A Contemplative Life

Brollies in the green colourway; Kaffe Fassett designed this gorgeous fabric, which I am turning into a placemat. Mourning and rejoicing simultaneously, because what else is there to do? At the end of last week, I finally started writing. Kind of a Just Do It! sort of situation, and much to my thrilled relief, I have nearly twelve thousand words accumulated. That's pretty darn fine amid occurrences that feel pretty damn horrific. "Rejoice with those who rejoice, mourn with those who mourn." Romans 12.15. Because truly, that's what we're called to do. In the smuggled correspondence with his best friend Eberhard Bethge, imprisoned Lutheran pastor and theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote that most of his fellow prisoners only knew whatever emotion was most prevalent; they were frightened if circumstances were poor, greedy when opportunities arose, despairing as though no hope existed. Bonhoeffer sounds a little judgemental here, yet his complaints are valid, in that...

Why stitch a small autumnal coaster when so much else is waiting?  Maybe a better sentence is why do anything when the world seems fraught with unsolvable issues? Or maybe that's too deep to analyze. However, stuff like that has been on my mind, reading most mornings just snippets from Eberhard Bethge's biography of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who was Bethge's friend, mentor, as well as relative through marriage. I could veer off on a faith-based tangent, and perhaps one of these days I will. However right now my granddaughters are visiting, the youngest still in bed and if she wanders down imminently, breakfast will be my agenda for us both. Yet mentioning these musings matters, because they are strongly on my mind. That my faith propels me to be in this world, not out of it, a tenant I've claimed over the years. That as a believer in Christ, I am not of this world, and lately I've discovered how incorrect that is. That sewing a small autumnal coaster in early summer wit...

Puzzle progress as of last night. Kinda like semi-retirement, but not.... Sometimes life grinds to a halt; projects sputter, poor health intrudes, ideas meander as new shinies flex their muscles. Sometimes all of that is tangled together, sometimes separate. Sometimes the best laid plans simply go awry. Right now life feels that way. My life, but perhaps others. Probably others. Maybe heaps of others. Today I finished the letters portion of Letters and Papers From Prison . Appendices remain, but Dietrich Bonhoeffer, his brother Klaus, and their brothers-in-law Hans von Dohnanyi and Rudiger Schleicher were executed for their roles in the plot to assassinate Hitler. Hindsight provides as much information as exists, yet for all their prayers and wishes, those men, and so many other people, did not survive that awful war. My still aching shoulder precludes serious hand-sewing. Typing out journal entries from 2002 hinders new written work. Gray windy weather hampers my small gardening effor...

Youngest grandson's hexie shirt; more about that at the end of the post. This morning as I watched the moon rise and Venus emerge, I was grateful for clear skies and warm tea and the quiet moments in which to appreciate these blessings. A few hours later I learned one my beloveds is in hospital with a serious ailment. The trajectory of how I wanted to present the above treasures now takes a sharp twist, as sweet meets bitter, yet I am undaunted to recount the good while praying for the lesser element. Because this is often how life goes, joys hand in hand with sorrows. How we balance that is another issue altogether. I'm nearing the end of Letters & Papers From Prison , Dietrich Bonhoeffer's last two years of life documented in correspondence between him and those he loved. After the failed assassination attempt on Hitler, the letters dwindle, and I'm reaching that point in the book, but the truths exchanged between Bonhoeffer and his best friend Eberhard Bethge det...

Nine of twenty rows of my Mr. Carter quilt stitched together. Another six rows were laid out last night, waiting in bags to be sewn, then added. Today begins Lent. I've been reading The Cost of Discipleship by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, started last night How We Learn to Be Brave by Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde, then cracked open this morning Letters & Papers From Prison , also by Bonhoeffer. I keep two bookmarks in Letters & Papers , as plentiful notes for each chapter demand quick access. Right now I'm using the dust jacket as my bookmark in How We Learn ; perhaps I'll find a better solution, then that marker will forever dwell within that book as it happens for all my favourite tomes. Yesterday was difficult; the trade wars with Canada, Mexico, and China are hard to digest, yet those aren't the only wrenches thrown by the president. Disabling as much governmental infrastructure as is possible compounds the chaos, as well as my lamentations. By evening's end, de...

The colours in this shot are referred to within my book. The birds aren't, but they are a nice touch. Photo from July 2024, taken at Humboldt Bay, California. Okay, so this is MOSTLY novel chatter, but a heads-up: my latest fictional WIP, written in late summer 2023, seems to possess much ado concerning our current political climate. I can't escape that as I read over three chapters each morning, making me wonder if I should release it sooner than I had planned. Current launch date is for March seventeenth. Maybe writing this post will clarify that decision. Or make known to me something other than outside noise; I've been trying to engage in beloved pastimes. With writing, all I can manage are revisions, which is as necessary as the drafting of said manuscripts. And I am TRULY GRATEFUL to have books at which to poke, not merely for the distraction, which isn't how I usually approach my writing. It's never previously resembled a distraction; for years (nineteen of t...

Upsized, non-diagonal crazy quilt. Uh, sure.... After a book release, some necessary non-writing days are required. So yeah. I haven't done more with the novel-gig than read a few chapters of A Love Story , which actually does need to happen, as I'm planning to publish Book 3 of The Enran Chronicles in March. Have to remind myself of the plot, lol, although losing the plot seems to be America's current theme, however Bishop Mariann Budde is a Christian ROCK STAR, not meaning to belittle her bravery. Sometimes rock stars don't wield guitars or drum sticks you know. Sometimes it's all about the heart. My heart has required non-noveling pastimes, like throwing an obnoxious quilt onto the wall, pictured above. A bunch of smallish cuts I recently acquired hashed/clashed out with solids from my scraps stash, to be embellished with HEARTS! Dangit, why can't anyone in the new administration think with their heart right now? Ahem, Future Me huffs, giving me a slightly u...

Slippers my grandsons left behind. Not long after my most recent post, I accidentally hit the create new post button. I titled it Not sure yet because of course there would be another post, written at a more opportune moment. In the middle of a family bash, most of my focus was on relatives and party details, and I can happily say the festivities were phenomenal! We haven't thrown a wing-ding like that in ages, nor at our still new-ish residence, which for many guests was their first time visiting. My husband certainly felt the love, many hands made for light work, and I got to play heaps of card games with the grandkids and others who appreciate Crazy 8's and Go Fish. By eight p.m. last night however I was TOAST. Partying hard in one's late fifties is...hilarious, in that I required a cup of caffeinated tea at lunch yesterday and still went to be before eight thirty. While I slept well, I've been awake for, um, a good while, and despite the mostly clear sky, admiring ...