the textured richnesses of very modest lives

I recently read Tinkers, Paul Harding’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, and I’d like to share some favorite excerpts and invite you to ponder them with me. The book is more discovery than story; I had to slow myself down to cherish each paragraph. Of the book, Marilynne Robinson remarked, “Its fine touch plays over the textured richnesses of very modest lives, evoking again and again a frisson of deep recognition, a sense of primal encounter with the brilliant, elusive world of the senses. It confers on the reader the best privilege fiction can afford, the illusion of ghostly proximity to other human souls.”

On the human condition:

“Your cold mornings are filled with the heartache about the fact that although we are not at ease in this world, it is all we have, that it is ours but that it is full of strife, so that all we can call our own is strife; but even that is better than nothing at all, isn’t it? And as you split frost-laced wood with numb hands, rejoice that your uncertainty is God’s will and His grace toward you and that that is beautiful, and part of a greater certainty, as your own father always said in his sermons and to you at home. And as the ax bites into the wood, be comforted in the fact that the ache in your heart and the confusion in your soul means that you are still alive, still human, and still open to the beauty of the world, even though you have done nothing to deserve it. And when you resent the ache in your heart, remember: You will be dead and buried soon enough.” (p. 72)

A little bit about the wind:

“A wind would come up through the trees, sounding like a chorus, so like a breath then, so sounding like a breath, the breath of thousands of souls gathering itself up somewhere in the timber lining the bowls and depressions behind the worn mountains the way thunderstorms did and crawling up their backs the way the thunderstorms did, too, which you couldn’t hear, quite, but felt barometrically—a contraction or flattening as of tone as everything compressed in front of it, again, which you couldn’t see, quite, but instead could almost see the result of—water flattening, so the light coming off of it shifted angles, the grass stiffening …” (p. 128)

On our limits:

“And as an ignorant insect crawling across the face of that clock, who sees not the whole face, the full cycle of numbers, the short hand and the long … but who merely treads over the surface which hides the gear train and the springs without any but the most indirect conception of what lies beneath, so does man squirm and fret on the dusty skin of our earth, ignorant of the purpose of the world, indeed the cosmos, beyond the fact that there is one, assigned by God and known only to Him, and that it is good and that it is terrifying and that it is ineffable and that only rational faith can soothe the desperate pains and woes of our magnificent and depraved world.”

As we begin another week of Advent waiting, this last portion prompts me only to say: Come, Lord Jesus.

morning sun on a merry mini tree

Our mini tree is by the bookshelf this year; its spot in the window is taken by plants seeking shelter from the cold. I think Borges is glad for the cheery company (see upper left corner).

giving thanks

We hosted our first family holiday feast last week. This included our first turkey, which was successful thanks to an overnight brine. Smoky picture below.

My sister arrived early, bearing coffee, cheese, and chocolates. I documented them right away! Her husband is a barista at Princeton's famous Small World coffeeshop and supplied the fresh-roasted beans.

Some shots of our fine feast and the Thanksgiving spread (two folding tables pushed together, with Mom's tablecloth and some borrowed chairs).

networks

In an era of online social networks, it’s easy to quickly link to half a dozen people whom you haven’t met but with whom you share a common profession, passion, or pumpkin pie recipe. Facebook allows me to keep in touch with friends across the country—in places I’ve lived and places I haven’t. But there’s still something to be said for the synergy of physical proximity.

This is often acknowledged in the context of friendship, but I’ve been surprised by how much it’s true for professional networking as well. DC feels smaller all the time. There is something valuable in “running into” the same people over and over again at different events around the city. And people seem more interested in grabbing coffee if they’ve seen you in person somewhere else first. In other words, the old job-hunting tip—move where you want to live and print a local address on your resume—still holds weight. I was thinking about this in the context of David Brooks’ recent column about the power of American networks. He says,

“ … creativity is not a solitary process. It happens within networks. It happens when talented people get together, when idea systems and mentalities merge.”

Even though it’s easy to connect with American networks without being physically in America, Brooks might argue that the local social context matters, and that’s why the U.S. will continue to draw enterprising individuals:

“America hosts the right kind of networks — ones that are flexible and intense. Study after study suggests that America is one of those societies with high social trust. … The crucial fact about the new epoch is that creativity needs hubs. Information networks need junction points. The nation that can make itself the crossroads to the world will have tremendous economic and political power.”

vibrant virginia

Last weekend, I embarked on a fall food foray in and around Charlottesville with my friend Emily—a native of Richmond, a gracious hostess, and one of my foodiest friends. I arrived in Richmond Friday afternoon and explored the eclectic shops in its Carytown neighborhood. I finally went into a Penzeys Spices, procuring some needed seeds (sesame, poppy, caraway, fennel) for winter baking. I found some Christmas gifts at Ten Thousand Villages and chatted with the owner of the independent design store Ruth & Ollie. I braved a cat paradise disguised as a bookstore and perused the quirky inventory at Mongrel before returning to Ellwood Thompson’s for a warming bowl of soup.

