The new recruit

Another addition to my child labor ring.

In a few years, when they've perfected their technique, I'll start renting them out for the use of other homes and businesses. They're quite thorough, really. You might want to get on the waiting list.

Sour milk

I have some sour milk that I've been using up in things like muffins lately. I asked Sam to draw an "X" on it for me so I wouldn't get it mixed up with the good milk. This is what he drew instead:

Now I'm kind of afraid to keep using it, for fear of ending up like that guy!

An accomplishment

We had a joint piano recital with some cousins last week, which served as Abe's debut into the performing world. (He played beautifully.) It was a great excuse for me to get something ready to perform, as well---an opportunity that comes (or at least that I take) quite rarely in the last several years! I keep wanting to get practicing more and prepare for a real recital of my own, but it's so hard to find the time---or the energy---so it keeps getting put on the back burner.

Anyway, several months ago Sam informed me that he would be in charge of changing diapers, supervising tooth-brushing, reading stories, etc. every night so that I could have a chance to practice the piano uninterrupted. So every evening, the boys all head upstairs and get ready for bed while I have the living room to myself---no one trying to "help" me with the pedals or pull my music off the bookshelf, etc. It has been so great--just having the ability to get consistent practice in, even on the nights that it's only for a half hour or so. Even though I'm making such slow progress, it feels great to be making progress at all!! And it feels great to have my fingers working again---not so clumsy and sluggish as they have felt before when I try to play music I haven't played for so long. (About the only part of me that isn't currently clumsy and sluggish, I might add.) I was able to get one piece memorized and polished to play at our little recital (it was Ritual Fire Dance, by de Falla, if you're curious---a loud and furious piece, and good thing I like it because I now hear it being hummed by the boys at all hours) and it felt like quite an accomplishment.

I guess it reminds me again of what I wrote about here and here: that even slow improvement, working little by little, is fulfilling and enjoyable. I'm SO glad Sam is so willing to help me and listen to me and prod me occasionally so I can do it. And maybe one of these years I'll even be able to get a group of pieces all ready at once for a whole recital. (Expect some serious pianistic regression come mid-August or so, though.)

Elevating

Last week I had the unusual responsibility of spending five hours taking passengers up and down in an elevator. I kept wishing my boys were there to help me (they would have loved it) but other than that I really enjoyed myself, not least by finding myself able to quite cheerfully endure 5 straight hours on my feet (something I was by no means sure I'd be capable of).

It was basically five hours of extreme social intimacy interspersed with brief periods of total privacy. An odd combination, but strangely exhilarating: Smiling and making (very) small conversation. Then total quiet, and the types of grimaces and leg- and toe-stretching exercises one only does while alone and wearing dressy shoes. Then smiling and crowding and friendliness again. I felt like I was experiencing several months of human contact in the space of a few hours: not a bad feeling, for someone who doesn't get an excessive amount of human contact in the normal course of things.

Hands and gloves

The other day I was sitting by an older lady at church, and Malachi was grabbing her hands and kissing them. (He could tell she was a Grandma, I guess. He liked her.) And then he'd grab my hands and kiss them. So there we all were, sitting there looking at each others' hands: Ky's tiny pink dimple-y ones around my long brown hangnail-y ones and the lady's translucent papery ones. And the lady said to me, "You have such pretty hands. Even when mine were smooth and not old and wrinkled, mine never looked like that." I had been thinking that my hands didn't even look like mine, they looked like they belonged to someone else. And I suddenly had a distinct memory of sitting in church playing with my mom's hands, pushing the veins around, and her saying, "I used to sit and play with my mothers' wrinkled hands, and now look, yours are the young ones, and mine are the ones that are getting old and wrinkled."

And it all made me think of another Leslie Norris poem. Here it is:

Gardening Gloves
by Leslie Norris

Mild, knob-jointed, old,
They lie on the garage floor.
Scarred by the turn of a spade
In hard, agricultural wear
And soiled by seasonal mould
They look like animal skins---
Or imagine a gargoyle's hands.

But not my hands I'd swear,
Being large, rough and uncouth;
Yet the moment I pick them up
They assume an absurd truth,
They assert I have given them shape,
Making my hands the mirror
For their comfortable horror.

