House Keys!!!

"People are living longer than ever before, a phenomenon undoubtedly made necessary by the 30-year mortgage."
~Doug Larson

Chevron Scarf Goes to The Lion King

For Christmas, Ali and I bought three tickets to see The Lion King at the Stranahan Theater in Toledo. We gave one ticket to her mom, along with a certificate good for transportation to the theater and dinner. Saturday night was our date.

It’s fun to go do something like that because it feels like a special occasion. We figured out what we were wearing and I got my Chevron Scarf done just in the nick of time. In fact, I was finishing blocking it 10 minutes before we were supposed to leave!



We had a great meal at El Camino Real and then headed over to Maumee. There was time to kill before the show so we stopped at the huge antique mall on Reynolds Road and snooped around for awhile.

Of course, The Lion King was the highlight of the night. I’ve never been so moved by art as I was that night. When the “animals” came down the aisles of the theater during the opening I was completely shocked to feel hot tears sliding down my cheeks. It was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. There were human gazelles, zebras, birds, giraffes and elephants. There were human voices, singing, in the most beautiful South African chants I’ve ever heard.



There were masks set above the actors’ faces that put them into animal characters. There were shadow puppets, hand puppets, aerial dancers, inflatable set designs, off-stage performances and so many more things that transported us out of our everyday existence and into a completely different world for the next three hours.



A huge part of this world on stage was created by director Julie Taymor. In 1998 she made history by becoming the first woman in theatrical history to win the Tony Award for Best Director of a Musical.

The most incredible voice and presence on the stage was the actress who played Rafiki. Hers is the actual voice from the soundtrack and it gave me chills.



The funniest and most outrageous characters were Timon and Pumbaa, the meerkat and warthog duo who live under the philosophy of "Hakuna Matata" (no worries) and Zazu, the hornbill who serves Mufasa’s highest servant.




The whole night while I was watching this spectacle, I was thinking about the human capacity to create.

cre·ate
1. to cause to come into being, as something unique that would not naturally evolve or that is not made by ordinary processes.
2. to evolve from one's own thought or imagination, as a work of art or an invention.

There are so many things that human beings create that don’t bring any positive energy into the world – war, homophobia, racism, most shows on TV. . .it was really nice to sit back and revel in such simple joy. It was the best three hours I’ve spent in a long time.

Ripples

I was talking to Scott the other day by text. We work completely opposite schedules so talking any other way is about impossible. Anyway, I was texting that I was nervous about buying this house on Hurd Avenue. He asked why and the conversation went something like this. . .

Im nervous.

Y?

Never bought a house b4.

What’s 2 b scared of?

It’s a big decision 2 make all at once. This is the biggest decision of my life.

No its not.

Y? What do u mean?

Uv made bigger decisions lots of times. U just didn’t know it at the time.

Bam! Nothing like getting hit between the eyes with the truth. We walk around every day, just getting through life making little decisions here and there that we don’t think will ever amount to much. And then, all of the sudden we look back and realize that little decisions can have a huge impact on where we are and where we’re going.

It’s kinda like pebbles that are thrown into a pond. The entry points make little ripples that grow and grow until they intersect with other ripples from other decisions. These ripples get bigger and intersect. Soon, the surface of the pond is alive with energy and motion – just like our lives.

Closing on the house is at 4:00 today. I’m still kinda nervous but Scott is right. We make lots of really big choices in life. We just don’t always know it at the time.

Good Friday and Wooden Crosses

It's Good Friday. It's Holy Week and nearing the end of Lent. I used to always do my best worship planning during Lent and Easter. That seems strange now, being that Lent is about emptiness and all. But I loved coming up with visual and participatory worship settings that drove home the messages of Lent.

There was always a service that I wanted to do on Good Friday. I wanted to make a HUGE (read "life sized, big enough to actually crucify a person on") cross. Maybe out of old barn beams. Rough. Full of splinters. Unrefined. I wanted to lay it out in the altar space where every time anyone moved around the worship area you had to step over it. I wanted it to be in the way. You know. . .like Jesus is supposed to be in the way in our lives as we move around making our day to day decisions.

