Lifted Up!

Did you see that movie "Up?" It was animated film, with Ed Asner voicing the grumpy old man. It was a cute movie, but honestly, what I remember most is the scene where tons of colorful balloon are attached to the grumpy old man's home and is lifted up and away. It was a "feel good" movie and the opportunity to suspend my disbelief at the scientific impossibility of balloons transporting a whole house was fun and fantastical -- "funtastical."

There are times when I feel that high and lifted up. Seeing my family, having a stress-free day, enjoying breath taking scenes, being creatively fed and hearing certain songs can all cause that lifted experience.

There are several hymns that have the power to elevate my being. I'm particularly fond of "Victory in Jesus" and "He Lives." Those are two great camp meeting and Easter Sunday choices. "Amazing Grace" is another old stand-by that is near and dear to many and chosen often at funerals. I've heard bag pipers play it in a way that touches me at my very foundation and leaves me shaking. But my favorite is "It Is Well With My Soul."

It takes me back to my three years as a ministry student at Asbury Theological Seminary in Wilmore, Kentucky. Chapel times were not to be missed as the singing was amazing, the preaching powerful, and the presence of God was palpable. Imagine singing "It is well with my soul" with a large group of people, the majority men, singing our hearts out, feeling and living the words, at a volume where you did not hear your own voice separate, but one with the others. 

Now, I just see the words and I am once again reminded of that presence of God, I am lifted up and I am a part of something big and amazing.

Hairy Adjustments

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I've always thought that my hair was my best physical quality. When I was younger people always commented on it's deep almost black color and envied the thickness of it. Just like both of my dark haired parents, it began to show white snippets at a young age, even when I was in      high school.

 I remember the boys in the back row of the church choir would find them and pull them out for me. That practice ended quickly as I feared I would tempt fate in regard to the thickness quality.

For years, hairdressers requested the privilege or rescuing the signs of aging and wanted to dye my locks a variety of colors. I denied those ardent requests. Every time. The only exception to my natural color way of life was a few years back, when while working with a youth group I went bright pink. It was pretty fun. The best part of it was when my long-suffering husband came home from work -- he didn't say a work, didn't do a double take, didn't miss a beat. Just like everything else in our lives together, he just took it in stride.

Now in my middle fifties I have more white than dark brown. Sometimes it surprises me, but I've never thought of trying to cover it up.  I think its beautiful and I attempt to tell every other white haired woman I see, just how gloriously glamorous she is.  I'm often asked about my "highlights." It delights me to tell them that these whites are all natural and I've earned everyone of them.

But I do get so tired of taking care of hair. It's mind boggling all the products that we purchase or have available to us to get rid of hair, increase hair, color hair, volumize hair, curl, straighten and color hair. So it was in that mood that I went to my sweet hairdresser this week.

"Shave it!" I said. A little at a time she took it off.  "More!" I demanded.  "Just leave me some bangs and buzz the rest!" I said, declaring my independence from hair slavery. She did. What an exciting new adventure.

But as I was driving home, I realized that I'd just had my best feature shaved away.  It was now a fluffy mess in a waste basket in downtown Bad Axe.  When I got home, I ran to the mirror.  Oh my.  My head is kind of a pleasant shape, I thought.  My husband and I went out to eat.  I found myself very self-conscious.  I asked Dave, "Am I ugly now?"  Bless his heart, he assured me that I wasn't.

It's taken me a couple of days to get used to my new hairdo and to find my confidence again. I don't have to be beautiful, but I do have to feel good about myself.  I looked into the mirror as I put on a great big pair of earrings -- my favorite kind.  I smiled at my image.  Hey -- that really worked.  I smiled again.  I don't look as bad as I thought.  Now, my smile is my best feature. And I'm okay with that.

Tea Time

I never take the time to have tea. I have a cabinet full of lovely tea cups and tea pots and I usually just look at them and think of how lovely it would be to take tea. There are numerous containers of tea in the cupboard.  It gets purchased and then it sits there. 

But today, I decided was the day I would take tea in the afternoon and delight in the experience. I loved it.  What a wonderful idea to incorporate that soothing respite into each day.

Usually at about 2:00 each afternoon, I turn into a lazy bones.  You might say that I turn into a total couch potato, however a Lazy Boy potato would be ultimately more accurate. Instead of succumbing to the temptation to take a two hour nap, totally waste a good afternoon and not be able to get to sleep tonight -- I put the tea kettle on. The I unearthed my favorite yellow tea pot accompanied by a daisy themed cup and saucer.  The little details of the teapot are incredibly beautiful, yet simple. The nob on the lid, the end of the spout and at the bottom of the handle -- all little heart shapes. It makes me happy to see the tiny pot and even more so, to make use of it.

I filled the mesh strainer with  a couple of scoops of my favorite -- hot cinnamon herbal tea. It smells and tastes heavenly. And I feel quite genteel and fancy with this touch of civility in my afternoon.

My plan is to do this again tomorrow. I believe I need some shortbread or maybe scones to broaden the experience (and my tummy) even further.

