The sun shines on me

There's a week of classes left in the semester and I just wrapped up some final edits on a story I've been writing for the past four months. It's December 2. The sun is shining and it's 66 degrees. Life couldn't feel better.

Semester's end

In the Cedar Falls kitchen where most of the fun happens

I'm back in Missouri after a relaxing week in Cedar Falls with my parents, sister and our four family dogs. The Thanksgiving holiday was a perfect transition to the concluding part of my semester. All my big projects are done and tomorrow I defend my thesis proposal.

I'm dreaming of Christmas.

Thanksgiving break

I woke up in Cedar Falls, Iowa. It's Thanksgiving break and I have the whole week off! I'm not sure when that last happened. My parents welcomed me home with a back-yard bonfire gathering and this morning I went to visit my 97-year-old grandmother before she went to church. She and my mother walked there hand in hand and I captured it.

Candlelight and rain

It's St. Martin's Day. Although I had aspirations to make a little lantern of cardboard, wire and colored tissue paper, the plan fell aside as I slugged through time-consuming revisions on my thesis proposal and stories. Instead, I've lit a small candle and placed it on the piano bench next to my bed where I'm working. The flame flickers and does its part to brighten this gray, rainy day.

I looked through my box of pictures for one of me and my siblings at an Austrian St. Martin's festival many years ago. Although I know such a picture exists, it wasn't in the box. For now I have to piece the memory together with words.

I built my lantern at kindergarten out of a circular Happy Cow cheese box and wax paper. I decorated the exterior with small multicolored bits tissue paper. Every year there was an afternoon parade around the block, but the main event was after dinner and sunset.

It seemed like the whole town came out toting lit lanterns on the end of sticks. We all met in the field near the grade school. We moved into a circle and sang.

Ich geh' mit meine Laterne
Und meine Laterne mit mir.
Dort oben leuchtet die Sterne,
Hier unten, da leuchtet wir.
Mein Licht geht aus,
Wir geh'n nach Haus,
Rabimmel, rabammel, rabum.

As the singing ended, a cloaked soldier on horseback circled the perimeter of a bonfire. In the shadows man clad only in shorts shivered. After several laps, the soldier withdrew his sword and dramatically cut his cloak in two. He handed the shivering stranger half. 

A few more songs and my family went home. I think our Austrian neighbors went home to eat goose, as a symbolic act of retribution against the animal that betrayed St. Martin. My family never did. 

Poem and picture

Felt heart

By Emilie Stigliani

It used to bang

Against the clapboard

In a wind-whipped

Fray

Until I wedged

A felted scrap

Between the heart &

Hinge

 This softens each blow

‘Cause it sways

No longer

Swings

Celebrating seasons

I've been craving some sort of ritual in my life, a way to symbolically divide the constant flow of work.

After hearing me talk about carving a pumpkin, Claire brought one home from the grocery store. Coincidentally, my friends Hilary and Rick invited me over for a pumpkin carving get together. We sat outside and removed pumpkin guts, separated seed and carved. When the sun started to set, we went inside for mugs of mulled cider and Rick's delicious pumpkin custard. After desert, I took home my pumpkin and a baggie of seeds.

The pumpkin sits on the kitchen table where it glows a wide smile. The smell of cinnamon, maple syrup and butter wafts from the oven, where the spiced seeds roast. I feel cheery.

My pumpkin

Can you spot mine in the line up?

Meeting the hare

Last week I wrote about tortoise-speed without realizing that this week would be all about the hare—well, actually more accurately the Dancing Rabbit.

My search for a deeper understanding of off-the-grid living led me, Claire and Leo to Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage this past weekend. While I hope to synthesize my thoughts about the experience as I work on my manuscript in the coming weeks, I can say that Claire and I agreed that the place is amazing.

The growing 60-member community is designed in the fashion of a European village. Everyone lives in close proximity to each other and agricultural activities are done on the periphery. The set up and the close social ties reminded us of our childhood in Sudstadt, Austria.

There's more to say, but for now I've got to focus my energy on pulling together my thesis proposal which is due before the end of the week and will dictate my work for the remainder of my time at the University of Missouri.

More soon.