Meeting a good friend for the first time

Marcia De Coster on the right, and me on the left.

It's an odd fact of this modern world: we have good friends whom we've never met. Good friends with whom we share our work, our feelings, our joys and our fears.

I'm talking about Internet friends, of course.

I've been an online person for more than 20 years now; I started with CompuServe in the bad old days of "dial-up and get off quick 'cause this thing is costing us by the minute," and it amazes me to realize that I am now connected all day, every day, to friends all over the world. Some of my very best friends are people I've never met; these people know me as well, or better, than people who see me every day. I turn to them without reserve when I need help; we celebrate the good things that happen together, and we comfort each other in sorrow.

Without Facebook, Marcia DeCoster would have remained only a photo and a name on several cherished books on my shelf. Thanks to Facebook, she's a real live person; warm, loving and funny. I've gotten to know her through photographs and the written word; I've admired her work, enjoyed watching her granddaughter grow, and had my coffee while chatting asynchronously on various topics on our Facebook pages. Across the miles, we've both felt the joys and sadnesses that come and go in our beady worlds.

But, when it comes right down to it, nothing beats getting that hug. Or seeing Marcia's beautiful beadwork up close and in person. I can tell you that those earrings she is wearing are amazing - they sparkle and dance. Pure poetry in motion, they are. Pictures do not capture them; they need to be seen dancing from her earlobes.

And that's what is on my mind this morning. Motion. Everything moves so quickly now; I don't know if it's just because I'm getting older, or if the world really is moving faster. I certainly know that the online world moves very quickly; I miss far more than I see on Facebook. It's nice to slow down for a day; to meet a friend for the first time, to share our joys and sorrows with a look and a hug instead of a word and a photo.

I live a lot of my life in the virtual space of the Internet, and I'm grateful for it. I've worked from home for nearly 25 years, and I love popping into the "virtual water cooler" on my breaks. I've gotten to know people from every corner of the world, and my life is richer for it. But there is still something very special about being close enough to touch.

Nothing beats getting that hug. Nothing.

Garden Notes

 

It's spring in the garden, and I'd like to take you on a little tour.

The strawberries are starting to ripen; the first strawberries are always the most delicious, I think. I've been having them with my yogurt for breakfast; they are so sweet and juicy.

So far, I'm keeping up with them; I've been picking every day. I'm sure they will get ahead of me at some point, but right now, there isn't a lot else to harvest, and I can devote the time to searching under the leaves and finding each and every ripe morsel.

Or at least the ones that the blue jays don't find first!

The artichokes get ahead of me very fast; although I love them, they are great producers, and they're so much better fresh than frozen. I've learned to pig out on them in their season, and let my anticipation for them build when they're not in season.

I'm always happy when an artichoke lover comes to visit; today I sent some home with a visitor and we were both happy about it. I'm just hoping that there weren't any bugs hitchhiking along! That's one of the problems with organic gardening - bugs happen. I'm used to them now, but I do worry when I send stuff home with people. I probably overdo it with the bug warnings; it's not like they're covered with bugs, but my produce isn't pristine like their supermarket cousins.

It's still several weeks off, but the blackberry harvest looks very promising this year.

We planted an additional row last year, and they will be fruiting this summer; we're expecting about twice as much fruit as we harvested last year.

Last year, I froze a lot of berries, and we've enjoyed them all winter. This year, I want to make more juice, and perhaps some fruit leathers.

Based on what is already developing, I think there will be more than enough fruit for my experiments. Of course, I have to leave enough for Dan to make his famous blackberry pies and cobblers!

But there's even more, waiting around the corner:  In this bed, you can see cantaloupe at the bottom, then several rows of popcorn, onions, and the asparagus, whose harvest is already over, at the top of the photo.

Cantaloupe is another thing that I only eat in season now; fresh vine ripened cantaloupe is like nothing else. My mouth is watering at the thought of it; when it starts ripening, we will eat it every day.

We had so much fun making and eating our popcorn last winter; we're already looking forward to doing it again. In a few weeks, these little shoots will be over six feet high.

Book Review: Making Wire & Bead Jewelry

Making Wire & Bead Jewelry
Artful Wirework Techniques

It's been a long time since I've done any wirework, but that may change very soon. This book is tempting my to get back to my bench, to take my wire and my pliers out of the drawer where they've been hiding, and start playing.

I've always loved Lark books, and when they asked for volunteers to review their books, I jumped on it. And when this book landed on my doorstep, I opened it immediately and didn't put it down until I'd had a good look at every project.

Janice Berkebile and Tracy Stanley have put together twenty-four projects, ranging from beginner to advanced, and each one is neatly explained and illustrated with clear, close-up photographs. Each of these projects uses techniques than can be adapted to other designs; my "what if" response has been working overtime!

Wire Pod
by Janice Berkebile

Some of the projects are very basic and didn't really interest me, but they would be excellent for beginning wire workers. Others, like the Wire Pod necklace by Janice Berkebile, pictured at right, are more complex. This is the one that's tempting me; I'm imagining it as the focal of a bead woven necklace. Can't you just see it with some leaves and flowers, and perhaps a bit of fringe?

See what I mean about inspiration?

And that's only one of the projects in this book. If you'd like to take a closer look at this book, visit the Lark Crafts site, where, coincidentally, you can also download a preview of the book and two free projects - one of which is the project that inspires me so much.

If you make it, I hope you'll share a picture of it with me on Facebook.

