Do Pharisees use CFLs?

We went to the recycling center the other day to pick up some finished compost. We had finally moved into place some retaining wall bricks around a shrub, and needed some back fill. We reclaimed the bricks from a neighbor who didn't want the flower beds the previous owners had built and offered them to us. Good recyclers that we are, we hauled them over. They made a nice border around the shrubs we dug up from an old farmstead that was being turned into a new development, the iris bulbs I got on Freecycle, and the lilacs a friend dug up for us on his farm. At the base of the shrubs I laid the branches I had trimmed from the red cedar, another rescue from a construction site. No sense in wasting good biomass, and a good drainage additive as well!

We loaded shovels and tarp into the Subaru (that's what we earth-friendly greenies drive, not because it's less carbon emissions, just 'cause it makes us look cool.) We brought home several loads of finished compost - rich earthy soil made from other peoples grass clippings and weeds. The county does a lot of work chipping it up finely, and turning it over so that it composts quickly. I'm not sure how they do that. Maybe a gas powered grinder? I bet they have a bobcat or even a backhoe to do the big piles.

It was hot and sweaty work getting it unloaded and into the bed. We took a break, headed inside where it was air conditioned, and cracked ourselves a couple of ice cold sodas and drank them straight from the aluminum cans.

It sure feels good using your muscles, "living off the land", and saving the planet. All that recycling and reusing we did today sure goes a long way toward keeping the earth safe.

Presenting the Bride

I watched the royal wedding yesterday, as did most of the world.
The most poignant scene for me, however was Kate being helped into 
the car by her father. He gently and carefully folded her gown's
train, and handed it in, to be placed on the seat beside her. 
He gingerly slide in next to her and smiled at his beautiful
daughter.

She sat enthroned in the yards of satin and lace, a jewel in a
setting of cream and ivory, waiting to be presented to a delighted
prince.

Her father gently lifted and smoothed the fabrics, so that none of
it would be creased or dirtied. He beamed at her, obviously proud and
pleased.



It suddenly occurred to me that is exactly how our Heavenly Father
feels. He protects and surrounds us, the Bride of Christ, keeping us
from soil and damage, so we can be presented as a perfect gift for
His son, the Prince of Peace. All we go through, our trials and
pains, are preparation for the that glorious presentation.
I am awed and humbled, once again, but the love the Father and Son
have for us, the Beloved.

Right brain, left brain, can't decide

As I continue to heal from my stroke and subsequent seizures I am constantly being forced to find new ways to do old things. I've had to learn to dress myself and not leave the house unbuttoned. I've had to learn to turn on a timer so I don't walk away from the stove and forget about it entirely. I've had to relearn driving routes I've know for 11 years, by re-driving and re-memorizing landmarks and street signs.

Now I've had to relearn how to learn. Before I was a "give me a fork and let me dig in" kind of learner. I set up a systematic approach; a step by step plan to tackle a new skill or realm of information. I can't do that now. The stroke has damaged the part of my brain that deals with sequential processing; step 1, step 2, etc. I also have a limited "working memory", the number of things I can hang onto in short term at one time.  This makes learning anything new difficult.

My hubby bought me a wonderful electronic keyboard a Christmas ago, thinking it would be good physical and intellectual therapy. It would be, if I could figure out what to do with it. I diligently look at the little black notes, count out "every good boy does fine", line up my fingers on the keys and then try to play. Some place between the treble clef and the keyboard all the notes and thoughts tilt off the page and out of my brain and nothing connects. I tried to play a little song I once learned as a child, and couldn't do it. I burst into tears and sat with my head in my hands and wept.

After I'd boohooed for awhile I mopped myself up and tried again. I would not let that black and white "thing" in the other room beat me. If I couldn't learn it by studying it, I'd learn it by sidling up close enough to spy on it and learn its musical secrets.  I put on one of the pre-programmed lessons, slowed it way down, and listened, plunking along when I thought I could guess which note was next. I actually hit a few. The computer told me I did "OK". Well, that's good enough for me. For now.

I've had to do that with other things. Just do one little bit. Let it sinter in my brain. Try it again later. Lather, rinse, repeat.

For someone who has always been very literal, mathematical, systematic, this is weird. What's weirder yet is that I have to let my "right brain" do all the work. Yes, it's my right side that's damaged. Maybe it's rejoicing over its chance to do some of the work. Jumping up and down shouting "pick me, pick me!"

So, I toddle along, dabbling, playing. Someday I will play a whole song. Which side of my brain gets to do it? We shall see.