Emily and I started our weekend with spicy dumplings and the Bombay roll at Osaka. Saturday morning we loaded her car with provisions (veggies, homemade hummus) and drove to Carter Mountain Orchard, just outside Charlottesville. This place definitely deserves to have “mountain” in its name; the ridge along the top had spectacular views. We did some minor hiking to get our apple harvest: Fujis, Winesaps, and Pink Ladies. We also enjoyed cider doughnuts … yum.

After the orchard we drove into Charlottesville—definitely a foodie town. We stopped by Feast and Albemarle Baking Co. to pick up cheeses, sausages, and bread for our picnic at Pollak Vineyards. Feast had some great local cheese offerings; I could have spent several hours looking around. At Pollak we sampled seven or eight wines (who’s counting …) and enjoyed a little Viognier with our lunch.

After the luncheon feast we headed back into Charlottesville and explored the downtown pedestrian mall. The chocolate sorbet at Splendora’s definitely lived up to Emily’s recommendation, and it paired well with pear. We finished the day with Emily’s nourishing butternut squash and potato soup. I’m looking forward to returning to Charlottesville and seeing more of the downtown and campus.

fall fresh

Fall feast for one: fried green tomatoes (rescued before I ripped up the stringy plants) and a CSA yam.

All cleaned up for hibernation. At least they're unlikely to freeze and crack here.

I spotted this white pumpkin at Ellwood Thompson's, a food co-op in Richmond. Both the pumpkin and mum are Virginia-grown.

september

Last Saturday we attended the National Symphony Orchestra’s season opening concert at the Kennedy Center. There is something so grand about entering the hall of flags and mingling on the patio that overlooks the Potomac. The program included pieces by Johann Strauss, Jr., Richard Strauss, and Liszt and featured performances by Renee Fleming and Lang Lang. Fleming performed Richard Strauss’ “Four Last Songs.” The lines from “September” seem à propos for this season and a fitting tribute to my abandoned vegetable garden:

The garden is mourning,

the rain sinks coolly on the flowers,

summertime shudders

quietly to a close.

Leaf upon golden leaf is dropping

down from the tall acacia tree.

Summer smiles amazed and exhausted,

on the dying dream that was this garden.

Long by the roses,

it tarries, yearns for rest,

slowly closes its (great)

weary eyes.

(translated from German)

vacation's all i ever wanted

We didn’t have to get away, but we did. After four weekends out-of-town, it’s good to be home on a Saturday–cleaning, picking up veggies, enjoying an end-of-summer kind of day. With or without the academic calendar, September will always be the back-to-school month. The same sense of anticipation; the same urge to start over.

Oregon, Washington, and Vancouver, B.C. were all new places for us. The trip was a whirlwind of driving up mountains and down coasts, exploring city streets block by block … the kind of trip that leaves you mentally refreshed but physically exhausted. Conclusion: the Pacific Northwest is full of dramatic landscapes, walkable cities, and really good food.

Rialto Beach, WA:

that lie about greener grass

I’m re-reading Eugene Peterson’s A Long Obedience in the Same Direction, and there a number of worthy excerpts. Paragraphs you just want to skim again, read out loud, chew on.

One segment addresses a common lie I’ve been considering over the past year or two. I know that life is hard and that it often isn’t fair, but I still harbor the very American impulse to believe my life will continually improve in the coming weeks and months. Though the church taught me about “persecution and trials,” I’m not sure I understood that awkward conversations, miscommunication, and stressful projects would be par for the course. Course after course. Cue Peterson:

“We keep expecting things to get better somehow. And when they don’t, we whine like spoiled children who don’t get their way. We accumulate resentment that stores up in anger and erupts in violence. Convinced by the lie that what we are experiencing is unnatural, an exception, we devise ways to escape the influence of what other people do to us by getting away on a vacation as often as we can. When the vacation is over, we get back into the flow of things again, our naïveté renewed that everything is going to work out all right—only to once more be surprised, hurt, bewildered when it doesn’t.”

Okay, so we’re going on vacation (in two days!) for other reasons than to escape annoying people. But Peterson speaks effectively to the greener grass impulse. I need to parse out the difference between discontentedness and genuine hope that God will improve a relationship, provide a financial need, and heal an illness.

tomato update

The tomatoes are starting to peek pink and roll in. I've got my first pickings in a paper bag on the counter.

