promise and hope

Whew...what a week it has been. Watching from the sidelines as fires ravage your region is not something I'd wish on anyone. Such frustration--to see powerful destruction, and now that there is very little to be done to lessen its horror.

I kept experiencing the same frustration in others: a desire to do something to help, and an inability to find something that would feel sufficient. I went to the evacuation center at Qualcomm stadium--they were inundated with people wanting to help. And I marvel at how half a million people evacuated their homes, and found places to be. If Qualcomm held 10,000 of them, and felt like a massive operation, my mind reels at what 500,000 people seeking shelter there would look like. It seems incredible that so many people could find places to be--at evacuation centers, in their rv's in parking lots around the county, in hotels, and staying with friends and family. I like to imagine that the biggest number of people were imply absorbed (given shelter?) by extended family and friends. A vast informal network of people willing to provide hospitality and care to one another. A grassroots relief project that provided shelter on a massive scale, relying on people's basic decency toward one another...


In between my feelings of amazement and gratitude for how good people can be, though, I found myself braced for the possibility of loss. Our friend Mark lost his house--everything he owns, except for a duffel bag of clothes, his car, and the laptop he forgot at a friends' house. My thoughts are with him and so many others who've lost so much. Life, even.

We continue to spend much of our outside-of-work time up in Julian, building Matt's family's house that burned four years ago in the Cedar Fire. All that effort--the thought of losing it to fire again was, well, pretty crappy.

Thankfully, it did not burn again. And we got up there yesterday to do some more work--the power's back on, the water works, and the sky was blue. The autumn leaves are gorgeous. The neighbors even came by to say congratulations for making it through this one.

And, best of all, on the way home, we saw a rainbow. A big one, all across the sky to the east, over the desert. A double rainbow. And, it came with a gently sprinkling of rain. Promise and hope for my eyes and my tired, dry skin--how good it felt and looked! As if God was saying, "I know it's been hard. Just remember that you can never lose it all. And I will not destroy you completely. My promise is still here. You'll make it to a beautiful new possibilities, just ahead."

fires

San Diego is surrounded by wildfires today. The smoke and ash in the air, and the still quality in the street oddly and immediately evoke memories of four years ago this week, when the Cedar Fire raged through the county.

It feels strange to have been up in Julian all weekend, working at rebuilding our family house there, only to come down the mountain to relive the crisis of an overwhelming wildfire.

Not again.

This time, though, the fire spread into the city during the daytime--and having been through this as a city four years ago, everyone is less surprised by the power of the fire. So, we watch, riveted to the news as this fire causes evacuations of more and more communities. And burns more and more houses.

We're not close to the fire's imagined path (and neither is the half-built house in Julian), so the danger feels less personal, but the heaviness of fears seems to match the heaviness of the smoky air.

So, we pray, and share food, and take walkers from the church closet to the evacuation site and the stadium.

i *felt* crafty

Last weekend felt fall-ish, and I was feeling crafty, so I decided to try felting. The idea of turning old wool sweaters into cool new things has been tempting me. I gave into temptation.

What fun: a couple of washes in hot water, and knit things become all stuck together. Like felt. (Ok, so they ARE felt. Whatever.)

Here's my first felting project, a little purse made out of an old sweater. I even made a lining with *pockets* out of a cloth scrap I had.
I thought it was so much fun I decided to try more. And, I've been fixated on etsy.com lately, thinking it might be fun to try selling crafty things. So, I went thrift store shopping...and found a few (er, twelve) sweaters I thought would be fun to play with.

(they were such a good deal. i just couldn't resist. and whose gonna buy wool sweaters in san diego, anyhow?!?!?)

Here's my pile of newly-felted sweaters, just waiting to be remade.
Oh, the possibility!!!

what the Bible tells us to love

It's been an exciting couple of days: an unexpected chance to see some of country radio's big names in concert, and a film about the Bible and homosexuality.

Sunday night, we went to see Brooks & Dunn AND Alan Jackson in concert. Every song was a top hit with lots of radio play--it was hours of sing-along fun. I love sentimental songs whose choruses include finding Jesus, drinking beer and wrecking cars. All in 2 lines. Really, it was fun--Boot Scootin' Boogie-ing, Chattahoochie-ing good times.