And I know if I put them on
I gain a deliberate skill,
And old, slow satisfaction
That is not mine at all
But sent down from other men.
Yes, dead men live again
In my reluctant skin.

I remember my father's hands,
How they moved as mine do now
While he took his jokes from the air
Like precise, comical birds.
These gloves are my proper wear.
We all preserve such lives.
I'm not sorry to have these gloves.

I like the implications here: the way the gloves, the things we inherit from our parents and grandparents, first seem grotesque and foreign to us---but as we take on those traits ourselves, their shape changes---as, simultaneously, does ours---and they can become comfortable and even natural. (For good or bad, really---there are plenty of "parental" things I didn't want to find myself doing someday, that now I do without any embarrassment at all---and other things that I am embarrassed about, but I find myself doing them anyway.)

And I like the way the poem shoves itself somewhat awkwardly into a form (the odd seven-line stanzas, and those unobtrustive, alternating slant rhymes: old/spade/mould, floor/wear, mirror/horror, etc.)---just the way the speaker's hands fit reluctantly, but somehow reassuringly, into the gloves.

And how it captures our own transformations: the things that weigh on us from the past, the things we wish we could discard, the things we finally accept as inevitable, even the things we gradually learn to respect.

Like my Grandma's hands, those wrinkled creases and purpley veins. I know I'll be looking down at those same marks on my own hands someday---I knew that, even back then as I looked at my own mother's---and I know it won't even be long from now---but it's still hard to believe. And yet the thought isn't as alarming to me as it used to be. I guess I have more appreciation for all the things that go with that "knob-jointed" oldness. The deliberateness, the satisfaction, even the slowness sound better to me now. And I think, like this poem says, I'm not sorry to have those things in my future. And in my past.

No turcks need apply

Another sign I saw recently:

LARGE TURCKS
SWING WIDE
FOR LEFT TURN

Kind of racist, isn't it?

G is for Glamour Shots

Sweet

One of my favorite things to watch is my boys being gentle and sweet. Obviously they're wild and loud and boy-ish much of the time, and that's great. But the other day Sebastian came in from outside all excited. "Mommy, there are TONS of ants!!"

Normally you'd think a boy like him would go around stomping them or something, right?

"I made them a little house; come and see it!" he said.

I went out. There were a bunch of ants swarming around on the driveway, and next to them there was a whole line-up of leaves, sticks, flowers, rocks, etc. VERY complicated. Sebby showed me what everything was (he was actually telling it to the ants---in this sweet little high voice):

"Okay, yittle ants! [Oh, and you have to imagine all these "little"s as "yittle." Not all his "L"s are pronounced "Y", but some still are.] Here is your little bedroom---and if you get sleepy you can rest on these leaves. See? There are four beds so you can all sleep when you get tired. Here are your nice covers to keep you warm and snug. And you have two mushrooms for your little umbrellas if it gets rainy. This is for your little playground: you can climb on this rock and then slide down the stick and land on the pile of soft grass so you won't get hurt. My bike bell is for your smoke detector if there's a fire, so if you hear the bell don't be scared, okay? And you can walk around the rocks and look at the pretty flower petals for your pretty garden. And I made you a tiny seat you can sit on, and rest."

He was so pleased and excited. He kept saying, "Those ants are going to WUV their yittle home!!"

I really yike that boy.

Synchronized bobbing

This morning I was swimming laps at the pool and there was one other guy swimming laps in the next lane, facing towards me. We were both doing breaststroke and somehow we got going in the same rhythm, so we were coming towards each other and both bobbing our heads up for air simultaneously.

It was embarrassing. Everytime I popped my head up, there he was, popping his head up. Finally I stayed under for an extra stroke so we'd be offset from each other. It seemed better somehow. Is this some sort of swimmers' etiquette I never knew about?