Here's a shot my brother took while visiting the garden about 10 days ago. It's great to have him in the States for a little while, though he's complained about the heat quite a bit. We all enjoyed grilled squash on a Saturday evening -- talk about fresh!

And here's my CSA display (minus the bananas): vine ripe tomatoes (they're a little ahead of mine, obviously), cherry tomatoes (which my brother devoured), and white nectarines. I love getting fruit as part of my share.

Oh ... and there's basil there, too. I think I'll make a batch of mozzarella this weekend!

a yet more glorious day

I've had some blessed conversations, both public and private, over the past few weeks, and I need to be a bit more disciplined about writing things down. It's a busy season, despite the 90+ degree July heat, and the words of "For All the Saints" have been a continual encouragement. A couple verses that seem appropriate for summer's fits and starts:

The golden evening
brightens in the west;
Soon, soon to faithful
warriors comes their rest;
Sweet is the calm
of paradise the blessed.
Alleluia, Allelu... 

But lo! There breaks
a yet more glorious day;
The saints triumphant
rise in bright array;
The King of glory
passes on his way,
Alleluia, Allelu...

This hymn reminds me of the powerful imagery in Over the Rhine's "The Trumpet Child" (lyrics below) and the complete totality of the eschaton. Our pastor has been preaching in Romans and encouraging us to remember that "the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God." Our adoption as sons means the "redemption of our bodies" (Romans 8:18-25). Amen.

The Trumpet Child

The trumpet child will blow his horn
Will blast the sky till it’s reborn
With Gabriel’s power and Satchmo’s grace
He will surprise the human race

The trumpet he will use to blow
Is being fashioned out of fire
The mouthpiece is a glowing coal
The bell a burst of wild desire

The trumpet child will riff on love
Thelonious notes from up above
He’ll improvise a kingdom come
Accompanied by a different drum

The trumpet child will banquet here
Until the lost are truly found
A thousand days, a thousand years
Nobody knows for sure how long

The rich forget about their gold
The meek and mild are strangely bold
A lion lies beside a lamb
And licks a murderer’s outstretched hand

The trumpet child will lift a glass
His bride now leaning in at last
His final aim to fill with joy
The earth that man all but destroyed

subcultures

Last weekend a Mormon couple we know through work joined us for dinner. They walked over (with their two-year-old) from their apartment down the street. We grilled sausages and burgers and they brought cream soda (no caffeine).

We had a really interesting discussion about college subcultures, comparing our experiences from BYU and Wheaton. Young evangelicals love to make fun of how we/they get married “right out of college!” But we’ve got nothing on the Mormons. They often meet, date, and get married before graduating—we heard about one girl who went from a casual date to a wedding in six months. “What about the wedding planning?” I protested. “Weddings aren’t big productions for Mormons,” our dinner guest replied. Of course. We went on to discuss alcohol, travel (read: missions), and our churches. I really appreciated the candor of the conversation, the camaraderie of comparison.

bounty

A friend volunteered to negotiate with scratchy leaves for the first big squash and zucchini harvest! We'll try to get them smaller next time ...

A yellow squash plays hide-and-seek.

The first cucumber sighting!

Tomatoes are around the corner ...

new rhythms

About three weeks ago, I switched to half-time at work. I’m now working remotely and putting in about 20-25 hours a week editing, abstracting, and prepping web content. And I gleefully gave back the Blackberry. So far, it’s just lovely. But I don’t take it lightly.

This change is the result of about a year of reflection in our household, six months of conversations with my supervisors, and a commitment to try our best to flourish in our fast-paced environment. We’d like to stay in the D.C. area for more than the typical two years, and that’s going to take a lot of intentionality (I know, I’m not supposed to use that word) and investing in our home and community rather than our work. I’m praying for wisdom about how to best use my “free” time and how to balance my husband’s 12-14 hour days as an attorney.

So far, it’s been filled with (in no particular order): a new church committee, a garden, a car accident (no one was hurt), unrelated car maintenance, roller coasters, splashing in the pool with some toddler friends, a little more reading, and “The Bachelorette.” Oh, and the two bridal showers. How am I doing?

a backyard bequest

Here’s another great garden story … it’s really the beginning of one. My former colleague, John, is traveling in the Middle East this summer. Last summer he shared some homegrown tomatoes and jalapeno peppers and through the winter we talked about gardening and Wendell Berry and other classic crunchy-con topics. Like where to find raw milk (I have not tried it yet) and how gardening can prompt meditation.