It helps that these 2 acts have the post-9/11 patriotic anthems I can most go along with. (And, we all know that a good country music concert has to feature 'em. Sometimes they make my stomach hurt bad.) Unfortunately, their staging and order reinforced what my good friend, Christian Left, was saying just the other day. In an encore that started with a gospel invitation to believe in something more than what we can see (and with a shout-out to red letter Christians), they followed this moving gospel number with (you guessed it) patriotism. And they used a song about USAmerica as a land of opportunity (a swell idea) as stage for a visual tribute to the Marines. As if the only thing better than believing in Jesus is America. And the real America is military America.

My Dear Husband, though he shared much of my complaints about the staging, said they had to do it so they could end on a rockin' number. Maybe Jesus could be last if his songs rocked more.

ANYHOW...

Tonight, my adventures in Jesus and America continued. Differently. I went to see "For the Bible Tells Me So," a documentary about the Bible and how it's used to form our beliefs about homosexuality in USAmerica. It is playing here in SD this week. I went with some courageous and beautiful people who are trying to build a community of support for LGBT folks at a conservative Christian college in town.

It's always hard to watch reminders of the spiritual and physical violence done to gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered people in the name of the Bible. It's been far too much, and far too destructive.

What made me cry, though, is the bold witness of families and parents who are being "church" much more daringly then most of our churches are. And the folks in the film certainly aren't the only ones: so many others are putting themselves out into the world as witnesses to a Gospel call to love.

I'm just worried, tonight, about how horrible the whole things looks from the outside.

We've gotten so easily deceived into believing that homophobia is a holy obligation--that it's the Christian expectation. Which makes we wonder how we're going to get beyond this. For a culture that finds religion more and more optional, and that may never have the kind of rich and formative experiences of being raised in a nurturing church community, I wonder what reason for joining a church community one would see.

I want to be a part of church communities that proclaim by demonstration a love that comes to everyone and changes the world.

The choice isn't whether or not there are going to be gay and lesbian people in the world. (There are.) We need to choose whether the church is going to be open to all children of God. And, eventually, we need to choose if we're going to be relevant to a world that loves its gay and lesbian sons/daughters/mothers/parents/brothers/neighbors/co-workers/teachers.

Or just look afraid, ignorant and hypocritical.

At least, that's what I'm thinking tonight.

the little things

Today was a frustrating work day. Miscommunication, impatience and not honoring each other threatened to destroy far too much.

Then, the little things saved the day.

See, the toilet paper dispenser in the bathroom I share with the finance office (I know, I know: I'm spoiled. A private bathroom at work...) has this toilet paper dispenser that will never give you more than one square at a time. The roll gets jammed, and then you have to reach your hand up into the narrow area on the edge and get your thumb to inch the roll around so you can get more paper. It's annoying, but never so annoying that I stop to do anything about.

But, today, our head custodian, Paula, turned the rolls around so the flap comes into the middle of the holder and the rolls can spin freely. Life is good. Bathroom breaks have never been better.

And, then, at Vespers, a man whose spirit is still heavy with grief for his wife joyously told me that he's already saved 45 pounds of greenhouse gas since his solar energy system became operational yesterday.

And, another man shared the story of his visit to a dying friend: watching a television commercial that advertised coffee drinks, the friend lamented that he'd never again share one. Undaunted, the visiting friend immediately decided that this visit was not at all a visit to share last moments, but one in which to share cappuccinos. And they did.

Plus, the olive tree just outside our sanctuary window captured the most amazing light show during the organ postlude at Vespers. As if the God's grace had the cues all lined up to end the day.

optional side-tours on the odyssey?

An op-ed piece in the NYTimes today caught my imagination. Not because it was anything particularly new--it just seemed well-said. Or, perhaps, fit well into stuff that's been bouncing around in my head.

[David Brooks certainly doesn't tend to write political columns I agree with. But here he quotes Robert Wuthnow, so what the heck... ;)]

Brooks makes a case for a new stage in life--between adolescence and adulthood. In that fuzzy area we UM's call being a "young adult." Rather than writing it off as a period of aimlessness, he describes the intense "improvising" that tends to go on as young people look to make sense of a world that less-and-less fits into neat, easy boxes. He says this is good for knitting circles and bad for churches.

I agree that it's "bad" for churches in the sense that it makes it hard for young people to fit into the church in our current forms. (I mean, how do we count members if people are transient? Or unwilling to sign on for joining institutions that are homophobic, or that seem to be worried mostly about their own self-preservation?) But it seems like it could be incredible "good" for the church, if we can only figure out how work with this "odyssey."

On our best days, odyssey characteristics like "uncertainty, diversity, searching and tinkering" are exactly what our church life ought to be about. At least, they're what draws me into it. (They seem to me to be things that Jesus was all about--questions assumptions, daring to include the excluded, answering easy questions with stories, and always doing so with love.)

