Letters Home

I'm an adult who loves childrens' books. There, I said it, and I'm not ashamed. There are some things I missed out on in my younger years that I'm making up for now. Here's a favorite that I'd like to recommend:



The Gardener is a story about how seeds of love transform. It follows the story of a little girl living an idyllic country life, surrounded by a caring family, poor but happy. Sadly, when the Great Depression hits hard, she must be sent away to live with a gruff, old uncle who lives in the city while her parents look for work. The story is told in a series of letters that Lydia Grace sends to the folks back home.

You know, God is always speaking; even in the most unusual places, He will reveal Himself. I hear Him in this funny little story. There's a line in one of the letters that would make my voice crack if I read it aloud:

"I've tried to remember everything you ever taught me about beauty. Love to all, Lydia Grace."

This one line makes me want to write my own letter:

Dear Abba,

I write this to You, recognizing Your fingerprints all over this lump of clay. And I also own that any creative spark and thirst for beauty in me was a gift from You, came out of You. I'm Your girl; I got Your DNA. So while I'm far from home, I'll try to remember everything You ever taught me about beauty. And in my small, imperfect way, I give it back to You. I want to make You proud.


Love to all,

~J


Joining Emily today

Have all three

Rules for Happiness:
Something to do,
Someone to love,
Something to hope for.

Immanual Kant


Counting blessings

360 - Your childrens' children

361 - summer in a jam jar

362 - alliteration

363 - matinees

364 - "I burn while I am of use" (Thomas Carlyle) - my new motto





Joining Ann today

Time to cut the wick

To be honest, I didn't want to get out of my warm bed early this morning and put on four layers of antique garb, trudge up a muddy path, hold my breath past the pigpen, and cut the wick, stir the wax, and play at being a chandler for 96 fourth graders.

Today was my first day back to work after winter hibernation, and I always grumble while searching for my buckle shoes in the dark. But once I get there...

...I remember why I love this job and the children with their questions. Like today - "Are you comfortable wearing that junk, lady?"

I love the tools of my trade - today, a candlemaker

and the smell of wood smoke

and still rooms

and the company of other history geeks

Every year I say "This year - I'm quitting. I'm too old for this." And when the day is over, I say, "Well, maybe next year".

Thanks everybody for your kind words and prayers. I'm feeling much better.

Not enough sleep repost

Hey everybody. It's funny when you don't blog for a few days. You really miss it. I'm putting up a seasonal repost 'cause I'm recovering. Nothing serious. The love of my life had to pull night shift all this past week. Midnight to eight a.m. Yuck! I don't sleep well when he's not there. I don't sleep at all, actually. Which doesn't go well with rheumatoid arthritis, which I have. Plenty of rest is essential for me to function.

No more night shift - hooray! But my joints are still in recovery mode. So here's an oldie but goodie.

This is my friend Laurie. She makes exquisite Ukrainian eggs. Laurie's not Ukrainian, but she is talented and generous with her knowledge. She will teach anybody who wants to learn how to make them.

She's crafty and hospitable, serving us pysanky students a delicious lunch beforehand.

Everything Laurie makes is pretty

Can you believe we're going to learn how to make these?

The tools - egg, beeswax, and kistka (writing pen)

dyes especially made for pysanky

she demonstrated how to heat the kistka in the candle flame, dip the hot pen into the beeswax, and scoop it up to write on the egg, like a waxy ink.

Both the colors and the designs on a pysanky egg are symbolic. At one time the designs were a form of pagan folk art but later took on Christian meaning.

You dip the egg in dyes from the lightest to the darkest colors, covering with wax any parts that you want to preserve.

After the final dye bath, with black traditionally being the last color, it's time to melt away the wax.

Carefully holding the egg near the candle flame, you melt the wax and gently wipe it away with a cloth.

"Humpty Dumpty had a great fall..." Yes, my egg broke shortly after I finished it - one of the risks of pysanky which make it so exciting - sort of like an extreme sport...

More of Laurie's artistry

Gorgeous. My friend has been making these eggs for her family for many years. What a gift!

