About Me

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Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!

Sunday, December 18, 2016

In which we think aloud about stuff.

Middlest and Fourthborn and I went to the party at our friend T's house last night. He moved earlier this year. Several of us in the knitting group helped with packing or schlepping or both. This was a combination housewarming / Christmas party. Most of the folks there were his ren-faire friends. There were four of us from the knitting group. People came and went. Most folk seemed to be quietly drinking their dinner while waiting for the terducken to finish roasting. We nibbled on hors d'oeuvres until the lamb stew was ready.

You may or may not know that I loathe lamb. It was not something that I grew up with, and I ate far too much lamb burger at fifty cents a pound when the children's father was getting his MBA at BYU, because we couldn't afford hamburger at a dollar a pound. And me pregnant with Firstborn. I've carefully avoided lamb ever since. But there were two huge crockpots of lamb stew: one with carrots and no onions, and the other with onions and no carrots. I had a small bowl of each, and I told T (and D whom he allowed to make the stews) that I liked both of them. I will have to get T's recipe, because that was something I could get used to. Maybe not often, but more than once a year. That cracking noise you heard on Saturday night was my palate expanding.

The vibe at his new place is far different than the party Fourthborn and I attended at his old place two years ago. Earlier this year his partner moved out, taking the teenage son who was like a second kid to T. The landlord was making noises about selling the house, so T found a place that was slightly closer to work and made a fresh start. The new house is larger and better designed. There is wonderful north light for T's studio. But throughout the house is a feeling of peace and welcome and hope.

We talked about that on the way home. Middlest and Fourthborn are empaths, and they picked up on who the other empaths were in the room, the people whose gift last night was making everyone feel welcomed and safe. I got a big bearhug from T when we arrived. Another good brother there brushed my cheek lightly with his knuckle as he walked past while I was sitting with my kids, and far from flinching as it happened, my body and spirit recognized the purity of his intent, and I smiled. He was careful not to touch Middlest, who was migraine-y and for whom touch would have been just another layer of pain, but he gave the same mindful, innocent care to Fourthborn, who would ordinarily have decked someone, especially a man, who touched her without advanced notice or permission.

It was a good evening in every sense. We left the party a little after nine, got home somewhere around ten-thirty, and I think it was midnight before I settled down to sleep. We left before the terducken was served, so we each had a small snack before bedtime, because we'd just been piecing at the party.

My dreams were interesting, to say the least. T and I were sharing an adventure, rescuing somebody from something. I couldn't find my car in a parking lot (I've had variations on this part of the dream before), and I really need to start keeping a dream journal, because there was more going on than the bare facts of the dream, or random synaptic firings. I read an article on Segullah recently by an LDS counselor who advises her clients to keep dream journals and to pray over them, look for patterns, and parse out with the Spirit's help things that Heaven is trying to tell them that are not getting through during waking life. I think that might be one of my projects for the new year.

It's nearing 10:00, and I need to clear off my bed from when I was looking for a stapler before church. I'd like to knit a row before I crash, and I'm not sure that I have spoons enough to make that happen, after teaching the RS lesson, heating up chili, visiting with my home teacher and his wife (my visiting teacher), and making the roundtrip to take Fourthborn home. I don't feel knackered, praise be, but I am deliciously tired, and there are thoughts dancing in my head just out of reach.

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