I haven't found the right metaphor--"tour guide" seems far too much like we in the church should have things figured out. But perhaps the church can be like optional side excursions--helping give ways to deepen the experience of the questions, exploration and engagement. Or like a community journal, providing a context in which folks can reflect on odyssey-ing. Or like time on the tour bus for building community with others.

So many possibilities.

california dream

I finally got myself one step closer to that California dream: I tried surfing today.
I know, I know: I've been here for over 9 years now. It's about time this Nebraska girl who grew up with grade school fantasies of life with the Beach Boys in California carried a surf board under her arm and into the water.

And I have to say that it was SO not that bad.

Being not naturally gifted at anything athletic and prone to clutzy moves even on solid ground, I was (I admit...) leery of the prospect of standing up on moving water.

Don't get your hopes up. I didn't do a whole lot of standing up on moving water today. (Maybe 2 seconds on itty bitty waves in foot-deep water.) But, more importantly, it wasn't horrible and I didn't feel like I was going to die at ANY point.

Also, I was impressed by the warmth of the rented wetsuit. It really was warm.

My only time in neoprene before today was when we went hiking through the Narrows in Zion National Park. There, the 50-degree water combined with fear of flash floods and the bloody reality of a rock that knocked my dear husband out cold. I wore neoprene socks with my hiking sandals as we slogged that endless journey through the river, and my feet were freezing pretty much the whole time.

Turns out that a whole wetsuit in ocean water (that's significantly warmer than that Virgin River water) is pretty darn warm. Who knew?!?

I don't think I'll early the title "surfer girl" anytime soon, but I'd be willing to give it another go... Thanks for inviting me, Jen.

------

An unrelated highlight for the day was watching a giant poster for Duncan Hunter's presidential campaign receive "boos" as it roamed through crowds at Oktoberfest in La Mesa. I mean, if folks in his East County home aren't even enthusiastic, that makes his prospects pretty weak, right?

planting things

On Monday, the garden club met for some planting fun. C, the 7th grader, got a head start by sticking a handful of pinto beans in a plastic pot with some dirt. They'd all sprouted, and the 30 or so plants in the little pot were getting crowded...so, now there's a line of pinto bean plants along the fence, happily transplanted with a whole bunch more space. We planted other beans and peas, too, plus some sweet peas. And moved some strawberries, which are the consistent favorite of R, the 4th grader.

Making the labels was a favorite activity. It was pretty exciting (as you can see from R's punctuation choices for the sweet peas!!!)

Then, for my favorite part of the meeting, we picked some of the basil and a ripe tomato. I got to introduce them to one of my favorite summertime treats. (I know, I know: it's fall now. One must gather her basil leaves while she may.)

Yesterday, some new packets of heirloom seeds arrived in the mail--my clever use of some birthday money. ;) Now, we'll see if these new-to-me kinds of broccoli, cauliflower and cabbage like City Heights life.

What fun.

31

According to the Book of Discipline, a young adult is someone who is "approximately" 18-30 years of age. Which means that I am now, officially, young only in an approximate sense.

I do, however, give thanks for all 31 completed years, and for celebrations yesterday, which included cobbler, cake and a choco taco. (Plus a full moon, good company, and the rest of Weeds, Season 2. I'm hooked on Weeds, which is, I suppose, how a show about a drug is supposed to work. I should be glad it's not named for a more addictive substance. And, since we're never going to have Showtime, I'm attempting to cultivate patience as I wonder what will happen to dear, deep-in-trouble Nancy. It's all clever social commentary. And has that addictive "Little Boxes" song that Pete Seeger used to sing. I would not, however, recommend showing it to small children.)

My folks have been here this week. I just took Mom to the airport, and am working at my transition back to regular life. It's fun to show them my life, but, as one might guess, life is different when they're here. Oh, the impossibility!

My neighbors of the Garden Club have been coming by in search of access to a little piece of ground where they can plant whatever they want; I've been too busy to come out and play. Maybe tonight. Or tomorrow.

word on the street

To Matt, she said:
Yo, your house is phat juiced up.

