Dump Cake

Did you make this in the 70's? Cherry pie filling....cake mix....pineapple...pecans. All thrown together and baked. It likely included butter too. And shouldn't have tasted as good as it did?

Sometimes things blend well. And sometimes they don't. I'm in the process of trying to decide if I blend with another person.

I probably don't. And it's hurting.

K

Help

I went to school in Swannanoa, NC at a very small liberal arts college, Warren Wilson. When I was there, the student population hovered a bit under it's agreed maximum of 590 students. Now I believe it's reached a ghastly 1000 and it's hard to fathom just how they manage to graduate individuals. Over two years ago they printed my obituary in the alumni newsletter. While at first horrified and then a bit miffed--mostly now it's just something to grin over. I've cheated death and it didn't even involve a plane crash or surgery. Woot!

It's going to be a charming 107 degrees tomorrow here in Oklahoma. Heat and humidity lead to depression, irritation, and the advanced certainty that things are simply not well. So I'll probably flee to the land of coffee and WIFI and list beads and read magazines I won't buy and lounge in comfy chairs. That'll kill 2 hours, anyway.

And then I may pull out tiny little seed beads. I haven't in a while. And thread a tiny little needle and weave myself into the certainly that Oklahoma is charming. That my life is charmed and that 107 degrees is normal, if not lovely.

And you?

Birth in Darkness

In Louise Erdich's Tales of Burning Love two characters sit around telling stories and discussing healing remedies for toothaches. June, a Chippewa woman suggests to Jack (he with a toothache) that he try chewing on cloves, an old Ojibwa remedy. His skeptical response, "Aren't cloves from Europe or something?"

When we gather remedies around us--those which nurture us spiritually--those which nurture our bodies and our hearts--we have to sift. What worked for us 20 years ago may still be fresh. And it may need to be sieved out of the mix.

Whether these remedies come from those we love (or from the last expected source) this process of cleaning out our "medicine cabinet" can cause anxiety and grief. It is for me right now. And I firmly believe it's only going to help....eventually, drat it.

I recently spent hours of focus on another person's life. If he just did this, this, and this....it would all come together. How dare he be dishonest with himself? With her? And while it left me certain I was absolutely right, it also left me certain that it didn't matter. Not my life. Not my choice. And of course...that it was really a way to not examine my own choices. My own personal dishonesty. My own responsibility for happiness.

Melt glass, ride bike, eat, sleep, list. Sift. Sift. Sift. Bake at 375 degrees for 24 hours. Repeat.

Foxes

Ok, after equating my recent lampworking to losing my virginity, it's probably best if I stick to something less squalid. I frequently walk at night here. There's a well lit Urban trail that meanders in and out of the woods. Three bends in lives a male fox. He calmly escorts me to the next bend, protecting, I assume his family. It's all done with a certain level of familiarity and calm that I really appreciate.

I watched a recent documentary, a Buddhist monk who works in a kitchen. Work as prayer/meditation is part of the theme. But another theme is serving others. That in cooking you're providing your fellow man the greatest of service. That it's best accomplished with whole foods and doing things by hand. When I watch my housemate prepare chai I get a sense of the innate truth in this. After grinding multiple spices in a mortar and pestle, Steeping tea, adding half and half, a mere 45 minutes later I'm sipping (luxuriating) tea. Molten glass can't be hurried. Learning can't be rushed. Growth is frequently so slow it makes you ache.

Time for my walk.

Meditations on Blobs of Molten Glass

I've been submerged under piles of molten glass. Gravity has become circular. You twirl and twirl and twirl and regardless of how lumpy and misshapen a bead once was, it becomes round and dimpled like a donut. (Bah, lentils.)

I really do feel like I've gone to summer camp and emerged, well, not a virgin. Yeah, the tawdriness of it all. But some sort of rite of passage is occurring. I'm learning to be quiet and "make" again.

And you?

Keys to Sanity?

Sanity is madness put to good use--George Santayana

I've saved the 4 people reading this blog from details of the mayhem in my life. (Well, since most of you are exes you probably wouldn't be too surprised.) But the combined voodoo magic of bike riding in 100 degree weather with 50 percent relative humidity, melting glass in fire, avoiding caffeine and chanting "I am a goddess, I am a goddess," seems to be doing the trick. OK, I'm not chanting. Affirmations are good, I firmly believe, but who the heck has energy to chant after giving up coffee. Sheesh.

Lentilicious

I've always liked this bead shape...but these...love 'em!