My birthday request: a slice of apricot torte from The Green Gateau. (I believe the restaurant orders it from a Lithuanian bakery in Omaha.) This dessert makes me happy. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for the really wonderful birthday celebration! It felt especially sweet in the middle of Covid.
One of my absolute favorite classes in college was Art History. I still laugh about it some 20 years later because the professor asked us—on exams—to identify the artist and title of works based off little teeny black and white photocopies of the images. Oh my goodness, it was insane. And yet I learned so much that semester and I adored it.
I hesitate to even mention this great artist’s name as I think about the shots I’ve taken over the course of today, but here goes nothing: Caravaggio. I loved his work right away. Chiascurro drew me instantly to Caravaggio. How could I not love the play of light and shadow?
Today I found myself saying, if I want to take dramatically lit photos EVERY SINGLE DAY this month, I can! I feel this need to diversify for some reason, but I’m casting that boundary aside and I’m going to shoot whatever I want. I will say this, if you want to mess with light the way you mess with playdoh—keep shooting. Keep experimenting. Keep playing. Move your body, move your angles, see what comes through your lens. Happy December, friends.
After hanging three paper chains and nine new snowflakes I knew I would capture a piece of this activity for today’s image. There’s something lovely and slow about taping little fragments of paper together. There’s something creative and calming in using scissors and paper to make unique snowflakes for our windows. In this world where I am use to rushing—and yes, I’ve been forced into slowing down in 2020—I’m starting to see the peace in sitting still. The word “present” has been coming to mind since March. God is letting me mull on that word. What does it look like when a planner and doer focuses on being present?
Today is my cousin’s funeral. I feel like the absorption of her death is very slow for me and I’m wondering how long it will take before every pore in my body has digested the information. Surely a memorial service is a piece to that puzzle. All of my missing and wondering and confusion is connected to the wrongness of death. It’s okay to hate death. I don’t feel the need to wrap up this post with a bow for anyone, however I do want to say that Paula knew Jesus intimately. She loved him. He loved her and made her and called her to himself. Because of this our goodbye is truly a “see you later.”
Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness but will have the light of life” (John 8:12).
Then Jesus declared, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty” (John 6:35).
Paula and I talked about our very human struggles when we’d message each other. Neither of us expected a life of ease and yet we both really wrestled with the hardships of this world. We commiserated. We prayed because we knew that the Bread of Life and the Light of Love cared about every detail of our lives. Sometimes our faith was very small indeed, and other times it was great. Now Paula is with her Savior, and someday she and I will both be perfectly restored and will live with him, feasting and banqueting with Christ himself. Amen.
I don’t have a political dog in the fight right now. The election from November sapped me of any energy I have left for such nonsense. I care but I just don’t care as intensely as I did prior to Biden unseating Trump as the leader of our nation.
I say that I don’t have a dog in the fight because the fight is ongoing in my city and try as I might to understand the perspective of the “other” side, I cannot.
Daily, I put my head down and do a whole lot of garbage that a whole lot of people don’t have to do. I normally do not complain about it and I also don’t give much thought to the fact that I’m kind of a weirdo in all I have to do to keep my body working smoothly.
So forgive me for a moment while I complain loudly.
Today I’m just all out of grace for those with normal, functioning bodies. (Don’t worry, the grace will come back after I rid myself of the venom.) At the start of Covid I figured that everyone had someone in their lives to be careful about and for… Your grandma is elderly so you’re careful for her. Your aunt had breast cancer last year so you’re careful for her. Your brother has type 2 diabetes so you’re careful for him. Your child has asthma so you’re careful for him.
And then I, gratefully by the way, lived through months of this swirly, confusing, unknown time of Covid-19 sweeping the entire globe and I began to notice that—wait a sec—not everyone is being careful. I have tried to understand the reasons why, but I have yet to really figure it out. Am I asking for a statewide mask mandate? Nope. I think it would be smart, but then again, no dog, remember? Do I think we should lockdown everything and ignore the pain of small businesses? Nope. Absolutely not. Maybe shutting down is the right way to go, but as for me, I’m doing everything in my power to support local business owners. We tip well. We thank them. We patronize their businesses, masked and distanced, happily giving our money to places that might be struggling. We share their names broadly on social media.
