here inside my heart

This morning we skipped church in favor of more sleep and marriage upkeep. On the way to the bakery we saw our neighbor squatting down by a tree with his camera. He was busily photographing a cicada emerging from his shell. In the early stages yet, the cicada looked like a little green shrimp back-bending his way into adulthood. About a foot away the lovely creature above had fully emerged and was drying his lacy wings. My grandmother used to keep the shells and send them to us in film canisters, but I'd never seen the miracle I saw today.

The first day of rehearsal I had a beautiful chat with a couple of my fellows about religion. It's rare under most circumstances to have a beautiful chat about religion with anyone, let alone actors, but we chatted our hearts full. I talked a bit about how moved I get by the glory of nature and my new friend sent me this gorgeous poem.

I feel truly blessed today. By everything.

+++

Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that a spring was breaking out in my heart.
Along which secret aqueduct, Oh water, are you coming to me,
water of a new life that I have never drunk?

Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that I had a beehive, here, inside my heart.
And the golden bees were making white combs
and sweet honey from my old failures.

Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that a fiery sun was giving light inside my heart.
It was fiery because I felt warmth as from a hearth,
and sun because it gave light and brought tears to my eyes.

Last night as I slept,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that it was God I had here inside my heart.

Antonio Machado

idle hands

I have psoriasis. It's another of my darling autoimmune diseases that has no cure. This one manifests itself by producing skin cells faster than I can shed them, resulting in a scaly buildup on my scalp. If I pick at the scales, as I am want to do, they come away from my scalp with little tuffets of hair. Pretty, right?

I have a bit of a picking problem. You know what makes it worse? 8 hours a day of table work. Sitting still with idles hands feels excruciating to me. I pull scales off my head and come away with embarrassing strands of hair which I then hide in my pocket. I mean, really. What? Who am I becoming? I'm trying not to knit because I'm always afraid that folks will think I'm being rude. Truly, I'm not bored! It's just hard for me to have idle hands. But, if I want to keep my hair I think I'm going to have to give up the ghost and just knit.

The great news is that the psoriasis treatment involves sleeping in a shower cap. Sexy.

there is some kiss we want with our whole lives

the best one, originally uploaded by eag.

Going back to therapy has proved to be harder work then I remembered. I'm glad for the work.

I'm glad for my husband.

winona, mn

From Garvin Heights in Winona, MN, originally uploaded by Lisa monster.

I've spent, nearly, my entire life in Minnesota and can't ever remember traveling significantly south of the cities. You go "Up North" to the lake, to Duluth, to the Boundary Waters. You go "Down To" Mayo or Northfield. But I'm talking south, further south down the little woods slicing highways to Red Wing, to Winona.

On Friday I got up at 6am, printed a resume, did my makeup (gag) and hopped in the car to drive 2 1/2 hours for an effing audition. As the miles wore on and the scenery got more lush and hilly my mood lifted and my love of Minnesota swelled. The audition went well but, more importantly, I found the yarn store, the independent bookseller, the co-op and the charming cafe with fresh natural food. I'm ready to move in.

Here's hoping the absolutely charming Great River Shakespeare Festival feels the same way.

emma lazarus

Miracle on the Hudson, originally uploaded by ilina s.

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

safety first

Skeleton Down, originally uploaded by v-nick.

I hear Ken's words ringing in my ears.

"The first rule is safety first. The second rule is safety first. Safety. First."

When in a physical workshop don't play a game that involves wrestling with teenage boys unless you remember to apply the first and second rules. You know what will happen otherwise one of said teenagers will fall on top of you and fracture your rib.

hip in hemp - finally!

hip in hemp - finally!, originally uploaded by eag.

I've been knitting this skirt since May of 2008. I bought the beautiful Elsebeth Lavold Hempathy for my birthday and started knitting away. As I've learned knitters do, I put it down in favor of other projects, pulled it out from time to time to knit some more and put it away in favor of other projects over the next year.  I finally got it all knit, but got hung up on blocking and adding the elastic waistband. Why is finishing so difficult? I take great pleasure in mundane tasks exactly because I can finish them. So, why the difficulty in finishing beautiful tasks? Whatever the reason, I take great pleasure in this finished skirt. I've never made a garment for myself before, let alone such a beauty.

I'm just a little bit proud.