I take that as approval of our new paint scheme. Rock on.

more beautiful things

i'm just excited because i got to see sinead o'connor sing last night.


and, as grace would have it, it's giving me things to ponder as i read contemplate how to preach Jeremiah again this week.

one thing i love about sinead is her resilient and bold inability to play to audiences. mad props to sinead for dedicating a song to britney spears, speaking up for a mother who's being trashed in the press. "keep your chin up," sinead offered her, along with a rockin song. it feels similar to the line she keeps walking between giving voice to powerful lines from scripture while distancing herself from the churches that use them.

she talked about how she's been talking to lots of christian press folks as she promotes this album. and how they're not all thrilled when she says that god doesn't like war. (she used different langauge for the "not all thrilled" bit, as i remember it.)

amen, sister.

on color and things i find beautiful

I found someone near me who has chickens--17 wonderful, varied chickens in her backyard on the canyon. And, she sells their eggs. They are a beautiful collection of wondrous colors. (As are the chickens themselves. They looked very happy.)

I'm glad to have a local source of well-raised eggs. If you're in the area, and would like to know where to get some, let me know. I'd be happy to connect you!
And, this morning, I'm pondering how long it will be before I change my profile picture. My house doesn't look so much like that any more. It's more colorful now.
I don't know if it's the new color of the house or the growth in the garden, but it seems like many more people are stopping to tell us they like our garden these days. A family came by a few weeks ago, and asked after the too-dry-for-sweet-corn ears of corn then standing in my yard. I shared some corn, and they came back that evening with fresh tamales!

Last night, the littlest member of what shall henceforth be known as the Garden Club (that is, the kids who live next door who are keen on helping in our garden) was helping me pick grape tomatoes so I could take some to book club. After finding five or six in the midst of what's become an overgrown region of sprawling tomatoes, leafy rhubarb, out-of-control strawberry plants and more bermuda grass than I'd like, I was ready to give up. Little D, though, kept going--finding so many they wouldn't all fit in my bowl. With a mischievous 3-year-old smile, he'd lift up his arm and say, "Another one!" There were plenty for snacking in the garden AND for taking to book club.

help with the yardwork

I made friends last week.

Two girls who live next door--one in the front house and one in an apartment in the back, off they alley, came over and knocked on my door.

"We really like your garden. We think you look nice. Will you be our friend?"

So now I have two new friends. One who just started 7th grade, and one beginning 4th. (Plus, her little brother who's about 3.) They want to help in my garden.

Last week, I didn't work outside very much. (At least, not after they'd already come by.) But this past weekend, we planted some things in the back yard: calla lilies from a church friend, and papaya seedlings that grew from seeds from a fruit enjoyed this spring. Oh, and we got to play with the worms that live in the backyard's dirt.

What could be better?

compost is like grace

This morning, Matt decided we should rent a little trailer and take all the junk--like the old window trim that we tore off--that's lying around the house to the landfill. I persuaded him that, as long as we've got a trailer and are going to the landfill, we might as well get some fresh compost for the garden.

We've picked up free compost from the landfill before, but the availability of a trailer opened up a new possibility for us: they could use a big machine to load the compost for us.

Scale is difficult at the landfill. Huge piles of trash. Little bitty people.

Turns out it costs $4 to have them load you up with compost. But it's WAY worth it.

The biggest scooper truck I've seen comes over to help us. (There's probably a better word for this piece of machinery, but "backhoe" is the closest approximation I have and this is WAY bigger than any backhoe I've seen.) The very large man in the very large truck looks at our receipt and starts loading. Just before he dumps the beautiful, smelly compost in, though, he beckons Matt over to his cab. (Well, like, over to 10 feet under his cab.)

"Is this for your garden?"

When Matt nods yes, he backs up, dumps the compost back where it came from, and takes off. Turns out, we get the top shelf compost this time. "Food compost," he called it. The best they have. He came back with his scooper less than half full.

We'd been having this discussion about volume. Our receipt indicated that we could receive 1 cubic yard. I realize that cubic yards are a lot bigger than cubic feet (like, 27 times bigger, by my math), but it didn't seem like a lot. I told this to Matt. He told me a cubic yard is big.

So the nice big man in the nice big truck dumps his partially-filled load of the good stuff in our trailer. Suddenly, it looks bigger.

Now, as darkness falls over City Heights, it looks huge.

Here's the pile that's left in the driveway, after I spread a layer liberally around the garden. (Gardening liberally is a specialty of mine...)
I think we have enough.

Our windows are all open (on account of it being really-hot-for-San-Diego today). It smells like compost around here. Pretty cool that this all comes from our trash...

stuff you probably didn't even want to know about me

Erika tagged me again. Here are my answers to the big questions of life:

Breakfast Items That Are Critical To My Happiness:
Coffee and...
My day just doesn't feel right without starting with a cup of coffee and something else--often peanut butter and jelly on toast. (Now that I've got homemade jam, it's taken up a notch.)

