Bittersweet Day

I joined the Cult of Creative Memories in the early 90s. Would you like to see my photo albums? No? After we moved to Ohio in the early aughts I joined the Cult of Stampin' Up (they're not the least bit incompatible, & in fact each cult encourages the other). I made cards for friends and family for about five years. Here's one of my favorites, sent to a friend who was getting ready to have breast reconstruction surgery:

I stopped making photo albums when my mom died. I think I did a few more pages & then just quit. Apparently I was making the albums for her. (Well, getting a good digital camera also contributed to my lack of print picture interest).

And then about five years ago I lost interest in making cards. When we moved I thought that maybe a change of scenery would pique my interest. Not so much. And so I've had all this STUFF sitting around collecting dust for all that time. I finally decided that it was time for me to get rid of the vestiges of these two cults. I am giving it all away to some folks who I know will appreciate it.

I had some fun testing all the ink pads to make sure they still work. Although there was a twinge - I used to stamp the penguin on the backs of the cards I made & then write "Danamade" in its belly. Feels weird to know I won't be doing that anymore.

And then I came to this box:

It was a silly extra thing that I just had to have - it came with plastic pages where you could arrange all the pictures you wanted to put in an album & then store your layouts in the box until you were ready to put the pages together. I opened up the box to see September 2004 - the trip that we took to Lake Erie six months before Mom died.

And wow it was hard to take those pictures out of that box, knowing that I'd never put that album together. Fortunately, Dr. M knew this would be a tough process, so he brought in a cow to stare at me :)

Really, I'm glad to give all of this stuff to someone who will use it. And it removes that feeling I've had over the years of something left undone. And as we all know, I have a new obsession now. All that yarn has to go somewhere!

Gifts

Tomorrow our choir is singing for a funeral. I didn't know the lady who died, but I know how hard this moment is for her family. I'm singing one of the verses by myself (I hesitate to call it a solo because it's just a few lines in the middle of a song). We were going to sing this particular song for the first time the second Sunday of June. Plenty of time to practice. But now it's tomorrow.

For some reason, 13 hours before the event, I feel less nervous than if we were singing it for Sunday morning. I think it's because the Sunday service is a time to showcase my "talent" – show them what I have (it's not really that much). But singing a song this family requested during their time of grief – it's a gift. I might not be perfect, but who cares? I'm a small cog in this day. I'll be singing as if I'm talking to those grown children about how we don't need to be afraid. I can do that.

You need not fear the terror of the night, nor the arrow that flies by day. Though thousands fall about you, near you it shall not come. And he will raise you up on eagle's wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun, and hold you in the palm of his hand.

On another note, I'm not afraid of singing (yet – ask me again at 9:55 tomorrow), but I am afraid of the age-old custom of bringing food to a funeral. The food coordinator said, "Bring a salad – maybe a jell-o salad." I said, "I do not cook. No problem!" But then I remembered my Mom's lime jell-o salad from about a thousand church and family dinners. Apparently it was really Greatnanny's recipe. Here it is in the Brookford Baptist Church cookbook:

I've made it. It's in the refrigerator congealing "setting up." It's one of my very favorite things that my Mom always made. Another gift, but not from me. Thanks Mom.

Haiti

My heart is heavy. All the things I want to write are meaningless - I've read many blogs today whose writers have said it better. So I'm just going to ask for three things:

1. Pray. That's self-explanatory.
2. Give. Here are a couple of options, but you can't turn around twice without hearing about more: Episcopal Relief & Development & Red Cross.
3. Appreciate. Take a couple of days off from whining about the cold, or lack of sleep, or your diet, or your arthritis (I'm talkin to YOU Bug!). Perhaps even reflect on the ideals expressed by Martin Luther King, Jr. whose birthday we in the United States celebrate Monday. Here is a quote from a speech in 1967: A true revolution of ideals will soon look uneasily on the glaring contrast of poverty and wealth (source, Wikipedia).

Rest eternal grant unto them, O Lord: and may light perpetual shine upon them.

A Quiet Room

A quiet room

tapping keys.

A million miles away

I hear that insistent call

to action

I could give coins

to Compassion

to ERD

to United Way

or to the red kettle

But where shall

I give

myself?