No, what I’m annoyed with is how very easy it is for the physically blessed among us to say, “just stay home if you’re not healthy.” I’m over it.
Just. over. it.
I’m beyond exhausted dealing with the body the good Lord has given me—which functions and dysfunctions in a variety of ways—and then I have this? My neighbors and friends saying that they are fine and they will continue to enjoy their liberties, thankyouverymuch? It’s a giant “screw you” from those who are already doing well and can’t be bothered with the hurting, tired, weak, chronically beleaguered among them.
The truth is that the healthy and young among us can get sick and it’s no thang. Odds are in their favor. Despite the growing death count of Americans, I still gather this feeling of “it hasn’t affected me, so I don’t give a damn.”
I’m over it.
What is your life if you really don’t care about others? What are you living for? If your personal liberty is the most important thing in your life I believe you need to take stock of your blessings. If you feel like your thoughts are the wisest and your family is the best, if you can still run and play and all your organs are functioning perfectly, if you have no reason to fear Covid-19, then bully for you.
Your grandma might feel differently about things.
Your neighbor might feel differently about things.
I feel differently about this thing.
I have stupid type 1 diabetes and stupid rheumatoid arthritis and a ridiculously extroverted personality and a little bit of a fighting spirit and a lot of seasonal affective disorder and while I am mentally ready to get past this pandemic already, I have to pay attention.
I cannot hang out with you.
I will not eat in a restaurant.
I will not go to church where people are singing—even masked.
I did not see loved ones for Thanksgiving and will miss them on my birthday.
So whatever you think about politics and viruses and conspiracy theories and small businesses, know that people like me are listening to everything you say and we are tired.
Have an opinion, sure. But also have some compassion.
Edited on 12/7 to add that while I am still worshipping with the saints in my basement each week, singing mightily from home, I am grateful that others can gather together. This is what I feel I need to do to stay healthy. I have no desire to make decisions for everyone else! I want restaurants to thrive. I want people to worship. I want life to go on as best as it possibly can and I recognize that each family has to make their own calls. Besides masking and distancing to keep others healthy, I think there’s a lot of gray room for decision-making. Again, I’m not in a position to decide what’s best for everyone. I’m happily not in charge of such things.
Without a doubt, this delivery was the best and most beautiful part of my day. My love sent me birthday flowers to enjoy in the days before my actual birthday—and it made me light up from head to toe.
I most frequently take pictures of flowers and fruit on my dining room table, which is truly the heart of our home. It’s what you see from the front door and it receives wonderful light from the south and the west. It’s just a fact that I’m highly visual and really value beauty. I like vibrant colors and simple arrangements. I appreciate a balanced and full vase of flowers like no one’s business, and if the light tracks through the leaves? Well, I’m sold. My files are filled with flowers kissed with light.
So then, maybe it’s not that weird that I recently gave my husband some very detailed information on what kind of flowers I’d like to receive for the next year. We’ve been married 22 years and he’s really good at loving me in a way that I feel most loved: beautiful gifts. And when I opened the door to the delivery man this morning (two notes on that below), I realized Jeremy had been listening to every single word I said. His attention to specifics was spot on. It made my smile even bigger.
Two notes on the delivery man:
1) I think he might have the best job ever. He must make people so happy!
2) Liv and I definitely had a homeschool-in-robes-in-bed kind of morning. Our noses were stuffy and we were tired and wanted to stay cozy. All I have to say is that when the florist’s van pulled up out front I pulled the most Superman of wardrobe changes and with no time to spare presented myself appropriately dressed enough to answer the door. We Tredways aren’t really morning people as a whole…
“You can make anything you want in the kitchen. But you have to clean it up, too.”
This was my teacher prompt for Culinary Arts today.
And she was off. Handmade bowtie pasta won the day. Pasta-making is not for the faint of heart—it’s truly a process! But this is what happens when you have the ability to let a kid choose what their heart desires. The heart wanted pasta. It’s wanted pasta since The Heart first started eating pasta. And I have to give it to her, fresh pasta is delicious.
Sometimes I love this human more than I can even express. She’s cool. She’s committed. She’s motivated from a deep internal well that I cannot see, but I get to see the fruits of her creative stirrings and I’m so grateful God allowed me to learn all about life through my Liv.
I’m eager to see and reflect on more beautiful things through this year’s December Photo Project. Thanks again for joining me, friends!