Oh, and it all goes with the morning paper, except on Thursdays, when I'm always running too late to get to the paper.

People I Would Most Like to Share a Table With On a Cruise:
I don't know if it was because it was a Carnival cruise, or what, but the cruise vibe just isn't really me. What I'd really like is to share a table at home, filled with homegrown goodness with Matt and dear friends. And, while we're at it, it'd be cool if I could make those friends live just a few blocks away. ;)

Rudest Thing Said To Me This Week:
Not sure--I try to forget these things.

Rudest Thing Done To Me This Week:
Again, I'm failing in memory. And grateful that I don't live and move in the midst of rudeness. Would the incessant littering that goes on in my fence line, sidewalk and garden count?

Jobs That Have Made Me Go, "Huh?"
It's trash day, and the window's open...so I continue to harbor a mix of emotional reactions to the handful of people who regularly move through our neighborhood, sifting through trash and recycle bins for bottles and cans that are redeemable for deposits. On one hand, I'm grateful that our trash can generate income. It also seems like a miserable way to make money.

Jobs I Have Had That Concerned and/or Confused My Mother:
More than my jobs, relocating at great distances from Nebraska is probably what has most confused my mother. Boston, Niger and California are all pretty far.

Favorite Curse Words That I Can Use In Front of Children Without Too Much Fear of Repercussion:
I've been known to say things "suck."

Curse Word That I Use Most Frequently After Leaving the Children:
Variety is the spice of life.

Most Honest Bumper Sticker I've Ever Seen:
War is not the answer.

Changes I Would Make If Money Were No Object:
Ah, if only money could solve our problems. The ones that it seems money could solve--access to safe drinking water, hunger--I suspect to be much more deeply rooted in our ways of setting world priorities. And in (not) honoring the dignity of all humans and all of creation. If we're going to solve things, it can't just be generating more money; we need to reallocate things.

That said, I'm pretty thrilled that we have the money to repaint our house right now.

Favorite Piece of Technology:
This week, ceiling fans. It's San Diego hot this week.

I'm tagging Marian (so I can see her new blog), Krista and Deb.

friday five: giving credit

I figure, what the heck. It's about time I played another RevGalPals Friday Five. Today, it's about art, which I dig. Here goes:

Name a

1. Book
Barbara Kingsolver's "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle." Especially lately, I've been thinking about food a lot on this spiritual and physical journey of mine. I treasure the way she brings the intricacies of turkey life cycles into crisp, beautiful invitations to live differently in this world.

2. Piece of music
While naming the Indigo Girls is tempting, as they sang me through some critical years of spiritual development, I'm gonna say Sinead O'Connor's "Thank U for Hearing Me." Exquisite. (Bach's "St. John's Passion" gets a shout-out, though, too.)

3. Work of art
Matisse's cutouts. They are so clearly made by human hands, so grand in scale, so vibrant and such a testimony to the possibilities we humans can find to express ourselves, even when we lose physical abilities.

4. Film
Shawshank Redemption, I suppose. It's a good one, anyhow. Nothing soars like that opera music through a prison yard...

5. Unusual engagement with popular culture
"Unusual" is such a tricky category. I listen to country music these days; I especially like to wake up to its honesty and direct way of speaking of things. (Later in the day, I love rich, metaphorical poetry, but there's something to be said for just layin' it out there, especially before coffee. I mean, how do you beat this kind of clarity:
id like to see you out in the moonlight
id like to kiss you way back in the sticks
id like to walk you through a field of wildflowers
and id like to check you for ticks

That have helped/ challenged you on your spiritual journey.

Bonus: Is engagement essential to your Christian faith, how and why?
If engagement means being involved in all the richness of language, visual perception, our hearing, relationships with others, and turkey mating, then my answer is: yes.
All we have are these bodies through which to know God and seek to live in the world as God intends it to be. We're certainly called to engage, for ourselves, for our communities and world, and for God's sake. (Am I allowed to say "godsake" in this?!?)

thresholds

We got a new door to our house yesterday. (The neighbor installed it for us.) I like it a whole lot more than our old door. And, it's one piece of our current round of home improvements, most of which are aimed at tidying up the outside of the house. (That is, improvements like patching the siding under the kitchen window that's been a gaping hole since January.)

It's incredible how much better I feel coming home to a door (and lack of hole) that looks beautiful to me.

And it's not even finished yet.

