310/365

“He who works with his hands is a laborer.
He who works with his hands and his head is a craftsman.He who works with his hands and his head and his heart is an artist.” ― Francis of Assisi

309/365

Not much a traveller can do to change the weather, to dissipate fog, to make an impossibly late connection, to speed up the waiting line, to hurry up waiting on hold, to will away the hours of waiting for the next flight.

But you can always admire the tulips.

308/365

"I haven't been everywhere, but it's on my list."
- Susan Sontag

307/365

What is it about the net that makes little boys want to get all tangled up?

306/365

I must have wiggled when they traced me, because my leg looks abnormally swollen. I must have giggled when I saw the finished representation, because hey- it's pretty groovy, don't you think?

305/365

"I love these festivals," I said, surveying the scene around us, food booths of tacos and tamales and burgers and egg rolls and pancit, kiddie rides beginning to light up, karate kids kicking their way across the stage up front. "I know. That's why I asked you." I laugh.

Two streets closed off at the crossroads of the Catholic parish. We arrive in the neighborhood and find nearly every spot to park even a little car already taken. We slide into a space at the end of the block and make our way towards the crowds.

We pass all the traditional carnival games- little kids trying to stand up a coke bottle with a ring, Go Fish, plinko, balloon darts. Even a cake walk.

Pink tickets trade as the currency of the day, one ticket for a dollar. I exchange my 12 quarters, fished out of the change basket on my way out the door. 3 tickets spend quickly. I split a gordita plate, mine filled with picadillo and drenched with salsa verde, with my friend.

The stage sets against the street and the girls line up, ready to dance, school girl style short skirts, tube socks and pony tails. Perhaps the troupe is more than the stage anticipated- the platform and lights sway dangerously to the left and tho the right as the girls kick. We will and pray the show to finish. The smiling dancers take final bows without incident.

My friend gives up a ticket to try the basketball toss. The first shot goes in; the next is an air ball. It takes two shots to win the blowup hammer prize. Alas. Kids line up to slide down the inflatable.

Our final stop will be the cake walk- one ticket buys two chances. My friend puts her token down on number 4. The lady spins the wheel and we wait the clickclickclick of the rotation around. She calls out "5!" So close. My friend considers a change. "Should we move the token?" she asks. "No! Leave it, " I exhort her. The wheel starts to turn again. "4!" she calls this time. We shout and jump, winners!

Her daughter laughs out loud when she sees our little cakes. We laugh right along with her. "I love these festivals," I think again.

259/365

A post-storm sunrise that casts a glow over all of nearby creation makes humidity much much more tolerable.

258/365

I'm much much better at getting packages together, writing notes, stacking mail to be sent, than actually getting it to the post office and into the mail.

Watch out for your bolt, a bunch of clean socks, and some snacks, my son.
:-)

257/365

"Holy joy lies in the habit of murmuring thanks to God for the smallest of graces."

Ann Voskamp

not the least of which is a scattering of sunshine yellow petals on the carpet of grass in the corner of my front yard after the rains and winds of the day before.

256/365

By afternoon the skies turned dark and thunder rumbled in warning and lightning flashed as alerts. 

It rained

and rained

and rained.

Then I had no regrets about the decision to cancel.

No not one.

20 minute walk and starting again

Yes, another extended absence from the blog.
An explanation-

We journeyed north up to Nebraska in August. Going to Nebraska is about as close to going home as it comes for this nomad sojourning family. The very first evening we met friends for dinner and went to an outdoor concert that started as the sun went down. We sat on soft green grass that tickled our legs. We wore long sleeves because there was a chill in the air, for us who are accustomed to the hot and humid south Texas climes, anyway. All the chatter around us was English. Even after years away, we recognized many familiar faces.  Reverse culture shock, perhaps.

We were immensely blessed by our time away. We shared stories and updates from the ministry here at the US/Mexico border with churches and mission committees, new and old. We ate and laughed and prayed with dear friends. We were treated to sweet hospitality and many conversations lingered long at dining room tables.

