Turning Water to Wine

A little while back I read something that pulled the rug out from under me. It was an interview with Dr. Burgdorfer, the researcher that discovered Lyme's disease back in the seventies. It's a long story and honestly I don't have the emotional energy, and I doubt you have the focus for the whole convoluted story. Suffice to say, he coyly alludes to there being much about this disease that is not being discussed, shared, etc. Somehow, can't say how, it sucked the life out of me. Not immediately, but bit by bit over days, the way a helium balloon slowly loses, well, helium.

It started a train of thoughts, some very bitter. Some of these thoughts went along the lines of, "I suppose it doesn't really matter what happens to me." Ten plus years of illness and doctors and unknowns and hope, so much hope. I suddenly felt utterly listless; pajamas had become my outfit of choice. Meals were nice, if they happened, but cereal sufficed. It has seemed to me for a very long time, like I was trying to stop a gradual dissent.

I have looked for scriptures on bitterness, many of them talk along the lines of needing to know the bitter in order to recognize the sweet. Much can come of the bitter experience - empathy, compassion, tolerance, grace, patience, endurance, faith and more faith. Some bitter experiences do not fit neatly into a moment or a month, some last and compel you to grapple with them over and over again. There is no satisfactory gaze back where one sees all that has been gained by the experience. Don't we all have at least one of these in our lifetime? Something we must revisit over and over again, never sure whether the tally of endurance is in our favor or against.

In looking to my scriptures, I thought it interesting that the first of Christ's miracles that we know of was when he turned water to wine for a wedding feast. Transformation from one thing to another. To completely alter the basic molecular identity of water into wine. These experiences that can be bitter unto themselves can transform us; create a new creature, but only through the abilities of Jesus Christ. This is what I'm holding out for.

In Praise Of

...the mint brownie. Delectable, de-lovely, delish. I don't really understand the cupcake phenomenon. This little slice of perfection comes from Gabrielle's, a very busy bakery in Marietta, Georgia. Gratefully, Gabrielle's is not too far away to be truly remote, but not close enough that I find myself at their doorstep daily. Little mercies. I have enough issues without adding a mint brownie addiction to the mix - you know? So what is that little something that you find yourself craving ever so often?

This puts me in mind of lists. Here it goes. When I crave, I crave...

• watermelon
• lemon chicken
• lemon italian ice - the real stuff.
• cranberry bread
• a good meatball with marinara sauce
• artichoke hearts
• a grapefruit Izzie
• an omelet stuffed with mushrooms, peppers, cheese
• orange slices covered in chocolate

Okay, I'm drooling. Puddles pooling. Lists please. I want to know what you crave.

Oh, another one: a warm popover with raspberry jam. AND mexican hot chocolate - the spicey kind.

Marking Time

Georgia has some quirks and I was introduced to one a couple weeks ago. A two hour graduation ceremony for 5th graders - including a slide show, numerous awards, a Hannah Montana song sung by the graduates and a guest speaker (a 6th grader who now knows the ropes). My daughter several days before asked if I was going to cry when she graduated. I assured her that I thought I would be able to handle it and she walked away disappointed. Gifts were handed out to graduates, mainly cell phones, and there were graduation parties. Andy and I gave Aubrey a small bouquet of pink roses, bought at the grocery store and tied in ribbons by mom. But I would be lying if I did not say that I did find myself thinking back to a young girl determined to take the yellow bus to the school just 3 minutes away. She came home that day with her denim skirt on, the crotch of her white tights down past her knees, rolls of white around her ankles, barely able to walk. How I love her.

The other rite of sorts was just this past Saturday when my husband and I celebrated our 13th anniversary. I remember being very anxious about our 7th anniversary convinced that there would be an awful itch. I had our wedding cake with the raspberry filling made and chocolate covered strawberries. On some level, I think I was hoping that any itch would be repelled by yummy cake and happy memories. Strange logic, but it's typical of me. Such an amazing 13 years. By far, the best journey I've ever been on.

13 years ago when I married Andy, I believed that nothing could ever really go wrong as long as we had each other. I had huge sprays of lilacs everywhere for the reception and we stayed in a haunted cottage on the Cape for the honeymoon. That young woman, all of twenty-one, seems just as real and tangible to me as this thirty-four year old skin. These small rites that mark the passing of time are becoming a bit trippy.