On Good Friday I wanted to do a first person telling of the crucifixion story from Jesus' perspective. Not in Bible English. But in a creative writing, everybody writing and feeling the story together kind of way. I wanted to end the service with a time of contemplation about what it was that actually nailed Jesus to those splintery boards. What kind of brokenness and sin did it take for Jesus to willing stretch out his arms and say, "It's all gonna be OK. Just give it to me."

In the quiet contemplation I wanted all of us to take small pieces of paper and write down the brokenness in our own lives that Jesus needed to heal. And then, one by one, we would have brought those things to the cross, and each of us – alone – would have nailed those things there. Hammer blows ringing out as the service ended.

That was my idea anyway.

Sometimes we just need to hear the piercing sound of a hammer on metal and feel the splinters slicing through our skin. We also need to know, in an intimate and personal way, that somehow it's all gonna be OK.

Happy Easter.

Rules for Living

I’ve been feeling creative lately. It’s kind of strange because I’ve been trying crafty things that I’ve never attempted before. Earlier this week I tried my hand at a torn paper collage. It was fun, and when it’s finished I’ll unveil it.

My latest foray is into embroidery. Wait. . .let me backtrack.

When we were at the Toledo Botanical Gardens last weekend for the Accessible Expressions art show we wandered across the street to the TBG Gift Shop. It was full of wonderful, creative, very expressive art. One of the things that caught my eye was a set of five pewter buttons. Each one contained a rule for living.

1. Free your heart from hatred.
2. Free your mind from worries.
3. Live simply.
4. Give more.
5. Expect less.

I LOVE those! I bought the set of buttons and then started brainstorming ways to showcase them.

Here’s my idea.



I found some interesting, vintage-ish fabric. Then I decided that it would be fun to embroider some kind of “sign of life” image on each panel before sewing the button in place. I settled on dragonflies and butterflies.

I had no idea how to embroider until I found this incredible website!

About six hours later I had these. . .







. . .and I think they are pretty darn cool! If I could, I'd add one more rule to the list.

6. Do something creative every day. It's good for your soul.

The Mojo is Back!

I was starting to worry for awhile. The knitting gods were frowning on me here in my little corner of paradise. I didn't feel like knitting! It seemed that every thing I touched that was fiber related turned to a small, cursed bundle of mistakes.

It hung on for about two weeks and I didn't like it. Until last week.



Nothing cures the funk like color!

The pattern is "Chevron Scarf" by Joelle Hoverson from the book "Last Minute Knitted Gifts." The yarn is Socks That Rock, colorways "Watermelon Tourmaline" and "Farmhouse."

The mojo is back!

Putting Down Roots

I’ve lived in a lot of places in 43 years – Lexington, KY, Georgetown, KY, and Sadieville, KY all before moving to Defiance, Ohio when I was a junior in high school. Since then I’ve lived in Bluffton, Ottawa, Toledo and Findlay. Throw Hollywood, Florida into the mix somewhere and it adds up to six apartments and seven different houses. It all reminds me how much I hate moving.

The reason I’ve been thinking about all this is that Ali and I were having dinner with her grandparents on Sunday afternoon. They were telling stories and we were talking about the house on Hurd Avenue that we are buying. As we talked about the house, Grampa Weising kept getting more and more animated. It turns out that he thinks his grandfather built it! On their way home that evening they drove by the house and he’s fairly certain that his relatives built it and lived there through at least the 1930’s.

That same afternoon Grandma Weising was telling stories about her life growing up. Ali was taping all of their conversations so she can do more research for her family tree. Grandma was telling about how she had dated Grampa since the 9th grade and how they were married in the house she grew up in. Someone asked the address – just for the record – and it was 125 Rector Ave. Immediately I knew that it was my friend Alaine’s old house, the one she just moved out of a couple of years ago. When Grandma was describing coming down the stairs in her wedding dress I could easily picture it in my mind, having been to Alaine’s house on several occasions!

