Raven and Sparrow

Julia Shows the Way

I found this book in my local bookstore more than a year ago, and have read it over and over since then. Its by a twenty-nine year old woman who promises to cook every recipe in Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking in one year, and then blogs about it. Julie Powell's writing is very funny and she portrays her family and friends as the complicated human beings they undoubtedly are. Some of the best parts are when she extrapolates little vignettes from the life and letters of Julia Child. They are totally made up, but a wonderful description of the version of Julia that Julie carries in her head and considers a mentor, even though she has never actually met her. The essence of Julia that Julie shares in her book strikes right through my heart every time:

               "Julia taught me that what it takes to find your way in the world. It's not what I thought it was. I  thought it was all about - I don't know, confidence or will or luck. Those are some good things to have, no question. But  there's something else, something that these things grow out of.

               It's joy.

               I know, I know - it's truly an obnoxious word, isn't it? Even typing it makes me cringe. I think of either Christmas cards or sixty something New Agey women in floppy purple hats. And yet it's the best word I can think of for the heady, nearly violent satisfaction to be found in the text of Julia's first book. I read her instructions for making bechamel sauce, and what comes through is that here is a woman who has found her way."

Finding my way has been a lifelong effort for me, and I never get tired of stories about how other people find theirs. In another part of her book, Julie talks about going down the rabbit hole, and that image has always evoked the "way" to me. (Do you think Lewis Carroll invented the image in Alice in Wonderland, or just made use of an archetype we all carry?) Discovering the meaning of one's own life means diving down beneath the surface and allowing previously unsuspected predilections and feelings to carry the day. You have to discover your own oddness, and allow it to take over. And, my experience shows me that you have to do it again and again, because the original "way" , although never false, is only the first step.

My first big dive came when I went back to get a BFA in design. I did it because I was so unhappy with the kind of jobs I held after graduating the first time with a BA in history. They were all office jobs of overarching boredom in insurance or manufacturing. I saw no future for myself there and spent all of my time reading home decorating magazines. Making the leap to interior design as a possible career was really scary because I didn't have any background in art, but I knew within a month of enrolling in our local art school that I had finally found where I was supposed to be. I loved school, every bit of it, even though it took another four full-time years to get through it and I changed to graphic design on the way. Actually, school was way more fun and exciting than work once I graduated and started to freelance. I still think wistfully of the challenges, competition and satisfaction afforded by my education in art. The whole experience, starting with the decision to go, was like the sun pouring through a gap in the clouds, illuminating the path that was mine.

An Orgy of Pastels

Easter dinner suddenly became a much bigger deal than I was expecting. I was hoping my sons would be able to come home, but hadn't given the occasion much thought when my sister called. Could she and her husband and son come for Easter? Okay, that was great, but our table only seats four, so now some strategic furniture shuffling would be needed. Also, I don't feel too worried about the state of our housekeeping when its just the boys because I have seen their apartments, but my sister's house is always spotless. Now the cobwebs and dust and clutter from which I had been averting my eyes reasserted themselves with a shout, and I began making lists of chores as the day grew closer. Then my son called and asked if he could bring his highly regarded girlfriend, whom we had never met. You know, its one thing to prepare for familiar family and friends, even if they are clean freaks, but welcoming a stranger throws your house and your habits into high relief, especially as potent a stranger as a potential family member. (Perhaps I am leaping ahead here, as nothing has been said by my son, but I can hear the happiness in his voice when he says her name.) So, I was abruptly kicked into high gear.

Alas, time was too short. Or maybe my brain is really as dead as it feels, but I felt like my tablesetting wasn't up to scratch. One of the things I like best about giving a dinner is the intuitive effort required to express the essence of each individual occasion. This time I gave into, or was thrust back into cliches, and even cliche Easter stuff like eggs and bunnies were beyond my time and energy. I wanted to start with one of my best tablecloths, essentially pink, but only pink plates look good with it, and I found just six of those. Back to the stash. Green ivy tablecloth? Maybe, but what centerpiece? How about the lavender gray rue pattern cloth with a combination of plate colors, accented with tulips? Okay!

Easter morning dawned as rainy and gray as only a Northwest Easter can be. This early Easter just guaranteed that the weather would be crappy, and it was. I set up my folding table, slapped down my cloths and plates and arranged my weedy tulips. It was a pastel orgy. My creative work sometimes tends to be underdone and this table definately looked half-baked. Inside my head I was shouting, "More! More! More! Why didn't I dye eggs? Why didn't I dye napkins? What about a dash of red?" Too late, time was up. If I didn't abandon the effort and get cooking there would be no dinner to eat at this insipid table. I remembered my four pink wine glasses at that moment, and adding them helped. Now the table looked delicate instead of dead.

To get to the real point, the guests arrived, the girl was lovely, the food was pretty good, and the banter and laughter around the table reminded me again why I do this stuff. There is nothing like sitting down to eat with people you love or would like to love and spending that unadulterated time together. Happy Easter and welcome to spring.

Long time, no blog

Sorry to be so long away. In November I finally succumbed to the voice in my head that said nothing I did mattered and no one gave a rat's ass anyway. I would blame it on the deadening effect of working at Home Depot, but I have always been susceptible to those kinds of feelings and it was only a matter of time before they got me, as they have many times in the past. One of the ways I know how important something is deep in my heart is if it persists through a doubt cloud like this. The turning point this time came when I found a pile of cotton tablecloths I had begun long ago when I thought I could make enough to sell. I bought a bunch of fabric, refined three designs, and went to the extreme trouble of transferring the designs onto the cloth (hours on my hands and knees). It was just then that I reached my limit with chemical dyes. I dyed two of my designs and they were ugly. I had just discovered natural dye extracts, but didn't know how to use them with wax, so I set the marked cloth aside and began my trudge up the steep learning curve of a new dye process. On that march I switched to linen as a better substrate for natural dyes and my cotton tablecloths languished in a box. Opening that box these seven years later showed me a path through my sadness. I could at least salvage the work I had already done and make something to give away to my friends; this time with natural dyes, and many fewer expectations. I got my wax pot out, and my tjanting tools and began to wax. Just the process of doing that: the slow bob between wax pot and cloth, the smell of the hot wax, and the sense of accomplishment as the design took shape, reminded me how much I need to do this, and how happy it makes me. So, I am back.