Above most other things, that is what I want my home to be.  A sanctuary.  A place for people to be  accepted completely, loved unconditionally, and welcomed with joy.  A place of rest.  This does not always happen.  I have lived with people whom I was not willing to accept, love or welcome.  I have lived with people who were only looking for a house and not a home.  I have also lived with people (both family by birth and family by choice) who have been the best sort of home for me.  The e-haus had both sorts of incarnations.

This new place, The Palace, far away from the things and people I know best, has been surprising at every turn.  I thought I would come here and be challenged academically and focus on school.  Finish this degree.  Move forward.  Apparently the academic part is not the real lesson.  This is the year I get to learn how to work with real people.  This is the year I am challenged to be what I hope to find in others.  My point being, I have not been good at being accepting, loving or welcoming lately.  I have been judgemental and intolerant.  I have been standoffish and unpleasant.  I have been more than a little selfish.  These are difficult things to move past, but I know I will.

We have too much going on this year for me to add to the stress level by being ridiculous.  These next few weeks I am going to be more intentional about making this place a sanctuary.  A place to come home to.  It is temporary, but it is what we have and I would like to make it good.

Oh yes, I do love the Monkees.  Can anyone guess what my favorite Monkees song is?

The band.  Yes.  The band has been fun.  Yes, there is a tambourine.  Yes, the guitar in the video is loud and the girl standing next to it is a little overpowered.  We are working on these things.

Listen here.  Scroll down, hit play.  You know how it works.

Housemate:  Drove by Yankee Stadium…saw a lot of things.

Housemate 2:  Just drove by?

Housemate:  Absolutely!  I don’t want to be in the middle of that mess.  It’s like hell.

Housemate 2: ??

Housemate:  I’d like to see hell,  I just don’t want to be there.

To the young lady at the Mason Jennings concert in Troy, NY last evening,

It was such fun to watch you dance.  You seemed so thrilled to be there.  Slightly intoxicated, but thrilled.  I loved how you sang every word of every song and how every song was your favorite.  At the end of the concert, when he came back out and finally sang the song you’d been requesting all night, I thought you were going to explode.  I’m sorry you kicked your drink over, but I think it was all right that you didn’t have that one.  When you ran into us five minutes after the show and looked absolutely stunned and so happy to see us, it made my night.  It is good that your hunter boyfriend did not drive home.  Your pleasant friend who introduced us to (and warned us against) the Porkslap Pale Ale seemed to be a better choice as driver.  I sincerely hope no one was ill in the car.  If we ever meet again, I will be sure to say hello.

Our lectures rarely start on time.  Choir rarely starts on time.  I find myself with many small moments – too small for homeworking, but definitely large enough for little knitting.  It is good to do something with less potential for exposure to infectious disease.  Plus, you never know when you will need a sharp stick to protect yourself with.

Last night, I found the yarn for Baby A.’s Christmas fox.

The pattern is here.  The eyes are a little on the creepy side for me so I think I will be experimenting with other options.  Let us hope he looks better than the infamous green knitted bear.

But this, oh this…is the project of the moment.

Isn’t it marvelous!  And it comes with a “cozy rainbow pocket!”  It is still faceless and a little creepy, but that should be fixed by the end of the weekend and then this little darling is going in a box and heading to the frozen tundra.

The pattern is from one of my favorite designers, Jean Greenhowe.

I am doing my best to take advantage of the quiet moments.  To be still when I can be still, to knit when I can knit, to study…well, all the time.  We are through week 15.  This is good.

]]> http://nectaryne.wordpress.com/2009/10/10/small-moments-fitting-in-the-knitting/feed/ 0 nectaryne Yarn for the fox green knitted bear2 Rainbow Baby1 Rainbow Baby out of pocket http://nectaryne.wordpress.com/2009/10/06/small-moments-walking-home/ http://nectaryne.wordpress.com/2009/10/06/small-moments-walking-home/#comments Wed, 07 Oct 2009 01:53:36 +0000 nectaryne http://nectaryne.wordpress.com/?p=426 ]]>

Small, tired voice on the telephone.  One word answers, but not sullen.  So sleepy.  Bedtime soon, after reading.

