Is the scarecrow staying? And does he have a name?

Two questions I forgot to ask last Saturday, when the previous owners of our duplex gave us a lengthy tour of the yard and garden.

I did learn that the serviceberry tree is named “Dale.” And that the flox, sedum, and other plants by the pond are native to Virginia and will attract dragonflies and hummingbirds. The hedge will need trimming, the perennial bed mulching. The vegetable garden area lies at the foot of the scarecrow and will need to be cleared of rocks.

And so our life continues in Arlington, in a new (old) place, in someone’s lovingly tended garden, in another vibrant neighborhood. We are thankful.

visit from a foodie friend

Sometimes Saturday is like stepping out of time. It’s not a day of rest, like Sunday; it’s a day to get things done, but not the things you would normally do. And sometimes it’s a day to see your city all over again, or explore a new neighborhood, or leave altogether. Last weekend my dear friend Michelle came to see another lighted city, its monuments, and our life here. And to make ricotta blintzes with blueberry sauce.

sriracha and sushi

We had a few colleagues over for homemade sushi and dumplings last weekend. Here are a few shots of the assembly and service:

  The table set with chopsticks from China! 

(Everything else from Target, IKEA, and Crate & Barrel.)

 Two takes on the veggie roll: one with sriracha, one without. 

Avocado, cucumber, carrot, and sprouts.

 The in-house attorney patiently places sushi rice on nori ... 

good thing he's not charging by the hour!

Trader Joe's smoked salmon and a roll ready to be sliced.

A smoked salmon roll ... ready to be rolled.

 Sesame seeds added a key flavor profile.

 The buffet, after feasting.

These purplish dumplings owe their hue to red cabbage 

and my spontaneity.

confessions of a racing reader

Like many type-A achievers, I take great pride in completing a task efficiently. My formal education allowed little time for considering texts; the goal was to read for comprehension, not contemplation. There were exceptions. During college I remember a particular English assignment that required my class to memorize Psalm 8, which we then discussed, line by line, over the course of several sessions. And in high school, I read and re-read On the Road for my senior thesis, diligently marking up the pages, my tongue between my lips.

In my reading now, I have every reason to take my time. While the time allotted for reading might be limited, I don’t have deadlines for finishing a book. This winter, I’ve purposefully chosen reading that should encourage slow consideration—novels to be read carefully and gently, with a cup of tea. Sip.

In an earlier post, I shared some favorite portions from Tinkers. What I didn’t fully confess is that I raced through Harding’s rich prose in just a few sittings. He includes “excerpts” from an old clockmaker’s manual as part of the narrative; I found the technical language too boring and sped-read many of those segments. Sigh.

I’m coming to the end of Jayber Crow, having read Hannah Coulter earlier this month. I love Wendell Berry’s fictional rural community and its rhythms of lives well-lived. But I also love the rhythm of turning the page. Swish.

It's almost as if I believe quicker reading leads to deeper immersion in the text. But when I read Scripture I often read the same chapter repeatedly, several days in a row. I know I’ll skim it the first time, read it more slowly the second, start to see its beauty the third. Perhaps I should adopt this pattern for fiction and so frustrate my page-turning ambition. Smile.