Mostly, though, I think it’s about pride. The nagging feeling that if I were really a writer, that I would be writing a book. Or, if I were really an actor, I’d be off in a production somewhere. Not to mention all the things that I think that other people think about churches, and the people who work there (much of it deserved).

Like I said, it’s about pride. And every so often, God is graceful enough to gently knock it out of me.

We watched this video, again, at church on Sunday, making it the third time I’ve seen it.  I cry every time.  It’s just so beautiful.  But somehow, this third time, I think I heard a bit of what God was trying to say to me.

Are you kidding me? You’ve got it all wrong. Don’t you see how lucky you are to call this place home? To be with these people, this family?

And then, even more quietly - why do you care so much about all that other stuff?

I watch the images flicker past: hands outstretched, bodies leaned into the work and the play, faces lit up with smiling. I see these precious ones, brothers and sisters, taking big and small steps of faith; I can see the seed sprouting, taking root, shining in the sun. And for this I say thank You, and you, and yes and amen. Thank you for helping me see.

this time last year: this is why (29. 10. 2008)

But late in the afternoon my husband convinced me to call one of my oldest friends and meet her for the show.  The tickets were general admission, so we decided to get there as soon as the building opened, since we hadn’t bought ours yet. Somehow we ended up at the right door at the right time, because while we are standing there waiting and talking about kids or school or something I don’t even know, right THEN these 3 men walk up to the door, and this little short guy in the middle turns and smiles and nods at us, and about the time I’m going to tell him he can’t cut in line, I realize that it was him. Right there. David Sedaris.

That’s the kind of celebrity encounter I like.  Close enough to touch him, quick enough that I don’t have time to actually open my mouth and let the gibberish begin.  I can imagine all kinds of things about that nod and smile, like how he was probably trying to let me know that he could tell just by looking at me what a witty, brilliant person I am and how we would probably be best friends if he only had a little time to get to know me and how much he regrets that he doesn’t.  Or something like that.

Sorry about the quality of this pic; I’m pretty sure I snapped it right as he was explaining how he doesn’t allow his picture to be taken at readings anymore.  I was a little scared he was going to see me and stop and confiscate my iPhone.  Since I was sitting about 20 feet away from him, with tickets we had bought an hour before.  That’s just too good to be true, people.

He was hilarious (and if you’d like to try him out, this is one of my favorite stories - but be warned, he’s not for everyone) and I was only sad that Bryan didn’t get to come.  You see, I was introduced to Sedaris by Bryan at about 3 am one morning while he was driving all night to Colorado.  I was trying to sleep in the passenger seat beside him, but was having a hard time because Bryan was SNORTING with laughter while listening to him read his stories aloud.  From that night on we’ve been hooked.

However, at that point Bryan was pretty sure I was going to miss the next night’s adventure, due to the aforementioned illness, and so he was letting me have my turn.  But then, Monday morning, people woke up better, and my wonderful parents stepped in, and we got in the car and headed to Dallas for our next general admission event. (Click on these to enlarge.)

And let me tell you, we had just as much luck with this one.  For 30 bucks, we stood up against a rail with a counter and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

I know these seem like a whole bunch of pictures of the same thing, but I couldn’t stop.  That stage, the lights - were simply amazing.  I couldn’t believe how many different ways they could make it look. Not to mention that little rock band that happened to be on stage.

I love this - Bono simply sitting in the lights, all the little lights out in the crowd…

The next two shots are from “Beautiful Day,” which may have been my favorite one, stagewise, that they did - just rotating those gorgeous lights around the stadium.

One of the best things about both this show and the Sedaris reading was the feeling of having caught these performers in their prime: completely comfortable, nothing to prove, finding such joy in what they do. Not a moment of feeling unsure or arrogant.

This pic for a couple of reasons: first of all, can you even believe that screen? Second, that’s a kid that Bono pulled up on stage with him to walk the circle. As Bono sang to him. And gave him his sunglasses. Poor thing, he’s fourteen and I think the coolest moment of his life already happened to him.

Again with the screen - you’ll notice now that they shrunk it back down, but low.  Those faces still make me laugh.

I couldn’t help thinking what an incredible crew they must have - lighting, cameras, sound - every shot on that screen looked like something out of a movie.