All this is making me wonder about the importance of thresholds, entrances and boundaries. If it feels this good to walk through a beautiful door, how can I do a better job of opening beautiful doorways into our church?

Wednesdays often make me think these things, because they almost always include communion worship at Vespers. Standing at the communion table speaking words of grace is a little bit like opening a beautiful door.

And, today these doorway thoughts are even stronger for me, as I made a visit to Strength for the Journey. I've always (like, "always" meaning "every year since I've been a real pastor" which is, in human terms, for six years) been a part of camp, often in what felt like big, responsible leadership roles in this retreat for adults with HIV/AIDS. This year (#7), I got to pass leadership on to two people I look up to in ministry. And, today, they let me come for a visit. (Ostensibly, I was there to share our portable labyrinth as a workshop option.)

Today felt a bit like poking my head in the doorway to check on things. And, I was delighted to find that the magic of camp, with all it's grace-filled possibilities, is most definitely still happening. In beautiful ways.

And the horrible part of me that was mildly disappointed to see that things go fine without me was also delighted to be warmly received. I love the community that happens at Strength for the Journey.

And, I love it when "church" opens its doors wide enough to make space for people living with HIV/AIDS--gay and straight, male and female, young and old, sick and healthy, Anglo, Hispanic, African-American, at all places in their lives of faith (or lives without faith). If only it were all the time and not just for a week, up in the mountains.

'Til then, I'll try to enjoy my new, wooden door. And keep it open as much as possible. Celia, my neighbor who taught me that "elotes" means "corn" like corn-on-the-cob, is extravagant in saying hello, and I'm starting to feel more like I know my neighbors.

I've had two fabulous visitors last week and this--friends from college. Getting to offer a little bit of hospitality to people I love is cool. Plus, it's like making time-travel doorways that span 10 years. So, thanks for visiting, David and Z! What fun it is to open my door to you.

eating some very local food

Yesterday and today, I've been enjoying fruit from the yard. Marian came over, and we ate figs, with goat cheese. (Don't worry: I don't have goats in the yard. I got that at the store.) Delicious. I'm liking learning to eat figs well.

We made 'em into a little pizza, too. A splendid combination of savory and sweet. The rosemary from the yard set it off perfectly.

(We made a tomato and basil pizza, too, but didn't take a picture. It was good, but nothin' like figs and goat cheese. Marian told me: "They can't all be figs and goat cheese." I should just be delighted that it was fresh and tasty.)
Tonight, I had my first corn from the garden. My favorite summertime meal: a blt and fresh corn. Good stuff.

garden perspective

Today, I've enjoyed looking at how things have grown 'round here. The bananas in the backyard seem CRAZY big. (At least, crazy bigGER than they were...I'm hoping they keep growing taller, so they don't hit my in the face when I walk by.)

Here's the backyard when we planted it.Here's that same little banana plant today. (The fig tree and kiwifruit are a lot bigger, too!)
(Excuse the window, leaning against the fence, that's waiting to be installed in the house...)

And here are our vegetables. That's a six-foot fence the corn is towering over. The first pumpkin looks about ready to pick.
And, my little delight for the day is how well the stephanotis is doing. It's just growing away in the backyard, filling the area with smelly delight.

i heart tomatoes

for breakfast, lunch and dinner
in salsa, soup, salad and sauce
tomatoes, tomatoes, tomatoes!Not that you asked for it, I thought I'd share my tomato joy. It's joyous enough that I've been able to share with neighbors and friends. (I'm hoping that my sharing will prompt the neighbors across the street to want to share their Chinese water fruit with us, so we can try it... See, I have my motives.)

I'm rather enjoying this summer harvest (even if I am a bit disappointed with our zucchini's resistance to growing well, and if my flower bed looks fairly wretched and rather patchy...)

Here's what the vegetable garden looked like before camp, the last time I thought to take a picture when it was light out. The corn has grown considerably since then--this was July 13, I think.
I keep thinking these long summer days will give me time to do more projects around the house, during the week. Alas, so far, this has not been the case. By the time I get home from the church, I'm ready to just sit on the couch. I try to convince myself that, because I don't have a television to turn on, it's not that bad. But I spend a lot of time living vicariously through other more-active people's instructions for how to make cool crafts and revolutionary gardens.

Oh, and searching for the ideal colors for the exterior of our house.

If you lived in a neighborhood where you could--really--paint your house ANY color and it woudn't look out of place, what color would you paint a cute, little (and did I mention "little"?) wood-sided house built in the 1920's?