Inspiration / collaboration

If you've never seen the movie The Secret of the Kells, you must. It's mesmerizing. This story is a fictionalized animation of a young monk named Brendan and the creation of the Book of Kells. Nothing makes my mouth water for pens, inks, and pigments like the Book of Kells and illuminated writings. I dream of one day learning the art in depth. But for now, I am content with my scribbles while pretending to be Brendan.

My daughter Bronwyn has been interested in film, and is teaching herself how to make short vignettes. I'm so proud of her. Not only did she record and edit one of my prayer journal doodlings, but she mixed in the music, which comes from the soundtrack CD she bought me for Christmas, titled Brendan et le Secret de Kells. In a word, inspiring. I listen to it constantly, especially while doodling. Well done, Bron.





"How many are your works, O Lord!
In wisdom You made them all;
the earth is full of your creatures.
There is the sea, vast and spacious,
teeming with creatures beyond number--
Living things both large and small.
There the ships go to and fro,
and the leviathan, which you formed
to frolic there."

Psalm 104: 24-26



Joining Emily today

Quiet measures

"The whole house and garden is one vast obscenity. It bears a sickening resemblance to the description one human writer made of Heaven; 'the regions where there is only life and therefore all that is not music is silence'.

Music and silence—how I detest them both! How thankful we should be that ever since our Father entered Hell—though longer ago than humans, reckoning in light years, could express—no square inch of infernal space and no moment of infernal time has been surrendered to either of those abominable forces, but all has been occupied by Noise—Noise, the grand dynamism, the audible expression of all that is exultant, ruthless, and virile—Noise which alone defends us from silly qualms, despairing scruples, and impossible desires. We will make the whole universe a noise in the end. We have already made great strides in this direction as regards the Earth. The melodies and silences of Heaven will be shouted down in the end. But I admit we are not yet loud enough, or anything like it. Research is in progress..."

Screwtape to Wormwood, The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis



Counting blessings

353 - silence

354 - music

355 - silence

356 - music

357 - silence

358 - music

359 - silence




Joining Ann today

(cue Springsteen): Born in the U.S.A.

Photo taken in the bedroom of a distinctly American messy teenager

Today I had the honor of receiving a Stylish Blogger award from the gorgeous Joybird at Songbird in His Court. Now before I go on, I need to say that I've been given blog awards before, but I haven't posted about them because it made me shy. But I did and do very much appreciate them nonetheless. I'm always surprised that anyone would want to award my babblings. Anyhoo, it's what Joybird said that made me laugh out loud, and I had to respond.

"Jodi lives in the USA but there is something distinctly British about her in my opinion."

Unbeknownst to Miss Joybird, I have been told this very thing all my life.

Not just about the UK, but other countries as well. For example, there was the recently immigrated Irish guy who was working on our house. This is what he said - "Your accent is pretty good American, but where are you really from?"

While in the Ukraine, someone said to me through a translator, "You're too polite for an American. Where are you really from?"

A friend from West Africa told us that "Your hospitality is more Liberian than American".

I've also been asked what part of Eastern Europe I'm from, was wished "shabot shalom" from a salesperson in a department store, been mistaken for a Canadian, and was told by a Welsh friend that the stork definitely dropped me on the wrong side of the pond.

I like to flatter myself by thinking that I'm unknowingly living out I Corinthians 9:22--being all things to all men. But who knows. One thing I know to be true, though. I do love people, all kinds of people. And I'm grateful that blogging has enabled me to meet so many from all over the globe.

So the award requires the revealing of 7 things your readers may not know about you.
The story above counts for number one.

2. When I'm stressed, I hum the theme to "Elmo's World". I have no idea why.

3. I went to a different school every year until I got to ninth grade. Don't ask, it's complicated.

4. I sometimes spell the word color this way: colour. I think it looks prettier the British way.

5. When talking really fast I pronounce "house" like a Canadian. Not on purpose. Really.

6. I once smirked at a man in a cafe who wouldn't stop staring at me. I later found out that the man was the painter Andrew Wyeth.

7. This is the longest post I've ever written.

8. (bonus) I have an overly-sensitive conscience, which is why I can't pick a certain number of people to send the award back to. Seriously, I love all of the blogs I read, and it's too painful to choose only a certain number. That is why I haven't really played along before. I really do enjoy the creativity and uniqueness that each one of you express. I think you're all wonderful. So to any blogger who reads this, feel free to join in. I pick you.