#51 – Forsythia, Thumb Print Cookies and Rain

Driving home on a cloudy, rainy Sunday a wash of bright, sunshine-yellow that burst upon the landscape once I got within my hometown’s county. A golden, almost firey shrubbery that dotted the yards of homes near and far. But what is this? This long-forgotten friend that signals spring, the forsythia.

At first, I thought this was a local plant, potentially a Pennsylvanian cherry blossom? But actually, I learned that forsythia originates from Eastern Asia and Eastern Europe. I wonder what brought them here? Maybe the simple beauty or immigrant communities from Eastern Europe who came to Beaver County brought a sense of home? That would be cool.

Since I moved from home, I think my springs have been colored with different shades of spring. The crocus, the daffodil, and when May creeps in, the rhododendron (a tongue twister). I look at photos and videos with wanderlust of the Sakura and forget my local splendor, the forsythia.

I didn’t realize how much I missed those beautiful golden blossoms until I saw them again. It was a welcome call, a return to normalcy to a world of childhood that felt like a warm hug. As I mentioned before in Easter Traditions and Celebrating the Resurrection there isn’t a lot of familiarity in my holidays anymore, but this, it felt like a moment stuck in time.

This wasn’t the only familiar sight of the weekend. I went home and got to give my parents hugs, and my family dog snuggles, and ate a new little tradition – thumbprint cookies from My Sweet Lily. My mom and Scott (who I’m referring to when I say my parents) travel down to Pittsburgh’s Strip District each Easter season to get a ham at Wholey’s Market and make another stop. To a bakery that sells dairy-free confections of creme-filled pastries called lady locks and these cookies called thumbprints, rolled in sprinkles with a dollop of icing on top.

This variety with the frosting, is incredibly sweet, vibrantly colored, and sort of stomach ache-inducing but I love them and choose to indulge in their sweetness once a year. I’ve had these cookies with jam and with a chocolate ganache, which is splendidly rich. I was curious where these cookies originated from and they are an Americanized version of the Swedish hallongrotta cookie. The name hallongrottor translates to raspberry cave, as these cookies are traditionally served with raspberry jam filling the depression in the top of the cookie.

Today we have a familiar friend visiting our basement, rainwater. Oh rainwater, flowing into the basement and making the journey to the washing machine an adventure of tiny stream crossings. I’m trying to be patient and accept that this Spring is going to be a rainy one, just like the rainy winter we had and it will pass. The basement will dry out.

Meanwhile, the rain is kind of calming, gentle, and cozy on this April day. I can’t believe it’s April already and I’m so excited. I’ve been designing up a storm for summer and I can’t wait to share it with you. ❤

Easter Traditions and Celebrating the Resurrection

For a while now, during Easter Week, I feel a bit like Charlie Brown, and like unsatisfied Chuck, I’ve been doing some thinking. Why does it feel like however I’m celebrating Easter that year, it’s just not exactly enough or appropriate for the gravity of what Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Resurrection Sunday truly represent?

Tradition!

Some of this feeling is my fault as I have changed churches a lot and gone through big moves and stretches of not knowing where to attend for a complex of reasons. That being said, I remember as a kid the feeling of joy and exaltation that filled the house from Palm Sunday on when I lived my grandparents. There was the music, a 1995 Easter cantata that my Grandma would play while baking tea rings, a Swedish wreath shaped pastry, for us and the whole neighborhood. It was a tea ring factory filled with music that told the story of Jesus’ triumphal entry, his walk to the Cross, his death and Resurrection, as told from different perspectives of witnesses.

My grandparents, I see now as an adult, gave me an example of balance for this holiday, because it wasn’t somber and it wasn’t trivialized into a holiday about bunnies and chocolate with a splash of Jesus. There was genuine joy, faith, and love for others expressed. Grandma would usually play piano at church on one of the Sunday services and Papa would help serve communion as part of his duties as a church Elder. He and I would enjoy the Easter chocolate after service and my extended family and friends would come over after church for a meal. There was usually a small candy egg hunt for me and my cousins too.

Since then two things have changed in my experience of Easter – the absence of family for those traditions and the absence of faith in our Easter celebrations.