When John was planning his journey, I offered to help tend his backyard garden while he was away. He asked for my input on how to organize the rows and what to plant. He put in tomatoes, squash, cucumbers, lettuces, beans, and some herbs. Then he went away. Free spirit that he is, he’s not planning on returning to the area, and his roommate is more than willing to let me continue gardening. And so, the backyard bequest. I’m delighted, intimidated, hopeful … and grateful to avoid the 3-year waiting list for a community garden plot.

So here’s an inaugural picture. As you can see, everything is well underway, especially the grass! I’m not sure what you’re doing on Friday, but I’ll be weeding.

tis the season ...

… for bridal showers. I’m in between treks to Iowa and New Jersey—cycling loads of laundry, gathering stores for the home-front (I’m leaving him behind), and soaking my already-overgrown plants. And planning party number two, for my sister. I hope the mini quiches turn out.

Tis also the season for gardens to start producing, and I heard a good story about one while I was visiting my beyond-cool friends back in Iowa City. It’s a neighbor story, and a simple one. My foodie friend knocked on a farmhouse door two blocks from her apartment (which is home to some lively herbs, but nonetheless not tillable) and inquired about her neighbor’s backyard availability. Now she and her husband share two plots with their generous hosts—and keep an eye on the place when the neighbors are out of town. She just knocked on the door, and asked! Here’s a picture (lettuce and spinach in foreground):

Next week’s garden entry: “a bequest.” Stay tuned!

citified hospitality

I’m continuing to think about what “hospitality” really looks like, especially in our pseudo-urban context. This reflection from a woman in Vancouver was a good read, mainly because it’s a story. She says,

“The new reality of city living meant being in close proximity to our neighbours and interacting with them on a daily, personal basis—not just when we want to conveniently say hello.

Although I know those who would disagree with me, I have found it easier to be neighbourly while living in the city than in the suburbs. Since space is limited in the city, I notice that people tend to congregate and cross paths regularly in public facilities such as parks, libraries, community centers, and transit—whereas in the suburbs, people tend to spend more time in the private 'playgrounds' of their homes (basements, rec rooms) and backyards.”

I felt this familiarity last week; a sense that my particular part of Arlington was really a neighborhood. I saw a good friend at the grocery store and an acquaintance on the Metro. Last night I spotted a former colleague in the crosswalk. I like the sense of shared public space here, and I hope it continues to challenge me to share my own space.

bricolage

A piece in today’s New York Times challenges the notion that globalization is flattening our cultural horizons and making us homogeneous. Michael Kimmelman explains, “The common denominator of popular culture … seems to have just intensified the need people now feel to distinguish themselves from it. And global technology has made this easier by providing countless individuals, microcultures and larger groups and movements with cheap and convenient means to preserve and disseminate themselves.”

The handmade and vintage shopping website Etsy comes to mind: One-of-a-kind products from small-time designers/producers who sell in a global market to those eager to distinguish themselves outside of popular culture. The things we buy shouldn’t define us—I agree with Andy Crouch that consumption is a limited frame for “culture”—but our choices set us apart from the mainstream and help us construct a new identity and unique aesthetic.

Kimmelman gives an example: “When Mats Nilsson, a Swedish product-design strategist for Ikea, not long ago told The New York Times that he loves to browse for handmade baskets in Spain, bird cages in Portugal, brushes in Japan and hardware on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, he was creating his own cultural identity out of the bric-a-brac of consumer choices made available by the globalizing forces of economic integration. Bricolage, it’s called. Anyone may now pick through the marketplace of global culture.”

Aside: The word “bricolage” made me think of the Ricola cough drop commercial. An odd etymology, no?

monumental springtime

Spring hath sprung. A couple weeks ago, actually. For the first time in my memory, the month of March brought flowering trees, green grass, and tulips. And as we celebrated Resurrection Sunday today, green buds had appeared on even the bigger trees. Though it’s been said a thousand times before, spring does remind me of God’s goodness. Especially when it arrives in March!

On Good Friday, we visited the famous cherry blossoms at the tidal basin. (Pictures below.) It felt a bit celebratory for the day marking Christ’s death on the cross, but we ended the day with a simple, solemn church service. And today … He is Risen!

le mot du jour

Thanks to Ross Douthat and his book list, I learned a new word today: splenetic. "Marked by bad temper, malevolence, or spite."

the moon and her mother

Watch this fun video ... the creative director is the newest (soon-to-be) member of the fam.

to read: essay about reading

An “illiterate” novelist describes her early reading experiences in this New York Times essay. It's amusing and I liked her tone. Her story reminded me of all the hours I spent reading as a child/adolescent, and made me wonder how I chose the books I did. And what would have happened if I had tried to read The Idiot as a seventh-grader.

