"Let us remember that the life in which we ought to be interested is 'daily life.' We can, each of us, only call the present time our own."

~Gregory of Nyssa

I've spent much of the past week spring cleaning. Because I'm impatient for the snow to be gone, I'm purging our house of anything that seems excessive and unloved in the hope that when the things have gone away, the snow will follow. The sun has been out often and each day the temperatures creep up above the freezing point, melting away a little at a time of the snow that still covers our property. I'm begining to rediscover long-buried tools in the yard as the sun and rain uncover them. Watching the snow melt away fills me with the joy and hope of springtime, and on bright afternoons, when I can open the windows and hang my rugs out in the sunlight, the joy of spring cleaning is overwhelming.

Cleaning is an act of hope, an opportunity to immerse myself in the beauty of the moment and to create a space of loveliness that can never last. It is a chance to cherish the repetition of meaningful tasks - meaningful not only because the result is beauty, but because the task itself is a time of artistic play. Even those of us who see ourselves as lacking completely any artistic sense can enjoy moments of artistic play by immersing ourselves in the act of cleaning - really seeing the beauty we make with the simple wipe of a rag. Dusting is my favorite, I am tempted by any very dusty shelf to run a damp rag over it and enjoy the contrast of bright, new wood against the remaining dust. I like to write words in the dust and erase them in one large sweep of the cloth. I love the scent of the soap I use, and the final product - bright with new life against the remaining mess of the room.

"That is when I want you-
you knower of my emptiness,
you unspeaking partner to my sorrow-
that is when I need you, God, like food."
~Rilke

Last weekend my husband was asked to speak at a Lenten retreat on the topic: Silence and the Wilderness. He was chosen primarily because we live in a yurt out of the city, and it can easily be assumed that in our little wilderness there is the silence that invites God to speak. Unfortunately for my husband, that silence is often filled by my voice instead of God's - I haven't quite mastered Silence.

He decided not to speak on our life, and to focus instead on St. Mary of Egypt - a desert mother of the 4th century who began her adult life as a prostitute. She loved her work so much that she rarely charged and made most of her living begging, but when she encountered Christ, she fell so completely in love with Him that she abandoned not only prostitution, but society in general, and embraced the silence of the desert where she could be "alone enough/ to make each hour holy" (Rilke). Our little wilderness is nothing compared to this complete solitude, but it does help to bring God closer. I need him here in the silence to share the beauty of the snow, to point out the ever-changing sky, and to allow me to lose myself in the richness of the world.

Some photos:

"One can live magnificently in this world, if one knows how to work and how to love, to work for the person one loves and to love one's work."

~Tolstoy

My father's birthday was Tuesday. I have been so wrapped up in snow and winter storms tha I find it hard to believe March has come already. It's hard to imagine spring can come to melt away the deep snows all around us. Because of the snow, and my overwhelming fear of being trapped again in a snow-bank on my own road, I've only just ventured out to mail his card. I think he's used to my tardy ways though.

A retreat I attended recently discussed how father's form our image of God, I can't help but agree. I've always seen my father as an icon of God's limitless generosity - a boundless giving of goodness and love. I'm grateful for my chance to learn realiance on goodness early on, and I hope, my father, like God is aware of my gratitude and love, even when it's buried in the woods, trapped by huge amounts of fresh snow and slick roads.

"You are fruit snatched out of life,

a berry hanging round and sweet;

simply let us taste how you melt

on the tongue of eternity."

~Rilke

The Virgin is so present in gardening - more than half our flowers belong to her. St. Joseph has nasturtiums, the Baptist has St. John's wort, but Mary has roses, sunflowers, marigolds, lady-slippers, batchelor's buttons, and an abundance of others. Some flowers belong to both Mary and another saint, but Mary herself is never short of flowers, ferns, and herbs. It makes it easy to find flowers for her feast days, easy to plant a Mary garden in any climate, and easy to apply her, through her flowers, to any situation requiring intercession - but I do feel badly for the neglected saints, lucky if they have even one plant to call their own.

"On my wall hangs a Japanese carving,

the mask of an evil demon..

sympathetically I observe

the swollen veins of the forehead, indicating

what a strain it is to be evil."

~Bertolt Brecht

I love this image of Christ's kicking feet! I discovered recently that His baby-feet are always shown in iconography as a constant reminder that He was human, that He walked on the earth. I like to think of Baby Christ too, kicking merrily under his little blankets and squirming in comfort. Goodness has such a comfort to it, like an old cashmere sweater that never itches, or the feel of clean, dry hair being styled by someone else. Being Goodness, I can't imagine the Baby Christ in discomfort, I think of Him carrying His comfort with Him, wrapping up in it and dreaming with the imagination of God.

"Too much of a good thing can be wonderful."
~Mae West

St. Valentine's Day is almost here!
We like to celebrate in a big way. When we were dating, my husband began his habit of picking a color and choosing gifts based on that. The color our first Valentine's was brown. We were living miles apart and he sent me a box, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. Inside, dried herbs and flowers were bundled with organic chocolate, chocolate-hazelnut spread, and a handmade necklace of dried chestnuts that I still wear today. Brown may seem like a dull color but it really is full of rich variety. It is the color of the earth, symbolizing stability, trustworthiness, consistency, and the opportunity for growth. Brown is a color of beginings - ideal for a first Valentine's together.

Last year we celebratedin pink and black: Pink roses, black sheets, pink ribbons, black gifts. We had another couple over for dinner, dressed up and enjoyed ourselves to the fullest. Pink is sometimes a sentimental color - less intense, less passionate than red - the color of sweet, young love, whereas red is the color of desire. Pink is also a joyful color - it gives the impression of laughter and spring - it fit well, as we have often been accused of living in a permanent honeymoon. Black, often considered the color of evil, symoblizes protection from evil, strength, and solitude. While that may seem an unnecessary addition to a St. Valentine's celebration, it is a balancing influence - particuarly paired with pink, which can absorb the individual in romantic infatuation, black is a reminder that love requires two individuals to thrive.

This year I am waiting to see which color he chooses - I try to guess each year - I've only guessed right once. The surprise is half the fun. Blue is my guess this year.

Blessed St. Valentine's!