Thanks for sharing

We are, in some ways, a family of skimpers and sharers. Sam and I usually share a meal if we go out to eat. We share a milkshake (between the five of us. More kids=new diet plan) at the drive-in. We always, always order from the Value Menu (it is like this post, and many of the comments are interesting too---but that is not my point here). Figuring out how to agree on a choice, what we will share, is for us a habitual part of ordering anything, anywhere. Yes, certainly there are ways we could be more frugal, and ways that we are much more spoiled than the previous generation---in that we are able to go out to eat at all, for example. But since Sam and I both grew up that way, the habits were sort of engrained in us in some form at least. And sharing, getting less, making do with the small size instead of the large, etc. also seems like a good choice most of the time---cheaper, healthier, and so forth. We'd keep doing it because we want to, even if we didn't necessarily have to.

But.

The other day Sam and I were out somewhere and we saw these kids, maybe 8 and 10 years old, eating ice cream with their mom. They both had these huge ice creams---waffle cones, double scoops, etc., and they were sitting there licking at them vaguely (not excitedly or anything), and suddenly I had had enough. I was indignant.

"Who do those kids think they are?" I hissed. "Look at them! Eating those huge ice cream cones---each of them with their OWN---and they don't even care! And they're just kids! I've lived three times as long as those kids and I've still NEVER had an ice cream that big all to myself! Not in my whole life!!

"It's not that I don't like sharing," I said (warming to my theme). "I might even prefer it. But it just doesn't seem fair. Look at those kids! Eight years old! Large-size ice creams all to themselves! And me nearly thirty and still waiting for such a thing. Does that seem right?"

"It's not right," agreed Sam. (He may have patted my arm.) "It's just not right. I will buy you your very own big ice cream. We'll go next week for family home evening."

So the next week we went out to a ice cream place and I ordered MY OWN. (The rest of the family shared a banana split. Old habits die hard.) And Sam kept telling the boys, "That one is JUST FOR MOMMY. You can't have a taste." And I ate it happily (although I did end up sharing some at the end because I got too full---but it was okay because I didn't have to) and it was delicious!! I felt like some kind of balance had been restored to the universe. "It was a dream come true," I said to Sam. "Thank you, my dear."

I think that was all I needed. And now I'm ready to go back to sharing.

Things that do not go together

Sometimes when I'm out and about, I go past this restaurant called "Chinese Gourmet."

I've never been there. It may, indeed, be "gourmet" in the truest and most elegant sense of the word. However, the marquis outside reads:

"EVERY MONDAY NIGHT

BOBBER THE CLOWN"

I don't know, somehow Bobber the Clown just doesn't say "gourmet" to me. Maybe they ought to at least get him to upgrade his image a bit. Bobbé le Clown, perhaps?

Vavoom

I've always thought it would be fun to name roses. And paint colors, too.

This rose is called "Vavoom." Isn't it pretty? In the sun (what there's been of it), it GLOWS.

Bike rides

Every night after the kids go to bed, Sam and I go on bike rides. (Coming back periodically to check on the kids, don't worry. Or do you still worry, even knowing that?) I finally remembered to bring the camera one night. Everything is so beautiful, I can hardly stand it.

(Dramatic sunflare)

(If you belong to the lovely family group in the middle of the photo, email me. I'll sell this picture to you for $20 less than whatever your portrait photographer was charging.)

Baby ducks!

We haven't minded the rainy days too much. They make for such beautiful skies!

I love riding my bike. I never knew I would love it so much, but I think it's partly because it's so easy and comfortable---no bending in half over the handlebars---and partly because it's just so fun to ride around together with Sam. I honestly think our bikes are one of the best purchases we've ever made. I only wish we could ride them all winter long, too.

Lemon chiffon cake with lemon curd

This is significant only because I've never made a layer cake before (and maybe this doesn't count as one either because I just baked it in one pan, and then cut it and put it back together)---and also because it uses that yummy lemon curd. But really it would taste just as good to put cake pieces in a bowl and spoon the raspberries and the curd and the lemon cream over the top.

My sister-in-law Allison and I have been talking about chiffon cakes recently (Philip loves them), and originally we were thinking they'd be a good combination with the yolks-only lemon curd recipes, because the chiffon cakes use only the egg whites. Or so we thought we remembered, but when I got out my recipes, it turns out that the cakes use the whole egg (separated), so I went ahead and used the easier whole-egg lemon curd as well.