This one’s a little blurry, but one of my favorite moments -four friends, leaving the stage, clapping each other on the back, seeming to be truly grateful.

Wish you could have been there - what a show.

If you’re not tired of pics yet, you can see what some people with really good cameras have done here.

this time last year: this is why (29. 10. 2008)

At which point Bryan went back to the car to get him.

The rest of the evening is a haze, sort of a vision through a tunnel from my seat at the head of the long table.  People were talking to me; I nodded and smiled a lot.  Only one thing was clear, and it was crystal clear, the knowledge as sharp and keen as my mind had once been. I had turned thirty, had a third child, and upset the balance of the universe.  Or at least our particular family. We were outnumbered, my body was never going to recover, and I was headed for a quick and certain death.

Fortunately, Whitney did much better on her 30th.

Her parents kindly let us take over their home for a couple of days.  It was such a special place - touches of beauty around every corner.

Wish I’d managed to get pics like these of every girl there - sometimes I hang back with the camera, not wanting to bug people.  And then I see these and my only regret is not being a little pushier.

Well, maybe not my only regret.  I also regret that the (finally!) first picture I put up of my new hair is one taken after a day in pajamas, interrupted only by swimming in the pool.  That is so not what it looks like.  At least, I hope.

All I can say is thank you, Whitney - I loved being with you and many friends in such a beautiful place.

this time last year: telling the truth (08. 10. 2008)

ELIZABETH: Hey Mom, didn’t they ever bring our trashcan?

ME (playing the role of Mom): No, sweetie.

ELIZABETH: Why not?

ME: Well, Sherwood is a pretty large area, so for all we know they are working on some other neighborhood right now.  You know, the information that was stuck inside Nana and Poppy’s said that the [new trash pick-up] program starts October 5.  So, we know we’ll get one before then.

ELIZABETH: [heavy sigh]

WILL (from the back seat)(indignantly): My [3rd grade school TV show theme-song musical] program isn’t on October 5th!  It’s on October 9th!

ME (still playing the role of patient, loving, explanatory Mom): Will, we’re not talking about the school program, we’re talking about the trash can program.

ELIZABETH: Yeah, remember Will?

JONATHAN (coming up for air out of the book he’s currently buried in): What? Did you say you were talking about the trash cans?

ME: [heavy sigh]

WILL (with rapturous joy):  I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT THE TRASH CANS!

this time last year: regnuh (or, the flip side) (29. 09. 2008)

First of all?  Please go and see Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs.  Yes, I see those of you without children rolling your eyes and skipping to the end but HEY! COME BACK! I’m totally serious, this was a great, fun, made me laugh all the way through it movie.  Ok, I guess I can’t swear that you’ll like it if you aren’t going to see it with your kids, because I did go see it with mine (and my youngest’s entire third grade class and their friends and families and how did I get talked into this, anyway?) and I knew nothing about the book except that I had heard of it before (I know!) and I was quizzing Jonathan and Will and their friend Ben about it on the way over to the Rave and the information I got was that:

A. “The illustrations are really nice.” - and

B. “The book is really short so they are gonna have to make up some more stuff for the movie.”

Not exactly leaving me super excited about paying forty bucks for the four of us to see it in 3D.  Especially when a couple of moms decided to let their group of 6 boys sit on the same row as the boys and I, and then removed themselves to the row behind us, which was actually across the big aisle from us - we were in the back of the low section, they were in the front of the high section. This will mean something to you if you are a mother of boys and you have ever had to sit with them in a public place, because it is NOT CLOSE ENOUGH.

But then the movie started and it was really cute and Bill Hader voices the lead, and then there’s Andy Samberg, and Mr. T, and Neil Patrick Harris playing a monkey! And the animation looked really wonderful, and the timing was right, and the main character hums his own stunt music as he runs around his lab and did I mention the monkey? I just fell in love with this cute, funny movie.  I think you’ll love it too.

And second, with absolutely no transition at all, just a hard right turn into a completely different subject - I’m going to put up some of my design work here, so you may see some posts soon that are different things I have worked on.  Feel free to click right past if you aren’t into that sort of thing, but hopefully it will be fun for all.