I don’t think I know anyone outside the Weising family that has lived their whole lives in one place. Two houses from their family history are among the few houses that I know and have visited in Findlay. It seems like such a romanticized idea. . .living in one place your whole life. All I know is, after this next move I want to put down some roots. And throw away the moving boxes!

Emerging Artists

On Saturday we went to the Toledo Botanical Gardens for the "Accessible Expressions" art show. It was a showcase of Ohio artists showcasing professional, emerging and youth artists in a juried show. Two Findlay emerging artists were selected to participate in the show. Both of these artists receive services at Blanchard Valley Center and take part in the Center's Kan-Du Art Studio.

Personally, I didn't care much about the professional artists at the show. I was there to see the emerging artists and I was stunned by the art I saw.

The first Findlay artist that we saw was Diane. She graciously posed with her painting.



Her painting expresses her admiration for Robert Redford. Diane has a lot of personality and is very funny. At one point, when telling us about her painting, she leaned over and whispered, "Be careful what you say around my family. . .they don't know that I have a man in my life!" Diane's "man" is Robert Redford and if you ask her, she will tell you that they are married!



The other emerging Findlay artist was Mike. He wasn't at the opening but I fell in love with the colors and textures of his entry for the show.



We walked around the gallery for quite a while, absorbing the atmosphere and marveling at the layers and layers of meaning in each of the works. There were a couple of other paintings that just blew me away.




Self expression is such an individual thing and there are so many ways to make the world a more beautiful place. I'm inspired!

Happy Birthday Pop

Dear Pop,

Happy Birthday. I think about you a lot this week, every year. One of the best memories of my whole life was sharing my birthday party with you. With the celebration of our births less than 24 hours apart every year I felt very connected with you when I was a little girl.

This week I spent a lot of time rooting around in the attic in dusty boxes looking for one special picture. It must have been from 1971 or 72 because my hair was still really long. (Remember that Mother cut it after I started first grade? It was too much trouble to deal with long hair on school mornings.) I was probably six and you were at my house for our annual party. We were sitting next to each other at the dinner table. I ran from the table and up to my closet and dug out two pointy, cardboard hats. I put mine on and brought the other one to you. You were such a good sport that you wore that hat through the rest of the meal. My heart aches because I can’t find the picture.

I’ve never really thought much about you aging – even though you probably wouldn’t recognize me anymore. The last time I saw you, you were 65 and I was nine. I got a little panicky on Wednesday when I realized that you would have been 99 this year. That’s more about issues with my own aging than anything else.

I’m sure you have no idea what kind of impact you’ve had on me since 1974.

I attribute whatever musical abilities and love of music that I have to you. One of my earliest memories is hearing you play the piano and the organ. I always felt like such a loved little girl when you would play “Tiny Bubbles” and I would dance for you.

In fourth grade I chose the clarinet as the instrument that I wanted to play. One afternoon I came home from school and Mother and Dad had bought my new instrument. It was hidden behind the couch. They brought it out to surprise me and when I held it in my hands for the first time I remember wishing that you were there to see it. I took it upstairs to my room and cried.

I’ve never traveled much but I remember the castanets you brought me from Mexico, the grass skirt from Hawaii, the sugarcane from Florida, and the jewelry from Greece. I also treasured the diary with the real lock and key that you bought me when I went with you to New Orleans.

Like you, I only drink real half-and-half in my coffee.

I remember that every Saturday night you and Momma, and sometimes Mother and Dad would go out to dinner. It was the kind of dinner that reminds me now of movies from the 1950’s. Everyone got all dressed up in very glamorous dresses, suits and jewelry. You all always looked so beautiful as the babysitter came to stay with Cindy and me. Once, I got to go along. You bought me all the Shirley Temple’s I wanted while the adults sipped cocktails. There was an orchestra at the restaurant and I remember dancing with you – standing on your feet and feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.

