

I'm not sure I believed him,

Which is probably why I spoke my blessing as I planted. 

And now, through some strange alchemy,

Some miracle of sun and water, soil and fertilizer,

Time and luck, God and me,

Here you are, proof of life.

Small, green, promising ripeness in a few weeks.

By then, I may learn to love tomatoes.

SS
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      I reached in the onion bin to pull out an onion to chop for the Greek pasta salad I was preparing for dinner with friends who are staying with us.  It had been a busy week with two rounds of houseguests, leaky faucets, disappointing news, critters in the attic - plus the normal rush of work, church and life.
       But when I reached into the bin, I found not onions - but lemons.  In my hurried  absent-mindedness, I put the lemons in the onion bin - instead of in their proper place in the fridge. I've done this before - putting the cereal box in the fridge and the milk in the cabinet.  It's a cue to me, a red flag, that I've got too much going on in that moment or even in that day.  Absent-minded.  Those two words say it all.  My mind has gone AWOL and is off thinking about yesterday's worries or tomorrow's future stress.  I"m not at all focused on the present moment and the lemons end up in the onion bin. 
        Luckily, hiding under the pile of lemons was one yellow onion, just enough for a big bowl of pasta salad.  And the good news is that the dressing for the pasta salad used, you guessed it, fresh squeezed lemons.  Sometimes, life really does give you lemons,  and if it does, I have a great pasta salad recipe for you.

AF

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I Remember

      This week is my brother’s birthday. Happy Birthday, Clay!

      He would have been 52, but he’s eternally 33, always young in my mind. He asked me for two favors when he was dying. One was to help save him from the melanoma ravaging his body. Two was to not forget him.

      Of course, I could do nothing to save him, other than be there for the rough journey.   But remember him I have.

      Unlike my Mom, I don’t visit him at his gravesite. He’s not there for me. But when my boys play their sports and score a goal, I can hear my brother, who was an awesome athlete, cheering them on with me. I know he’s ecstatic that his frilly, ballet/jazz/tap sister ended up with three boys who can wield a Barbie as a substitute gun toy. He’d love that I sometimes wear camouflage instead of pink and have bruises from fending off his nephews.

      When I went to the movie, Hunger Games, I smiled at a gory scene he would have liked. He loved action, fantasy and horror movies. Sometimes I go to one just because I know he would have loved it. I'll laugh at jokes I know his mischievous self would have liked. I can still hear his deep, rich laugh.

      I have a friend who also lost her brother, but she says she rarely thinks of him now that so many years have passed. We all have our ways of coping, but for me, to remember is good – bittersweet and soul enriching.

      You mattered, Clay. I probably wouldn’t have had kids had I not lost you. My oldest son is named for you.  I remember.

      And I forgive you for calling me egghead, bookworm and apestink.

DB

Life is good.

“Listen--are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?” 

― Mary Oliver

Good Mistakes

      My son David recently landed a solo part in The Young Americans show that came to his school.  Interestingly, his group was told: If you mess up, mess up big.  I had to laugh -what great advice.  Own your mistakes.  Even revel in them.  It takes the pressure off.  There is a story about a pottery class where the teacher told one group to make their best pot in a given time.  The other group was to produce as many pots as they could.  the group that did the most imaginative work was the one that focused on quantity, not perfection.  Process not outcome.       

     My new philosophy in life is to jump in and live - see mistakes as life lessons.  My favorite writing expression is:  You can't edit a blank page.  When I get stuck on story leads, I'll just start typing random ideas.  I see what rises to the top.  Eventually something always does, though the process may be messier than I would have liked.  Sort of like a well-lived life.

DB

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     I always cry at weddings. There's something so enchanting and hopeful and holy about two people making lifelong promises to love one another. I am a romantic at heart. But I couldn't cry at this wedding, because I was the one standing up front with the couple, talking about love, asking them if they vowed those vows. I even got to pronounce the magic words that officially made them husband and wife. It was even more special because these were my friends Mary and Paul. I've known Mary for years, and have gotten to know Paul over the nearly three years they've been together. I know their story, at least a lot of it, know what they value, what they love, and so the service I wrote for them was very personal. During the benediction in particular I loved watching Mary's face light up, and a delighted "Ah!" escaped her lips. 
      This was the Lowcountry blessing I wrote for my friends:

May God fill your life with

The hope of a sunrise over the marsh,

The strength of the live oaks,

The joy of dolphins at play in the harbor,

The beauty of springtime azaleas.

Amen

     

SS

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Azaleas at Providence Baptist Church on Daniel Island

I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it... People think pleasing God is all God care about.  But any fool living in the world can see it always trying to please us back.  

Alice Walker, The Color Purple  

     More often than I wish,  I have to remind myself to slow down and notice the beauty that surrounds us.  But not in these early days of spring.  Every time I turn a corner, I am surprised by another bank of pale pinks, soft whites, fiery reds or rich purples.  The azaleas are putting on a show this year.  I pause in my rush through the day and let myself be dazzled.  I find myself more present to the world, finding the bloom in each moment.  Sometimes, life is just beautiful.

AF