Anyway, I have a whole packet of recipes for different kinds of chiffon cakes---orange, chocolate, lemon, pineapple, coconut, etc.---and they're not too tricky. They do call for cake flour, and you have to beat the egg whites separately, but that's all there is to it. (Oh, and you have to borrow your Mom's angel-food cake pan, if you don't have one yourself.) But I love how light and sponge-y they are, and how you can just eat them with your hands (if you haven't made them into a layer cake, that is).

So here's the recipe.

Lemon Chiffon Cake

2 1/4 c. cake flour

1 1/2 c. sugar

3 tsp. baking powder (this is 1 T.; I don't know why it doesn't say that)

1 tsp. salt

1/2 c. oil

1 Tbsp. lemon juice, plus cold water to measure 3/4 cup

2 tsp. grated lemon peel

2 tsp. vanilla

7 egg yolks

7 egg whites

1/2 tsp. cream of tartar

Mix the dry ingredients; then beat in oil, lemon juice-water mixture, lemon peel, vanilla, and egg yolks until smooth. In a separate bowl, beat the egg whites and cream of tartar until stiff peaks form. Gradually and gently fold the egg white mixture into the other mixture with a rubber spatula until blended. Pour into ungreased angel-food cake pan (tube pan). Bake at 325 until top springs back when touched lightly, about 1 1/4 hrs. Invert pan on heatproof funnel and let hang until cake is completely cool. Remove from pan, slice into thirds (I used dental floss to slice) and spread with lemon curd between layers. Frost with lemon cream.

Lemon Curd (recipe also here) (I doubled this to frost the cake)

1/2 c. lemon juice

2 tsp. finely grated lemon zest

1/2 c. sugar

3 large eggs

6 Tbsps butter, cut into bits

Whisk together first 4 ingredients in saucepan. Stir in butter and cook over med-low heat, whisking frequently, until curd is thick enough to hold marks of whisk, about 6 minutes. Chill for at least an hour (with plastic wrap right against the surface so it won't form a skin).

Lemon Cream

Whip some cream, add pwd. sugar to taste, stir in some of the lemon curd to taste (I used maybe 1/2 c. or so of curd?)

Featured poem: "Aware of Death"

Aware of Death

--Leslie Norris

At two-thirty in the morning I awoke choking,
Every fibre in my fur-lined lungs roaring
For relief of air, the room unhinged and bellowing
And the crazy window swimming in and out
Of two dabbed eyes. Take it easy, take it easy
Said my unseated reason. Or feeble courage, I don't know.
Like hell, I thought, like hell I'll take it easy.
I began to nurse the oxygen like a miser,
Controlled the rasping walls with a shrewd squint,
Tucked rasping panic into an obscure corner,
And found I was easier. My arms for example.
I had thought them wildly pummelling the night for breath,
But they were confident on two clasped fists of sheet,
Calmly supporting my racked and labouring body.
I pulled carefully with my mouth at the painful
Air. It was like drinking straight out of a cold tap.

And nothing like this had ever happened to me before.

Later I lay for twenty minutes by the cold moon
In a mental sweat of fever, yes, but as well of
Almost the final terror, my lungs boiling,
Tongue too big for talk, mouth
Tasting the body's bitter dissolution;
Aware of death.

Many times I feel a sense of familiarity or recognition when I read a good poem, even though the experience described is not one I have actually had. But the other night, an experience like this one happened to me---exactly, just like this---and immediately, though I haven't read it for a long time, fragments from this poem came into my head. So I went and got my book out---and there were Leslie Norris' words, as if they had been written specifically for the occasion.

(I don't know exactly what happened, or why---something to do with pregnancy and my lungs being all squished and a baby kicking me in the ribs and heartburn and vivid dreams and all those sort of things, no doubt. When Sam was in the worst of his whooping cough he had episodes like this several times a night. He thought he was going to die from panic alone, I think. It was awful to watch---and awful to experience as well, I find.)

Anyway, I find it amazing that so many of our human experiences are so universal---even the private, untold ones that feel quite personal and unique. And even more amazing that there are poets skilled enough to find the words to capture them---accurately enough that I can think: "this is ME, he must be talking about ME." It takes careful observation to write like that, of course, but also (in the best writers) I think there's a kind of sympathy and care for the feelings of others (which feelings, of course, are more like our own than we like to admit) that makes the writing succeed. Not just a sympathy for those viewpoints that we share, but a feeling of being in this together because we are all human. My favorite writers seem to have an awareness of and even enjoyment of our common frailties: rather than observing life smugly from "the outside," looking down on the miseries of humanity in a detached way, they write as as fellow-sufferers who understand, and sympathize even with the things they don't really understand.