When my mom got remarried I experienced my first Easter holiday where believing Easter was about Jesus was weird. My new family were and are some of the nicest people I’ve met and yet, this day was so weird because I’m not exactly sure what we were celebrating? As they grew up in the church but had moved away from the faith into adulthood and raised my cousins without any context of Jesus, it was an odd day, full of love and great memories, but a bit hollow? It was eye opening in a good way of the bigger context of the world and how not everyone believes the exact same things as you but you can still get along. It was a point of maturity for sure and put this ache in my heart for the old holidays with my grandparents.

The weirdest of these experiences for sure has been the holiday with traditions but without family. Do traditions matter if there is no one to share them with? It’s a weird place to think through because you don’t want to lose your family traditions, but like, you can’t help feeling like its dead without the rest of the family to share with. And this is not because my family all died, no just my grandparents did, and my extended family on that side lives within a 10 mile drive of each other. They simply have no interest in getting along anymore and have just dropped our family connection because of silly disagreements and its sad. Being on the receiving end of it it honestly feels like crap. There have been holidays I have absolutely dreaded because of this and its taken time to start to be okay with the new normal of being an island.

Love Your Neighbor as Yourself

Something that has helped me move forward to a new normal has been to focus on what the holiday is actually about – Jesus’s death and resurrection so that we can have salvation from our sins and become a new creation in Him. In doing this I found myself ironically back at the same problem, no matter how I celebrate this day it doesn’t feel like enough. Until yesterday while I was doing dishes and was daydreaming, I thought about something I think is profound.

I think the reason this holiday in the United States feels a bit flat is because this day represents a moment in humanity that is a bit bigger than just a day of remembrance. It’s a day where I want to give thanks to God for sending his son to do this amazing work of redemption. It was the ultimate gift that I have received. It symbolizes a new start and also a day of freedom and independence from my sin. It is essentially four of our major holidays rolled into one – Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, and the Juneteenth/4th of July. Because of this I’m not sure if I will ever feel truly satisfactory with how I celebrate this holiday. I don’t think its possible and that’s okay. And potentially how the Reformed Presbyterian church (as much as my Wesleyan mind grumbles giving Calvinism the nod here) is right and celebrating the resurrection every Sunday is the most satisfactory.

So I guess my point here from all my rambling is that I miss my family, I wish they would come back but if they don’t its okay because there are others who love me that may not share my beliefs and the ultimate point of this holiday is not ham, candy, or pastry, it’s the resurrection and what we do with this fresh start. Giving in love of our time and our resources to bless others with what we have to continue what Jesus started almost 2000 years ago. He is risen! He is risen, indeed.

A Cup of Wisdom Warms the Heart

“Whoever ignores instruction despises himself, but he who listens to reproof gains intelligence. The fear of the LORD is instruction in wisdom, and humility comes before honor.”

Proverbs 15:32-33 ESV

Doesn’t that sound like something Uncle Iroh would tell Prince Zuko in their quest to catch the Avatar? That’s what I thought of when I read it. A lot of my reading through Proverbs so far has similarly struck me. I will be reading a chapter, line after line of little tidbits of wisdom in the style of literature Solomon seemed to favor, that at times feels sing-songy like a bit of Shakespeare, and then “BAM!” I’m caught in my tracks by the profoundness of what the line of poetry just said. In those moments, I think of Uncle Iroh. I think anyone who is a fan of Avatar the Last Airbender, wishes they had an Uncle Iroh in their life because people like Uncle Iroh seem few and far between.

I think that’s why the loss of my grandparents feels like such a hole in my life, a vacuum of wisdom. I love my mom but it isn’t the same kind of relationship, there isn’t that well of wisdom that flows into our conversations because there is a different approach to life she follows. It’s a well-developed, rich, sort of wisdom that can only come with hard work and deep study of wisdom itself. They had that and they shared it willingly, sometimes to my chagrin as like young Zuko, I didn’t want to hear it.

And like Zuko of season two learns, the echo chamber of losing the voice of reason in your life is way more frustrating than hearing hard truths that mirror your own folly. It is irreplaceable. I miss their wisdom. I miss the surrounding of elders and wise people who seemed to be around me in childhood but seem harder to find with age. I think there is a passing of the torch so to speak whereby aging you are supposed to grow, change, and dwell with the wisdom of life to pass on to others and that transition can sometimes feel like you are treading water.

