peace like a river

The clouds rolled in like white cattle, drawing chalk dust together in their wake.
A jagged gull, needle-sharp, scathed the fragile sky with its wings.
An emerald island tossed its mane in the wind. It bowed to me as I passed.
Two night herons clamored across the mute river. They had ought against each other.

I had ought against no one; no thing, not ever.

remembering stolen ice cream

Once, not too far in the distant past, I was offered a taste of coconut ice cream.

Technically, it was not exactly ice cream as it was made with coconut milk and had no dairy in it. Technically, the creamy frozen goodness did not belong to the person who offered it to me. Someone had made it for her roommate and the roommate was not home.

Good time to sneak a spoonful.

"Try it. You won't believe it," she said as she pulled a plastic tub from her freezer with enthusiasm.

Well. I have dreamed of that stolen spoonful many times since. Not to be overly dramactic, but BC could possibly stand for "before coconut ice cream.

I found this recipe online and will report back the results. But if anyone else has had a cocnut ice cream experience, please share.

from the photo bucket

I was utterly enchanted by this house in Clifton Springs, New York. I would like to wake up in that upstairs room and greet the morning by opening the curtains to let the sunshine in.

I would be wearing a Victorian nightgown. I would also ring up for tea.

A tip of the hat to last night's Tony Awards. #1 Son & I were passing Radio City Music Hall the other evening and I couldn't resist the glam.

We saw "Wicked" on Broadway and I have spent many an hour revisiting the production in my mind. I really loved it. As we exited, I noticed this sign.

I may have to duplicate it over my front door....

I snapped this shot of #1 Son as he strode confidently into the Welcome Center at NYU. We had a fabulous visit to the Tisch School of the Arts.

Presently, #1 Son is on the wait list for the fall. A little schmoozing couldn't hurt, so he made the rounds. I relaxed nonchalantly in lounges and hallways while trying not to infringe on his vibe, and only at the end of our visit chatting up a professor on his behalf.

Seriously, if they can't see what an amazing boy he is, they are undeserving of him.
(-says the mom who is conflicted about wanting him to transfer to a school so far away.)

If I don't succeed as a concert pianist, garden designer, gourmet chef, or art critic, I may try my hand at photography. I am so cutting edge with my point & shoot.

I already know how to use six buttons.

I really like this shot, too. But I forgot to flip it.

Different buttons get different results. I know that much.

Thank you for indulging me.

Saturday in the kitchen

The groceries are put away, the counters are cleared and ready for action. I firmly tie an apron around my waist, lay out the ingredients for tomato sauce and begin to chop.

While Sarah Vaughn and Rosemary Clooney croon songs of unrequited love, I slide minced onions and garlic into hot olive oil, mix ground sausage and ground beef into meatballs, and open can after can of crushed tomatoes.

From the kitchen bay windows, gray skies and rain-laden breezes help set the mood. It is an "inside" kind of afternoon; the kind of afternoon that soothes. If I close my eyes, I can imagine myself in my grandmother's apartment over forty years ago.

Instead of in the kitchen, I would be lounging on her plaid couch with my feet on the curious coffee table shaped like a cobbler's workbench. Coffee nips, her favorite candy, would be in the built-in ashtray. She would be the one who was busy in her small kitchen, confidently stirring, tasting, adjusting spices, and washing dishes as she went along.

Instead of music streaming from Pandora on my laptop, the piece of furniture called a stereo would be humming with similar tunes. Maybe some Sinatra, too.

Whatever goodness was simmering in Gruna's pot, it would be shared with our family, a friend, a neighbor, or her co-workers. It only seems proper for me to do the very same.

comfort

We attended a wake yesterday for a friend who was my own age.

As we exited the funeral home, I needed to walk a little bit. #1 Son was with me and he is always game for any spontaneous suggestion, and so together we cased the neighborhood.

I came to a halt here, where I breathed deep grateful breaths. I am so grateful to be alive to take in such colors and such perfection!

The quiet beauty of these flowers brought me comfort. All morning I had been thinking about a wonderful scripture passage that always comforts me:

13Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope. 14We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. 15According to the Lord’s own word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left till the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. 16For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. 17After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. 18Therefore encourage each other with these words.

(1 Thessalonians 4:18 NIV)

Now our friend is "asleep". She awaits the final day; that famous day when the dead in Christ shall rise to meet His coming in the clouds. I believe in this day more than anything.

The New Testament recognizes death surely, but in a larger sense we need to understand that Christ has won for us the final victory over death.

Oh glorious day!