Having known him, I know that Leslie Norris was that kind of person, of course. But I think many other good writers must be as well. I think of the way President Eyring and Elder Holland write, for example, and they always have that same sort of inclusiveness and humility, that sense of "we are all learning these things together"---and same with Helaman and other Book of Mormon writers. You can feel it in their words. I think that's why the words are so powerful.

And I think it brings up an interesting idea---that becoming a good writer (or a good speaker---or a good influencer of others in any way) is perhaps more rooted in becoming a good person---kind, charitable, sympathetic, humble---than it is in studying the craft itself. (Not that you wouldn't need to study the craft itself, of course.) And I guess there are plenty of talented writers that don't like people and aren't humble, etc. But I still am taken with the idea that perhaps I could be improving myself as a writer and thinker, even when I can't find the time to actually write and think as much as I'd like, just by working on noticing and sympathizing more with those around me. And maybe someday it will all have time to synthesize inside me and I'll be able to write and reflect and connect with others when I'm an old lady---even after I die. As this poem connected me again with Leslie Norris, even after he's been gone for three years.

I am a builder

The boys have been building temples (among other things) with their blocks lately. (The temples often have little "extras" in them---such as carwashes or playgrounds.) They have gotten quite specific in their architecture: for example, here, as you can see, is the Draper Temple:

And here, quite different, is the Oquirrh Mountain Temple:

These blocks were the best Christmas present for the boys! They were the only real toy we gave them (except a couple things in their stockings), but they play with them ALL THE TIME. (Except Malachi, who is usually kept zealously away. Poor, poor Malachi.) Next year, I'm thinking maybe we'll just give them some more shapes to add to the collection.

Also, a few more pretty things: this pink rose

and these calla lilies (the variety is called "flame," I believe).

Good idea, too late

Huh. This could have prevented a couple thousand wall- and floor-inflicted injuries at our house a couple years ago:

Family pictures

(A girl in my neighborhood was starting a photography business and took these pictures for us last November---she was so nice, and I'd recommend her, but she recently got pregnant and sick and now I don't think she is continuing with her business anymore. We so appreciated her help, though! Anyway, we just barely got the pictures back, so I thought I'd post them before they're too obsolete.)

It seems like so many people are becoming good photographers these days---maybe because more people have nice cameras, or digital cameras are more accessible, or something? I haven't studied it, so I don't know much about the art, but I do know I've seen about a million blogs/websites where people show their work. And the pictures are beautiful. And I'm so amazed that someone could create them.

Except . . . I just can't decide what to think about family pictures. Because I hate to be cynical, but I'm getting just a little tired of all the pictures that promise to "truly capture your family's personality!!"---but then, they all have the same (trendy) poses: back view of the whole family holding hands walking along a wooded trail at sunset. Couple holding hands at arms' length and one of them has a red balloon. The kids, super-saturated, sitting in a row and licking lollipops. The child's face in focus with the parents lounging, out-of-focus, in a field of grasses behind. I guess it just makes me think, really? Everyone's family personality is "childlike and bright and fun, coordinated but not TOO coordinated, with a touch of whimsy!"? Really . . . all of you? I admit, the pictures are often cute, and eye-catching, and maybe they're better than the matching-denim-shirts shots of last decade, but then again, maybe they're just . . . trendier at the moment.

[I remember two girls I knew in London talking about how Martha Stewart's wedding ideas were so much better than anyone else's, because they were TIMELESS. They didn't want to be looking back at their wedding pictures in 20 years (like they looked at their parents' pictures now) thinking, "That's so dated"---and Martha was the key, they said. Except . . . have you looked at Martha Stewart wedding pictures from the late 90s? DATED! Predictably enough, new things are considered "classic" now. Which is fine. But let's not delude ourselves into thinking we aren't influenced by current trends. (Me too, although I'm usually 5-10 years later than everyone else. I feel like I just barely came to terms with the idea of capri pants. Gauchos? Skinny jeans?? Don't push me.)]