“If you look for the light you can often find it. If you look for the dark it is all you will ever see.”

Uncle Iroh

Growing older is odd. I never thought I would miss reproof and instruction but I do.

In the spirit of both the verses from Proverbs and the quote from Avatar the Last Airbender, the only way to fix this void is to look deeper and further to continue to seek out good influences in my life, and ways to be challenged to never settle who and where I am now, but to push further to find the well of wisdom and in turn be a well of wisdom to others.

Where do you go to find wisdom? Is it a person? A belief system? A text? Have you continued to seek after it, even crave it as you have gotten older? Have you been able to be an Uncle Iroh to someone in your life?

#49 – Deactivating Facebook

In 2011, my senior year of high school, one of my close friends opted to not come back to our school for his final year and instead chose to do cyber school which meant, because of how much time he already spent working and playing a little game called war of warcraft, I was going to lose contact with him. Now, at the time, I had known this friend since we were toddlers, through church and later on school, it seemed too important to let that friendship fade into nothingness just because of change of life. I knew there was one modern way to stay connected, a way I dreaded and had put off as long as possible – Facebook. And so in 2011, I bit the bullet and got one.

I instantly regretted my decision.

All of a sudden my feed was filled with information overload in the way only social media can with details that honestly make you feel a bit insecure, like realizing, I knew I was a bit of an outsider at school but oh my, a lot of parties and social events were happening that weren’t on my radar that were now showcased page after page. Suddenly, the peace and tranquility of my quiet introverted life, one connected to people outside classmates, was gone. Poof. I felt a comparison. I felt lacking. I felt lame. A person missing the plot that everyone else got. Who were these people I thought I knew?

Was I doing this all wrong? Should I have more friends? The friend count, the status symbol of ye olde Facebook, some of my fellow friends had 1000s of friends and I was struggling to think of 100 people I knew well enough to add. The profile picture, the clever status updates, the albums upon albums of photos of normal days and things. What was this weird and aspirational world? And where did my feeling of contentment go? In an instant, it left me like a hat on a windy day.

I look back on this feeling and wish I had rolled the dice on keeping in touch through email or text because that friendship didn’t last once we entered college and went our separate ways, but those feelings of insecurity and comparison, they took root. Not just me, but I think all of us are waking up to this and how social media is stealing our joy and our world from what it can be.

After all, we know now that Facebook is a terrible way to keep friendships going, except we didn’t know that yet. I mean I think everyone over the age of 60 at the time knew it was not a replacement for having a social life, but we like intrepid explorers too cocky to listen to the warning that the river was going to turn into a waterfall went tally-ho onward into the mist and went over the waterfall. And now with our broken bits of boat and sputtering of water in our lungs, we see our friends float by us in the river and yet just like the metaphor, we are unable to link arms because the current of the algorithm is taking us where it wants to. Unhappy and alone, we arrived in 2024 and it was time for me to climb ashore.

I was watching the first season of the Great British Bake Off with Mary Berry, Paul Hollywood, Sue Perkins, and Mel Giedroyc, circa 2010 and I felt this overwhelming yearning to go back, back to 2010. Like this scene in Joe Wright’s Pride and Prejudice where Elizabeth sees Mr. Darcy appear in the fading mist of dawn.

I thought about this, why did I feel such a strong pull toward this time? I don’t particularly love the fashion of this period nor was it the most exciting time of my life, it was high school for goodness sake with the season of SATs and college applications. But it was strung together with moments of deep authenticity, real connections, and life spent living in real life instead of online. I spent my days with real people, not a screen with someone behind the screen talking to me. It was real and my world, with my people. I wasn’t worrying about FOMO or what other people were doing, I didn’t consider what other people were doing if I wasn’t there or how I should be spending my time compared to what other people were doing. I was just living. It was before social media had its claws into me and the world.

I remember the world being less performative, less homogenous, and more authentic. If someone was cool it was usually because they were doing their own thing and owning it. If someone was pursuing a hobby or a career it was because they had a passion for it, not for social media clout or to be like everyone else. Phones were for texts and phone calls, sometimes photos. At social events, particularly family events and meals, they stayed in your pocket.