Thumping feet in the hallway.  I can hear them even from this far away.  A second sleepy voice, “Watcha’ doin’ tonight?“  Her standard greeting.

“I was singing.  Lots and lots of singing.”

“What kind of singing?”

Breathe in, from close to my toes.  “This is the sound of one voice.  One spirit, one voice.  The sound of one who makes a choice.  This is the sound of one voice.”

Muffled breathing on the other end of the phone.  Quiet.  “I don’t know that song.“

Another breath.  Still low.  The night air rushes in.  “How about, slippery fish, slippery fish, swimming through the water…”

Another sleepy pause.  “Yes!  I know that one!“  We sing together, “Octopus, octopus, wriggling through the water.”

“Do you know the ABC song?”  I know she does.

“Yes!“  We sing together.  I walk slowly, not wanting to be home yet.

“Do you know The Eensy Weensy Spider?”

“Yes!  But let’s sing Humpty Dumpty.“

I begin, “Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall…”

“I know a different one, ” she interrupts.  “I will sing it.  Humpty Dumpty sat on a pot.“

Laughter.  “I will talk to you tomorrow. I love you.“

It is almost hard to talk.  “I love you, little one.  Good night.”

“Good night.”

A year ago, I wrote about having the chance to ask for forgiveness.  And about that forgiveness being given readily.   I don’t think I wrote about taking communion the next day.  About standing in the front of the church and truly feeling, for the first time in many, many years that I had “come with joy  before my Lord, forgiven, glad and free.“  The quiet peace of that moment has stayed with me through the past twelve months of change and chaos, reminding me of the love that is mine for the experiencing if I choose to do so.

It is week fifteen.  Normally, this would be the end of the semester with finals following and then some sort of break.  There is no break coming up.  There is still catching up from the unexpected week of illness.  There are still tests to make up and new exams on the calendar.  It always feels like too much in week fifteen.

Yesterday, as I took communion for the second time in my new home, my new church, I tried to stop and breathe.  To just be still.  I am sure I cried a little.  I am still forgiven, glad and free.  I am still loved beyond measure.  I am still blessed beyond description.  My heart is full and I know I am prepared for whatever comes next.

There is never much writing in September.  Too much back-to-school new routine-ing going on.

News – not too much of this.  Am getting better, slowly.  I still feel like there are not enough hours to catch up on sleep.  Not enough hours to get all the way better.  This too shall pass.

Not news – school is progressing.  We are in week 14 already!

Amusing news – a smallish bear asked me to knit her socks.  Orange socks.  Several days later, I found out that really she wanted an orange fox.  This changes the pattern somewhat.  Christmas knitting is in full swing.

October will be for catching up.  Correspondence, homework, sleep, reading, overdue phone calls.  Yes.  October will be good.

Oh, it is so cold!  And I have a lot of mayonnaise in my pocket.

Here, they tell me the winters are long and snowy.  I tell them I lived there for nine years.  There, in the frozen tundra where winter is the longest season.  Where we learn to move in sharp winds and guide vehicles through ice and snow in the darkness.

Here, the mountains still leave me breathless.  There, we have a mountain.  A geological oddity rising from the glacial plains.

Here, I come home to a quiet room.  Here, I eat alone.  There, the house is full of smallish bear sounds – laughter, thumping feet, arguing, singing.  There, I eat in between napkin-finding and milk-pouring and pork chop-cutting and manners-teaching.

Here, I dial the phone and ask careful questions.  There, I sat so close and only wondered.

Here, on Saturdays, I listen to the radio from six to eight and laugh.  I listened there too, but from five to seven.

Here, I worship with people who do not know me.  Who have not seen me fall into the organ pit or heard me play for a cantata or seen me attempt to guide women through a difficult meeting.  There, I have a defined role.

Here, all my friendships are new and tentative.  There, oh there…  There, people who are dear to me go on making their lives, knowing they are still in my heart.

My home is not there anymore.  And it is not yet here.  This in-between time is longer than I expected.  Like swimming underwater, pushing forward, gliding, but not touching the real world just yet.  I think that first breath is going to be amazing.