It's long past nap time. I didn't need it. My energy was buoyed by a pause that fed me in so many ways. On another day, perhaps I will invite a friend over for tea -- with crumpets?

Happy Day!

Just a good day at the Best of Times Farm. Don't you love it when life is grand and you like getting up in the morning?

Well Woven

Whenever you put color together, it creates something beautiful. I'm learning to weave. It's so freeing that that weaving can be as simple or as complicated as you like. For the time being, mine shall be quite simple -- and colorful -- and fun. It's one of those seemingly basic skills that have been around for a very long time is many cultures around the world. It's a simple act of bringing something together, weaving weft through warp and creating something new and sturdy, useful and beautiful.

Color! Color and More Color!

Clouds of prepared wool

Oh my but I love color.  As a child, I loved all things colorful, but there was always and encouragement to be more tasteful in my brightness, tone things down a bit.  When I was a young adult I believe that black and white was mature, conservative and quite professional.  So I kept it calm and professional for a long time.

Then one day I just exploded and had to have color in my life.  Lots of it.  Even on things that are understood to not be colorful -- I wanted there to be color.  Tired of always having modest color cars --red, pink and yellow became the new norm.  Houses are meant to be brown, black, white and taupe.  I had a house that was turtle yellow with bright pink shutters.  It was delightful.  Having color again was like I'd been deprived of air, and finally had an endless supply of invigorating oxygen, gulping it in to keep lively.

I hear the terminology that some people are afraid of color.  What the heck does that mean, and how did it ever become a thing!?  What on earth ever possessed a group of people to decide that it is a good and desirable state to be lacking color? 

One of the pivotal moments of joy in my life came the first time I saw "The Wizard of Oz" in color. It was the early 70's before I saw the movie on my grandmother's color television. Before that, I'd always loved the movie (except for the scary flying monkeys) and had no idea that there was that change from a black and white setting while Dorothy was in Kansas, to vibrant color when she landed in Oz.  Oh my, but color made such a difference in the joy of watching that movie.  Many of the scenes made so much more sense and the contrast between Dorothy's two world became even more pronounced.

We raise Pygora goats for their fiber and because the make such wonderful companions.  I'm on a wonderful quest to harvest, spin, dye, weave, crochet and otherwise use all that luscious yarn- to- be in whatever way I can.  I'm quickly becoming a fiberaholic and someday I'm hopeful my skills might match that level of fiber acquisition. Maybe I'm not overly concerned about that.

The above photo shows the final clouds of fiber from an entire years worth of Sweet Pea, Daisy and Indiana Jones growing out there coats. I'm so proud.  There were so many dye colors to chose from -- it was a heady moment of possibility.  You'll notice that one batch, upper left, is left au natural.  That's because all colors are beautiful -- not just the bold.

I had pink hair once, too.

More Than I wanted to Know

My ancestry on my mother's side of the family is well documented.  My family has been in America for a very long time.  In fact, research shows that a family member came over with the second wave of pilgrims, after the Mayflower.  I know that a multiple great grandmother was a Shawnee Indian, but she was only noted as "a squaw" with no name given.  Many in my line fought in the Revolutionary War, the Civil War and other wars after that.  I am quite proud of my heritage.

On the father's side of the family, we know that there's a good share of German in there as Casper Wilhelm Von Knecht came from that far off land.

But I like those commercials that connect you with all sorts of information and give you names of family members that are out there waiting to meet you.  Unfortunately, I didn't salivate in a tube that gives you leaves of information on the computer.  I went with the one that gave me ridiculously vague information.  It pretty much confirmed things, but gave me a more general connection with the European continent.  I liked that.  It made me feel a bit more refined -- fancy even.

Then I turned to the page that you see above.  It gives my Neanderthal variant.  Who wants to know what there Neanderthal number is and that they are in the 56th percentile.  Not me.  So much for feeling fancy.  Indicators include that of having  straight hair that doesn't curl easily.  Yep, that's me.  The list also included heavy back hair.  Fortunately that genetic trait missed me, but my Daddy didn't.  He was a bear.  So my Neanderthal-ness is well represented. 

I was really embarrassed.  Should I start a support group?   Should I delete said information? How do I balance that information and still feel like a civilized, well educated woman of this century? Do I need to buy a club for a fashion accessory?

Maybe I can't.  I confessed this to my hairdresser, primarily because I'm too primitive to have a therapist.  I thought if I could just admit this major flaw in my genetic code, I could deal with it better.  Admitting the problem is the first step, right?

We laughed about it.  Then she gave me a whole new outlook.  This could be manipulated to explain every weakness and failing, every mistake and failure I've ever had. "Why can't you be better at math, Karen?" My highly plausible response could be, "Well, you know, we Neanderthals are not good with digits. Can't help it."

Then I realized that for my whole lifetime I could have had this information at my disposal! What a valuable statistic I have in my arsenal.  This is working for me now.

There may be numerous mistakes in spelling, grammar and syntax, but I feel a need to remind you that we Neanders just aren't so good at this stuff.  That is just how I roll.