This is a shot that really captures our relationship! I'm glad she just happened to catch the casual, unscripted moment of spontaneous pier-leaning. :)

So anyway, back to "capturing your personality." I like the idea, in theory; I'm just not sure you can CALL it that when it's really "capturing what everyone else thinks is cute and popular and what you wish your family's personality was like." If we were really capturing personalities, wouldn't our family photos be more like this? I mean, speaking for my own family anyway, our "unscripted moments" are usually just weird, or nerdy, or to say the least NOT photogenic (and that's the ones that aren't downright unpleasant, e.g. Seb bashing Malachi in the head). Kind of like this:

"Uh . . . I feel silly doing this. [nervous laugh]"

"Help! Let go!" "Brr, it's freezing out here."

And so I've always thought maybe it's better to just do the "formal" pose, since the so-called "unscripted moments" aren't true-to-life anyway, but I don't know---I do think a lot of people's trendy pictures turn out awfully cute, and that's the point anyway, so who cares if it's not actually spontaneous or if your family isn't actually all that laid-back and whimsical? And, I'm just realizing as I think this through, maybe the whole point of the pictures is to idealize you, and make you look cuter and MORE fun and MORE stylish than you really are. Actually yes, that IS partly what I want out of a photograph, come to think of it.

But I still feel like a picture that's really "you" is a good idea. And maybe there is someone out there who really can capture "our family," in all our weird, energetic boy-ness, and our nerdiness, and our awkwardness. The question is, could they make me like those pictures? (Consider that a challenge, photographer friends.)

Building

I have these thoughts sometimes that I want to write about so I can get them sorted out in my own head. But I always feel like it takes me too many words to work through it. So I am going to try to be concise here, but bear with me.

Here are two verses of scripture (God is speaking): "And ye shall build it [the temple] on the place where you have contemplated building it, for that is the spot which I have chosen for you to build it."

and

"If ye labor with all your might, I will consecrate that spot that it shall be made holy." (Doctrine and Covenants 124:43-44)

Here is how I read what was happening in these verses:

1. Some people had an idea of where to build the temple. It seemed like a good spot to them, but they weren't sure if it was "the right spot."
2. God revealed to them that, sure enough, it WAS "the right spot." The very spot He had intended, in fact.
3. (That means they were probably getting revelation and feeling spiritual direction on the matter before they even knew it. That's why the spot felt "good" to them in the first place, why they "contemplated" it at all. But they weren't sure at first if it was merely their own feelings or if it was God's will.)
4. In spite of that coincidence of God's will and their own will (both wanted to build in the same spot!), God gave them conditions for success: "IF ye labor with all your might," THEN He would "consecrate" the spot and "make it holy"---that is, He would make that spot as good and right as they envisioned it would be.

Here is how I've seen this simple pattern carried out in my own life (obviously, there are also times when the pattern has NOT applied):

1. I think about a big decision, what "spot" to settle myself in for the next little while. I begin to develop a preference. I think, "This is what I feel like choosing." But I'm not sure if it's truly right; if it's God's will on the matter.

2. After a time, I receive some sort of confirmation that indeed, it IS God's will as well as my own. Sometimes this confirmation comes in the form of a sort of glimpse of where that path will lead. Not a vision really---more of a wish or hope, an "envisioning" of what will result from the choice. Obviously I have a vision, in that sense, of what will eventually be built on that "spot" I chose to build on; that's the reason I wanted to build there the first place. But I think this vision of "what could be" is enlarged, maybe, or focused, by revelation and the spirit.

---Now---here is the interesting thing. Once I have envisioned the eventual results of my choice, and even had them confirmed by the spirit, I might think, "I have seen the future---now I can wait for it to happen. Hooray!" But . . . . that's not right. Because in order to make this thing real, I must

3. "labor with all my might," so that God will actually REALize/"consecrate"/"make holy" that "vision" which was really just a hope or a possibility when I glimpsed it. In other words, if the beautiful results I "envisioned" (and thought were true premontions when I made the choice) are not happening yet---I just need to keep working harder, and eventually, God will "consecrate" my efforts and make that vision real.