Or if it isn’t, at least you can laugh about the monkey…

this time last year: regnuh (or, the flip side) (29. 09. 2008)

At this point, about once every 5 minutes, my brain goes - is that a sore throat? hey, HEY! I think your throat is hurting!

We somehow got in to see the doctor this morning - and I say we, because yes, I went too.  I had a list of ‘fending off imminent flu disaster’ type questions that I wanted answers for and my poor fevered husband would never have gotten them answered to my satisfaction.  Not because he is deficient in any way, but because I am more than a little crazy. Especially when it comes to my entire family being swallowed whole by some horrible illness.

Is that a headache?  Hey, I think you’re getting a fever!

So there we sat in the waiting room with about 30 other people.  Bryan put on a mask, which I thought was very responsible of him, and I certainly picked one up and held it in my hand and did not put it on even though I really really really wanted to because hello! Nobody else was wearing one! And they were all breathing and everything! Apparently, however, my fear what the rest of the room thinks is slightly bigger than my fear of what I might catch from them.  You could just feel this thing happen when Bryan slipped on that mask, an almost imperceptible shifting away from us sitting there, and so I just kind of froze up about it all.  I wished that the office staff had just made everybody put one on; that way the pressure would have been off.

Did you just sneeze?

The actual doctor part of the visit ended up being fairly anticlimactic, once he told us that there was no flu, especially no swine flu, just a virus acting like the flu, in the Jones household. I folded up all my flu questions and put them away. We came home; he went to bed, I worked a little.  And then, in what you could call desperation or determination, I began to take action.  I cleaned my house in case we all end up sick and my parents have to come rescue somebody.  I did laundry and laundry and more laundry.  I cooked.  Chicken pot pie with a homemade crust. Mashed potatoes.  Citrusy butter cookies.  Cinnamon crisps.

At least when they find us they will know we won’t have died of starvation.

So, I guess we are ready.  We have Sprite and crackers and anti-nausea medication and Tylenol.  We have freezer food that the kids can fix by themselves. We have leftover cookies. Never mind that if we all happen to live through the night and have to get up and go places tomorrow, none of my kids have a lunch made or clothes laid out, my youngest was still finishing up his homework at 9:45, and I didn’t see anyone’s weekly blue note today.

Is that a tickle in your throat? I think you have a cough coming on…

this time last year: wish you were here (20. 09. 2008)

At this point, I was in a meeting. A weekly meeting.  I made the mistake of sitting on an entirely too comfortable couch.  It was taking most of my concentration to keep my eyes open.

Still, when the question was asked - what do you hope will happen? what do you dream of? …my heart leapt, to the same familiar perch.  Images twirl, enticing me.  I was too weary to make a coherent answer; I held my tongue.  But the answer is there, because it’s always there.  I can take that as a negative, too - the little voice in my head saying oh it’s just the same old thing…

It is the same.

But it is not just some old thing.

It is the stamp particular to my soul.

What I dream of, what I hope will happen, is art.  Such a small word for so much - the act of creation, the beauty of a moment.  I am fascinated by it in almost any form; the perfect step and turn of a dance, a look through a lens, the perfect phrasing of a song or a poem.  Done well, with skill and care, it stops me, arrests me.  I feel a tiny, fiery connection to all of creation and to the God who is creator.

But it’s not just the finished work that I love; it’s the process and the people.  I love artists - these brave souls who splatter themselves on a canvas, who dare to place a piece of themselves right out there in the world.  I love people who wouldn’t call themselves artists, but who are ready to try.  I love the wonder in someone’s eyes when they let go a little, the absorption that comes when they are given permission to pursue a creative task.  We all have something of that Creator’s spark, and I am amazed by the redemptive work art does in us.

What will happen?  I don’t know.  But it was fun today to dream…

this time last year: wish you were here (20. 09. 2008)

He likes to walk all over the blocks around our house, and I do mean all over - about the time you think you have his route figured out, you round a different corner and there his is, popping up like Waldo.  “There’s Mr. Bernie!” my kids shout, and we roll down the windows and wave.

About a year ago we figured out that I knew his daughter from a summer spent at Governor’s School 20 years ago.  She and I swapped high school reunion stories a few weeks ago when she came in for hers.  Standing in my front yard, I told her how much we loved living across the street from her dad, how we didn’t want to see him go.