If you were using your phone you were actively talking to someone. People knew things and retained information because Google wasn’t at the ready. You had to discuss and determine things through research, using a book or a computer. Photos existed in physical albums, in frames, on fridges, and in wallets. Body dysmorphia existed, but was less of a constant because in person you can’t Photoshop and filter, you have to accept who you are enough to be in person. Trips were shared through home movies, photos, and stories around a table with food and drink.

At that moment, I realized I was done. Done with pretending I like this fake world of connection. I separated my Instagram from my Facebook so that I could continue sharing photos to my Instagram sewing portfolio account, because that is for exposure not connecting, and deactivated my Facebook. I kept Messenger so that three specific people could still reach me and I hit that deactivate button. And I have to say, it felt like a fake haze lifted from my world. That chapter was done and I feel a peace washing over me again.

If it was as easy as leaving one social media platform, what other little swaps could I do to find those things that made the world feel so real and connected before the social media age? That is my next quest. Onward into normal, human connections!

Making Art From A Nightmare

I was inspired to explore my feelings about this dream and nightmare from a YouTube video I watched by Electra Dashwood. You should check it out!

Tropical Travel Vlogger Trunk

This Fashion Polly-esque playset-looking trunk may look cute and fantastical, but in my dream, it was full of pure nightmares. This dream sequence was so vivid I woke feeling like my life was falling apart, all because of this Pandora’s box. Definitely the effect of some stressful personal situations I had in my life at the time. I’ve been feeling waves of anxiety lately. Although I deeply disliked this trunk in my dream, in art form I wish I had this little gem to store my fabric because it is delightfully bright and vivid. This was drawn in chalk pastel in February 2024.

Cloud Drawing Messenger

This was another odd dream, with my dad, whom I don’t often dream about because I honestly don’t have that many memories with him. After a big boundary breakthrough, I had this dream in which my dad would only communicate with me through watercolor clouds expressing his emotions about what I shared. This was such a cool dream because usually all my dad and I do if we have an emotional conversation, it is in anger and yelling. But this dream was delicate and uplifting. We communicated, and I wish this dream had been real life. The clouds were recreated in chalk pastel in December 2023.

#47 – Goodbye February

This month has straight up stunk. It was a pinball of coming off those allergic reactions I mentioned in #45 – Allergy and Winter Winds, coming down with a cold or a cold, getting better, having an allergic reaction to my eyeshadow, getting another cold, discovering my body wash and loofah combo was giving me irritation, in the form of friction hives, and having to stop drinking camomille to get the hives to go away. I was stuck in this loop of discouragement and I definitely let it live in my mind leading to worry and feeling stuck, basically, like this gif when Kim and Ron switch bodies because of Drakken’s body-switching machine. It was one flip to another flop, nothing progressing, just stuck.

That is life, it kicks our butts, leaves us discouraged, and some days feel like a bunch of little things going wrong are going to give us death by a thousand paper cuts. But honestly, that’s part of the journey of existence. Life does not give us any guarantees that each day is going to be sunshine and rainbows, some days are like a tsunami, and other days are like tripping, repeatedly. I’m thankful that it was only a bunch of small little things breaking my focus, instead of one of those big things that shake us to our core. As a highly sensitive person, I can let the little things swirl around in my head until they are big, shakeable problems that tower over me. These little setbacks taught me something pretty important, I need people in my life. I crave it more than my introverted nature is willing to admit.

On those days, when I felt frustrated and down, lost in the worry of my own head, the thing that pulled me back to the light were people. They helped me remember that I wasn’t alone, but instead that I am loved and needed by others in return. There is purpose and worth in the person I am in being there for others in my life.

It was the small things, Kyle taking care of me when I was feeling really crumby, like asking if I had taken medicine or refilling my water bottle before I realized it was empty. Him doing the dishes, cooking dinner, and making me tea in the morning as I was super slow pulling myself out of bed. Those are huge when you are feeling sick and he is so patient with me. Or my neighbor, who texted me one morning because our Amazon packages got mixed up, remembering she is next door and always there if I need a friend. A phone conversation with a friend, talking about anything or nothing, but the connection of catching up after a while and spending time in that bubble together is such a refreshing reset. Having one of those low-maintenance friendships where she texts me out of the blue and we spend time catching up writing digital letters to each other until the conversation fades, knowing we’ll pick it back up later on. Admitting to my mom that I was scared because she was having complications from her surgery this past summer, saying the fear aloud and facing that I didn’t want anything bad to happen to her. A quick chat with my stepdad, talking nonsense but having a blast doing it. My brother-in-law video calling me out of the blue to catch up as we both cook dinner.