Releasing

It's a word with many connotations. Releasing a new song, or a movie, or a book is an exciting, happy culmination of many, many hours, days, weeks, months or even years of work; it is a happy celebration of a job that was done as well as it could be done; a letting go of a project that has consumed everyone who worked on it. There is the hope that others will like it; the need that they will buy it, and the fear that they won't.

Releasing a child into adulthood, or an injured animal that one has nursed back to health into the wild, is also a letting go; an expression of trust, of hope, of anticipation that the child or the animal will do well in its own life. One hopes that the child or animal won't disappear entirely; that it will come back to visit, to share its new life with you; but it's uncertain at the moment of releasing. You don't know what will happen next.

And then, there's death. Releasing a loved one into death is terrifying. It's such a final thing; there aren't any second chances. You don't get to come back and say, I don't like the way I handled that, I'd like to give it another go, please. It's a one shot deal.

I've realized recently that I've subscribed to a rather odd myth about death; I call it odd, because there is evidence all around me that it isn't true, yet it's very strong within me. Here it is: Death won't come if we still have things to do; Death waits for us to finish our unfinished business. It doesn't, of course; people don't always finish things up before they die, and I can't keep death away by not finishing things. My list of things to do, my stash of materials to do them with, my unfinished business, will all outlive me. But hard as that is to accept, it's harder still to accept that being busy, that having things I must do, will not keep those I love from dying.

I've just released a song that has been waiting around, unfinished, for quite some time now. It's not a big song, it's a silly little song, but it's special to me. It started as a challenge to myself. I had been in a rut, writing very sad songs, and I wanted to write something that wasn't quite so miserable. I hadn't a clue what to write about, so I asked my friends for ideas. Several were given, but my favorite came in the form of a blog post from my friend, Linda.

Linda has cancer. A particularly aggressive form that will take her life, sooner rather than later. And yet, I held onto that song, dithering about the music, not finishing it, as if that would keep her alive. As if holding onto that song and not releasing it was holding onto Linda and not releasing her. That won't work, of course. Not releasing the song only means that Linda won't hear it. It's not perfect; it's not even as good as I would like it to be. But it's out there.

Linda, I'm following your inspiration: I'm living in the moment, I'm living in this moment. I'm releasing this song.

Those things I used to do

It's been over a year since I started my healthy living campaign, and, by now, I really thought that the cravings would be gone. They're not. Even though sweet things don't taste the way I remember, I still want them.

I've been battling the urge to "go back to living normally" now that I am so close to meeting the goal that even I didn't really think was possible. I'm nearly at my best weight; not my lowest weight, not my "supermodel" weight, but the weight where I am healthy and look good; the number on the scale that I haven't seen since my mid-thirties.

Back then, and before, I was thin even though I ate very badly. I ate whatever I wanted to eat, and I ate lots of it. I had a killer metabolism fueled by youth, years of ballet classes, and a lifestyle that kept me on my feet most of the time.

I don't have those anymore; my lifestyle changed in my 30s and 40s. The years between 23 and 53 were a gradual slowing down for me; I became much less active, I put on 70 pounds (I needed 30 of them!), and I still ate like I was in my 20s most of the time. I didn't like what was happening to my body after the first 30 pounds; I tried every diet that came out, but nothing worked. The best I could do was stay even during the diet du jour; the longest I lasted was three months before giving up and going back to eating the way I wanted to eat. It was too frustrating to deprive myself and have no real results.

But then I got The Official News from my doctor: Lose the weight, get more active, or run the risk of developing diabetes and/or having a stroke. Suddenly, it wasn't just about fitting into a pretty dress for a party; it was about not being there for the party. I knew I didn't feel good; I knew I needed to do something drastic and permanent. Weight lifting and a diet based on fruit, vegetables and dried beans wasn't exactly my idea of fun, but I figured it was worth a try. If it didn't work, I could at least say I'd given it my best shot and go back to killing myself with cookies.

Well, it worked. Who knew?

And you'd think I'd be so happy with being healthy that I'd shun the evil sisters of sloth, sugars, and saturated fats; you'd think that I'd want nothing to do with them forevermore, and that I'd be doing 5K runs in my spare time, just for the fun of it. You'd be wrong, of course. Despite feeling better than I've felt in nearly 20 years, I am still drawn to curling up on the couch for an afternoon of cookies, hot chocolate, and a book. Even though I feel fabulous after my workout, I still have to force myself to get out there and get started. Sometimes I miss double creme cheeses so much that it hurts. I can't imagine giving them up forever.

And then I realized that I feel the same way about cheese that I felt about dancing when I was in my late teens and early 20s. Back then, I was taking a three-hour class five days a week, teaching dance the rest of the time, going out to dance all night long, and I couldn't imagine not dancing.

Remember those old discussions we used to have back in those days about which body part we could get along without, and which we couldn't? Most people picked eyes or ears as their most important, but for me, it was my legs. I just knew back then that if anything ever happened to me and I couldn't dance, I would just die. I really believed that I couldn't live without dancing.

So, what happened?

I got married; my subsistence pay as a dancer/instructor wasn't enough any more, and I got a "better" job. I didn't have the time for ballet lessons, and, since I wasn't dancing anymore, it went from a necessity to a luxury. For years, I still had a ballet barre at home, but gradually, gradually, it became a place to drape clothes. I don't know when I stopped using it; I don't even know when I got rid of it. All I know is that dance left my life, and other things filled it. I didn't die. Dancing became one of those things I used to do.

So now, I'm not going to eat cheese and cookies every day; that's become another thing that I used to do. I guess I'll live through that, too.