Which of your earliest books were random or silly? (Me: Bode & Brock Theone’s Zion Chronicles.) Which were much too serious? (David Copperfield.)

are the love languages lacking?

“The 5 Love Languages” were a staple of my evangelical college experience. We didn’t take the concept too seriously, but we loved taking the quiz and comparing our results. Although it was a fun couple’s activity, I always found it more intriguing when applied to family relationships. (For the record, my love language is quality time.)

A Cardus blog post today makes me think twice about it. Excerpt:

“… there is good merit to the metaphor of love language, but like too much of evangelical literature on relationality and community it assumes that with the right disciplines, therapies and understandings our marriages, relationships, families (etc) can become sites of intimate communion which fulfill our desires as human beings. And nothing could be further from the truth. This ‘I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine’ is a market for self-interested, love starved individuals looking for the latest fill of the ‘love tank.’ It suggests: my desires are ok, you just need to learn how to meet them.”

Is this treatment too harsh? How can we use the love languages in a way that is unselfish?

snow soup

Okay, so I ate two thirds of it before taking the picture. And it looks oddly like ricotta. But I have to celebrate record-breaking snowfalls in the D.C. area somehow!

This treat goes by many names – the Washington Post had this article on “snow cream” – but in my family it’s always been called “snow soup.” I make my snow soup the same way my family has made it for generations (yes, hyperbolic): a splash of milk or half & half and a generous drizzle of real maple syrup. Syrup drizzling requires significant restraint or the snow soup quickly becomes an expensive endeavor. Bon appétit!

culture on the web, not of the web

I’d like to recommend a few “culture” sites I’ve come across in my browsing as I strive to be a “well-informed generalist.”

These webmags, blogs, forums – whatever you want to call them – are providing valuable content for consideration. This content may vary from film reviews to personal essays to recipes. But I’m as interested in the curation of the content as the content itself; in an age of information-overload, curating may be the thing I value most on the web. In learning to name it, I benefited from Brett McCracken’s blurb about “taste-keepers” in a trends-analysis piece for Relevant.

food news of late

• We have joined a CSA! It is run by chefs in Alexandria. I have wanted to do this for a couple years but our summer locations were always a bit uncertain. I know we’ll be here all year, and I’m looking forward to the program, which offers 38 weeks of produce. What will we get the first week of March? I’ll let you know.

• Over Saturday morning tea recently, Katie and I discussed bread baking and the sheet-pan-letting-off-steam method. She and her husband are (admirably) working their way through The Bread Baker’s Apprentice. I’m a loyal bread machine user and a little intimidated by actually making bread from scratch, but it’s a definite goal. For now I’m continually inspired by Beth Hensperger’s The Bread Lover's Bread Machine Cookbook. It was a wedding gift from another foodie friend, Emily Z. Le pain du jour is Hungarian white bread with fennel seeds.

• I’m currently reading Bringing It to the Table: On Farming and Food, a collection of essays by Wendell Berry and edited by Michael Pollan. Usually I go for straight-up food/cooking memoirs, but Berry’s descriptions of family farms and farming techniques is accessible and delightful. Definitely more trowel than tractor.

• Why did a post about food turn into a post about books? Theories are welcome.

trowels vs. tractors

Like the yuppies and dinks around us, we are centrally located between the farm fields of Virginia and the Farm Bill halls of power. We enjoy a Whole Foods and a year-round farmers market. But my interest in healthy food and how it is produced solidified during three years in Iowa City – one of the centers of Iowa’s local-food movement and adjacent to some massive corn fields. Now, I can’t claim to know many farmers -- though I did enjoy Galen’s lamb occasionally -- but I think processing the food movement (pun intended) while living in Iowa prompted some helpful questions about utopian farming and food systems. Also, my husband loves Oreos and being a devil’s advocate.

There’s more to consider and write about on this topic: the responsibility of Christians to steward the earth – and feed the poor; the unintended elitism of much of the locavore/foodie movement; and society’s construction of food mores with a kind of religious fervor.

For now, consider this article recommended by Mark Bittman on “The Facts about Food and Farming.” Maybe we have room for trowels and tractors.

dinks

It’s 2010 and we’ve officially left behind the “transition year” that was 2009. We’ve left behind the odd scraps of income, the piecing together of part-time jobs. We’ve settled into a small apartment, parked our Honda, and met our neighbors’ new dog. We live in Arlington, and we are DINKS—double-income, no kids (no dog, either). So here’s to a year of working hard, trying new recipes (tonight’s failed), hosting new friends, and enjoying the city. And each other.