Those little moments of community, pull me out of the funk I was in faster than I realized. We really need people. This modern life is lonely. If nothing else, from this month, I learned how dissatisfied I am with the digital barriers there are to the community and how I don’t want to settle anymore. Because people matter and we need them even if we get peopled out easily. Goodbye, February, my relentless gremlin and ironically, the frank teacher I needed.

Dark Winter

Rosy, golden haze breaks through the greige. Dark, lifeless sky.

I miss the sun on my pale, blue eyes.

The sun on my face? A vampire’s disgrace!

Winter is finally getting to me.

The wind has whipped, into the ether

and clouds slip, like a blip, and slide away into gray nothing monotone before I can comprehend.

I dream of snow. I dream of the sun. The crunch of cool.

November rain, December shadows, January freeze, this nightmare will not end.

Skipping Stitches

Skipping stitches, a court of witches has taken my needle by storm.

Stretch knit slips. Stretch knit slips!?

Another scarred and tattered hem.

Gremlins in the machine? I think I’m going to steam!

From my face, the anger boiling in my heart…

Was this project doomed from the start?

#45 – Allergy and Winter Winds

I miss humidity, like I really, really do. My skin does. It struggles during this mid-winter stretch. I’m itchy, a desert instead of a moisture barrier, and all my skincare products seem to jump ship at this time of the year. I know I’m not the only one either, there are dozens of us!

Now back in January, we got our deep freeze and oh buddy, it was intense. Like two weeks of pure polar vortex, kind of out of nowhere, yet I always know this will happen. Yet I put off getting ready for it. And I certainly forget to moisturize! Until, POW I wake up to 0 degrees Fahrenheit with a real feel of -9, -18, and simply frigid dry air. My skin freaks out! My tried and true skincare starts to waver, and slowly my toner stops doing its job. Soon, my moisture barrier is a distant memory and my face is red and I’m thinking how did this happen?

This year’s gambit of skincare 2024 had a one-two punch of an allergic reaction to ibuprofen and Maybelline foundation. And boy, oh boy did it catch me by surprise. Big red blisters on my face! It was the strangest experience I’ve had. I didn’t feel like anything was wrong until I looked into the mirror one January night before bed and saw five blisters on my face, adorning my chin and nose. It gave me quite the jump scare!

I’ve had hives, I’ve accidentally layered the wrong skincare serums and given myself a chemical burn (that was last year), but I had never experienced blisters, and truly freaked me out. The blisters had only gotten worse because the Maybelline foundation I wore that day had been burning. I thought it was because my skin was parched and irritated until a quick Reddit search on Maybelline foundation shed light on a reaction that some people have to it.

The goofiest part of this whole experience is that it is always days before my birthday, like a weird tradition I’d like to leave behind but life continues to bring it to the party. Well, could be worse.

I’m thankful all reactions were minor, faded in a few days, and were relegated just to my face. I’m incredibly grateful to have never experienced a dangerous situation due to an allergic reaction. Does this happen to you though, after a situation like that where you feel like you can’t trust your tried and true products or medicine? For a few weeks after I feel like I am still on edge, waiting for it not to be the end. This morning I found razor bumps on my leg, and I was sure something else was making me sick! I feel so silly and yet I let myself wander down the road of what ifs.

If I could make one solid change this year, I’d like to leave my disposition to worry behind this year and move forward in emotional maturity, because I really don’t like how I let myself exist in worry when things are fine. I don’t want to be the kind of person who can’t be happy or ignores the good things right in front of me because the experience with those blisters scared me a bit.

Do you have a penchant for worrying? Are you level-headed and chill? If you are I’d love to be more like you! I hope wherever you are you know that you are safe and know that you are loved. Thanks, dear reader for giving me your time today. ❤

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