Christmas with you was the best. We took your “old man” socks – the long, nylon ones that came up to your knees – and nailed them to the mantle. The next morning Santa had always put oranges and apples in them and they looked so funny – stretched and droopy – hanging there.

Once, in high school, I was part of an honor’s symphonic band that was very, very good. We were playing “Pictures at an Exhibition” and it was the only time in my life that I have been completely absorbed in the task at hand. There was no past, no future ¬– just each note being played in the moment and the sound of what we were creating together. I remember the distinct feeling that you were hovering over my left shoulder. Listening. Approving.

Tonight, I will lift a Shirley Temple to you, on your birthday. Tomorrow, I will feel you with me, on mine.

Happy Birthday Pop. I still miss you.

Love,
Tanya

Footprints

I don’t write much about my commercial cleaning business. In fact, I don’t think about it all that much except for when I’m sick and don’t want to go. For the most part, I don’t mind cleaning. It pays well. After all, when you do a job that most other people don’t want to do, you can charge about what you want for it.

There have been a few days that make me question the decision to be a janitor. One particularly memorable day saw me putting on gloves to clean chunky vomit out of a urinal. (How else are you going to get it out of there?) A couple of weeks ago there was the day that someone, whose ass was too big for the toilet seat, shit. The offensive stuff never hit the water and the offending asshole (literally!) left it for me to clean up later.

But, those days are rare. And when Fresh & Clean Professional Cleaning Services enables me to buy a house I think it asks me to complain a little less loudly or at least, not quite so often.

Last night I went into the warehouse after all the official, important people had gone home. I cleaned up the cookie crumbs underneath their desks, the spilled coffee on the countertops, the used Kleenexes out of the trashcans and the fingerprints off all the glass doors. I wiped, vacuumed and mopped every surface. All human smell was sanitized from the restrooms, which were left for the next morning’s onslaught of office staff.

As I worked, I realized that my job in that place is to clear away all the biological signs of life that I can find.

It’s a strange job choice for someone who has felt that her whole life was supposed to be about nurturing people by teaching, preaching or listening.

As I was mopping the break room I was still thinking about what a strange place we sometimes find ourselves in. I had worked my way from one end of the long room to the other, moving backwards so as not to walk on the clean, wet floor. I was just finishing up when one of the hourly warehouse workers strolled across my newly cleaned floor with his big, wet boots. His every step left a huge black footprint across my clean floor as he made his way to the vending machine.

I stood there, leaning on my mop, staring at him. He acted like I wasn’t even there as he took the same route back out to the warehouse.

I looked at his trail out the door and I made a decision. I did not re-mop that floor. I thought about it. I weighed the possibility that I might get into trouble if I didn’t against the fact that, no matter how hard I work or how hard I try, it’s impossible to eliminate the warm, disordered, stinky, chaotic imprint of humanity from that warehouse. Yet, it’s my job to try.

When I left the warehouse last night I walked past the trail of now dried footprints and I smiled.

I’ll take care of them again tonight.

Cute Chick!

Cute chick, huh? =)

Sneak Peek

It's not a completely done deal. . . but pretty close. Here's a sneak peek!

Icky Sick

I'm on my tenth day of being sick. I'm NEVER sick so this has been quite a treat.

Some mental pictures from the last ten days. . .
• Drove to Physicians Plus. The doctor took my temp. Said I had the flu. Demanded $40. Said there was nothing he could do.
• Laying on the bathroom floor. Crying. I didn't want to go clean. Ali putting my shoes on and telling me it would be OK.
• Coughing until I thought I would pass out.
• Not knitting. Not one single knit stitch in 10 days.

I think I'm past the stage where the weaker amongst the species die. Hopefully. . .or not. . .I still feel icky.