He had recently put his house up for sale, having decided to move to some land he owns up around Mountain Home.  It’s just him now, holding down this house across the street from me, and he’d rather be out there.  There are plans for a house there - a place he can build at his own pace - and he visits nearly every weekend.

He was there this weekend, clearing brush from his land, working on the next part of his life, when the unthinkable happened.  There was an accident.  He was alone.  And now, suddenly, he is gone.  Another neighbor, George, knocked on our door to tell us this afternoon.  George and Bernie have lived next door to each other for 30 years.  They are family.  George knocked on every door on our street today.

The funny thing is, if you’d asked me to guess which neighbor it was knocking on my door today, I would have guessed Bernie.  He knocked every once in a while, sometimes to tell me that I’d driven off leaving my garage door open, and he’d managed to close it for me, or to tell me of some other little occurrence on our street.  Most often, though, I would open the door to him bearing a watermelon from his weekend travels; he loved to bring us one back. I don’t think I’ve actually bought a watermelon for the last 2 or 3 summers because we always have one around from Mr. Bernie.  I’d see him the next day and he’d ask, “Was it a good one?”  “Yes,” I always answer, “the kids are eating it up…”

And now, because I don’t know what else to do, I come here.  I have hugged his daughter, held yet another neighbor’s hand as she cried, lost myself in crying, prayed with my kids. I come here to try to put some words down, show you how special he was, how much simple small things can make a difference, even from across the street.

It was a good one, Bernie. We’ll miss you so very much.

this time last year: uncontrollable (19. 08. 2008)

Does your head hurt yet?  Mine too.  Let’s look at some pictures, shall we?

Early in the week we had some rain - nothing too bad, just a little shower here or there.  This was one of those days; the kids would troop down to the beach, the rain would start, they’d come back up, it would quit.  It turned into a joke, counting how many trips down they had made.  Finally, late in the afternoon, all the sketchy gray clouds moved away and the rain stopped and we all went down one last time.

You can see here that the oldest two have obviously given up on swimming for the day and changed back into real clothes.  Will, however, still stays in a swimsuit - well, until someone forces him to take it off.  Which is probably a good thing, since his adventures tend to be a little more intense than anyone else’s.  It’s good to be prepared.

Good thing for him, The Dude always loves a good beach adventure, too.

It’s such a cliché, but I really do love to see how all three kids can be so done with the beach for the day and then Bryan comes along with a net and they are all running after him again, like they’ve never seen the ocean before.  They are always ready to go where he goes.

This whole next series of pictures reminds me of hearing a National Geographic photographer named DeWitt Jones speak - he’s SO great on creativity, hear him if you ever have the chance - and one of his refrains was always keep looking, sometimes you just turn and see something from a different angle and it’s magic.  That afternoon, there was this mist still hanging in the air, left over from the rain, and as my crazy family went running off down the beach I turned to follow them and this is what happened.

There aren’t words (in my tired brain, anyway) for how much I love these pictures.  They somehow capture for me that very favorite time of day, when the sun gets lower and the light changes on the water and everything turns silvery gold, some otherworldly color that doesn’t even exist apart from sun and sea and shore.

this time last year: administrativelyness (12. 08. 2008)

So, um yeah - I haven’t been around much, blogwise, this summer, and I could go into an incredibly detailed explanation of why that is but it would mostly involve way more exposition of my personality than I find is needed by the general public.  Let’s just say I alternate between gazing at the horizon…

And slightly obsessive perfectionism.

That’s my lame explanation for why, almost a month later, pictures like this have not been posted.

I apologize, really I do.

But today found me needing a break from the 250 page cookbook layout that my life is currently entrenched in (maybe, if you’re REALLY LUCKY, I’ll tell you more about that later.  Wait, who am I kidding?  I think I’ve detailed the process for anyone who has been unfortunate enough to ask how I was doing at any point in the last week). And what better way to break is there than to remember a walk in the surf?

And think on a few of our favorite things - like peace signs…

and souvenir t-shirts…

stripey beach towels…and yes, that is my other most favorite chair in the background…

and sunglasses.  Oh, the sunglasses.

And of course, a chair on the end of the row, nothing but beach in your view.  Wish you were there, friends - heck, wish I was too…

this time last year: administrativelyness (12. 08. 2008)