I didn't take a lot of photos, but I really tried to take some people pictures, to capture the faces that are special to me. I took pictures of my family in front of corn stalks taller than they are. I captured the faces of my favorite kitchen friends. I shot my daughter playing with a most precious little one fighting leukemia.

I spent a morning at the Farmers Market, wandering the rows of colorful summer fruits and vegetables and bright cut flowers, baked goods and brewed coffee, snapping pictures here and there with one of the best companions I could ever choose. I climbed a grain elevator a couple of stories tall and looked over the cornfields of western Iowa and shot photos of acres and acres of green, as far as the camera eye could see. I captured images of the sun rising in Oklahoma and of the rolling hills of Kansas and of my favorite sights in Nebraska.

While we were up north, I also got a new computer.
Oh, that's a steep learning curve. It's shiny and light and sleek and fast. I possess none of those qualities. I switched from PC with Windows to a Mac, which in my world is something akin to learning a new language. Again. Slow. And prone to error. Incredibly prone to error.

The most sad error? In that transition of learning and categorizing the new, I lost all those Nebraska photos. We ran a recovery program, but to find them would cost $80 and lots of time and really? For just a couple weeks of photos? It's not THAT important.

I only mourned for a few days; I didn't even shed a tear. But, it sort of deflated me, that loss. I had not picked up my camera, besides a few iPhone shots here and there, since the trip.

Until Friday. This week I started The Artist's Way, "a 12 week journey to recovering your creativity." One of the assignments was to take a 20 minute walk. So on Friday afternoon, I changed my clothes, grabbed a few girls, and threw my camera bag over my shoulder. On a very hot and humid afternoon, with thunder rumbling in the distance, I started again.

And again, it is well with my soul.

228/365

morning view along the road.
(any doubt, back in the Cornhusker State?)

227/365

back in the 'hood.

226/365

and then after waking up in the dark, and driving 628 miles, and a quick change of clothes- we were there...
catching up with old friends,
sitting on soft green grass,
under the coolness of summer clouds,
surrounded by so many familiar faces,
listening to chatter that was in one language.

culture shock of the nicest kind.

225/365

It was almost overwhelming. Would you believe I didn't buy one book?

224/365

We parked here, but ate across the street at RJ's Hamburgers in Kenedy. The burgers were super, but it took almost an hour of waiting out front on the picnic table before we finally were served. The entire time I kept thinking, "maybe tacos..."

223/365

some of my favorite early-morning-and-I'm-outside things:
cowbell accompaniment during my rock and roll;
dogs trotting down the street, smiling;
the rare cool breeze;
the sun peaking up over the horizon.

222/365

the privilege of a table-full for Sunday lunch.
(really! I'm not being snarky!!)

Only YOU...

Kristy trivia- I'm a Smokey the Bear fan.

I think it started in middle school. I was a member of a most awesome Girl Scout troop. We traveled and camped all over New Mexico, including one trip to Capitan, New Mexico, where the real little bear cub Smokey was rescued from a forest fire in 1950. Capitan is the home of Smokey Bear Historical Park, and is where Smokey is buried. (ha! BEAR-ied...)
I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP!! There was an actual Smokey the Bear.

Then later while still a Girl Scout, at some big event down at the Convention Center I got to BE Smokey the Bear, wearing the Smokey the Bear costume, while my fellow Girl Scout handlers told others "only YOU can prevent forest fires..." (Of course!) I was accompanied by Woodsy Owl, of "give a hoot- don't polute..." fame. (hmmm... I'm pretty sure that there was no real Woodsy Owl...)

(note: fellow introverts- wouldn't many of you agree- wearing a costume in complete anonymity, not having to say a word, not a public soul who knows who you are- isn't it a dream?!)

And today I hear it's Smokey's 70th birthday- just don't light the candles!

(Smokey image from 1982 ad campaign from the SmokeyBear.com vault)

221/365

a Fleetwood Mac-Eagles-James Taylor-Simon and Garfunkel while plugging along and pressing on kind of afternoon...