[Of course I say "eventually." It's always "eventually," right, since we never know the timetable? :) But still a true principle, I think.]

And I'm sure there are situations where this doesn't apply---like of course there are times when our will and God's will DON'T line up, or where our "vision" of things to come is really just wrong. But I guess it just struck me that even when we ARE making the right choice, the choice God wants us to make, we're STILL not "guaranteed" anything UNLESS we work at it "with all our might." That's what makes the possibilities turn into realities. So maybe, if there's some vision we once thought we glimpsed, but it isn't becoming reality like we hoped it would, maybe the vision wasn't wrong or untrue---maybe we just still have more work to do on making it real.

Which is really not that revolutionary of a concept, I guess. But I can see it at work in my own life. When I was making the decision to marry Sam, for example, I tried hard to follow all the counsel I'd heard in Marriage Prep. classes and so forth: make sure you choose someone that is your best friend, but don't get caught up too much in emotion; follow your heart, but also make sure you follow the spirit; there is no "one and only," but "just anyone" won't do either; don't expect a bolt of lightning, but expect that God will answer because it's so important---etc. It's already hard to recognize true revelation, I think, and in such a decision you feel so much worry about getting it RIGHT---this one thing, I must get right!

So, I tried to go about it correctly. I figured out what I wanted to do, and I prayed about it and tried to listen objectively, and I wanted so badly just to KNOW the future. And I didn't get a vision, exactly---but I got something which is hard to describe, but which I'm sure is not an uncommon feeling. Kind of an "envisioning," like I said before. In some ways maybe it was merely a hope or a daydream: "Won't it be such fun---think of how cute our little home together would be---what an adventure, our kids will be so adorable" etc. But then it was more than that---it was kind of a conviction that these things could be, and a glimpse of how they might be, and an overall feeling of: YES---if you choose this---it could be something wonderful, astonishing, miraculous.

Anyway, that was enough for me at the time, and now, already, those good things I "envisioned" have been realized in many areas. But not the way I might have thought; not in a gentle, passive way like I was a spectator watching a movie of my future gradually unfold and become my reality. More like this: that reality has come as I have wrestled with it, as I have done things I didn't want to do or didn't know how to do, or as I have made mistakes and then tried to repent of them.

Just like the Lord didn't consecrate that spot of ground for the temple until the saints had "labored on it with all their mights." And when they'd built up that monument to the Lord, using their hearts and wills and possessions and time, then he was able to show it back to them and say: "See? Just as I promised you---just as you envisioned it---but now, through your labor, even holier."

Thinnings*

*with great self-control, I resisted the urge to call this post all the things that first came to mind, like "dining on thinings" or "dinning on thinnings" or "in the thick of the thinnings"---feeling it would be unseemly after my comments here

I thinned my lettuce garden yesterday, leaving me with what are apparantly called the "thinnings" (as a novice gardener, I learn a lot from the internet) but what look like the cutest, tinest, greenest little baby salad you've ever seen. (The picture doesn't show how tiny and cute they were. Some of you real photographers could do them justice.) They were SO tender and good---spinach and arugula and other spring greens, and I tossed in some oregano and some lemon thyme from the herb garden too.

We ate them with parmesan cheese and lemon juice and olive oil on top---very simple and summery.

And also with these:

Scrambled eggs with chive blossoms, which delighted the boys. I read somewhere that you could eat the chive blossoms, so ever since my chives flowered we've been looking for an opportunity to do so. They taste like chives. (Surprise!) Maybe a little stronger. They're good.

And smoothies: (strawberries and raspberries have been on sale, so we're having these nightly now: no recipe, just plain yogurt and frozen fruit and honey, blended up. Yum)

And these, which are just rolls made from the artisan bread we love so much (okay, there is a recipe for that, from Beth, here it is):

I think it's my favorite kind of dinner. No recipes, everything ready in 20 minutes (well---because I keep the bread dough on hand in the fridge all the time, so it was no trouble), but tasting like a fancy restaurant. And tasting like Spring-almost-Summer. (Sprummer? Sumpring? No; heavens no! Please forgive me for making that attempt.)