The hand that wipes away our tears.
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It is always the unexpected that causes me to pause. The flight out of the ordinary, into a place of stillness and remembering. And it is usually the meandering path that leads me there.

This weekend was beautiful. The perfect sky, young green and pink canopied streets and the vibrant stumble into parts of town less traveled. And suddenly I found myself inside of a sugar egg. The sublime light and colorful jewel interior of the egg was perfect. The smell of copal and bee’s wax permeated everything, and from outside my shell I could hear the joyous Balalaika music that was being played on the lawn.

I stood in the middle of the space, at once glorious, and yet incredibly intimate. I made a journey around the edges first, my eyes soaking in the richness of the tapestries, the polished gold, the pink and green icons floating above in a robin’s egg concave, and the simple sweetness of the stained glass windows. So I did what came naturally. I cried. And then I lit a candle and remembered all my blessings.

The hand isn’t mine, and the church isn’t the same one, but it says enough. And reminds me never to be without my camera again.

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I grew up submersed in the Orthodox Church. Surrounded by the mystery of tomes read in Greek, choir folding over me from above, copal entering my pores, communion of bread and wine and the walk to the nave– cupping the little light in my hands until I could set it into the sand–always sticky with pooled bee’s wax.

So it occurred to me….standing inside the egg, light years from that flame bearing child…that I was formed here. The odd and unusual, so out of context in a mundane existence, fills my imagination, and when I peek inside, little figures, resplendent in lamé and fancy hats, are sauntering forth to greet me.

The first weekend in May brought with it my heart. I can feel the pleasurable sensation of sprouting life pushing through the frozen muscle. It has been a long winter. The buds are finally mirroring my thoughts, greening, suddenly…the magnolias and flowering almonds are finally feeling the safety necessary for their emergence. It is the most primal example of faith, tested sorely during the darkness of late winter.

Sunday stories:

Another example of faith. We can indeed grow where we are planted.
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Swim exuberantly and carry a big stick. That is Rosie’s motto as she cuts her way through the roiling currents of the Mississippi.
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What’s better than a happy dog? Three happy dogs!

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What’s better than three happy dogs? Phoebe, BD and the Phoenix boat at the May Day celebration in the park.

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The unexpected life is certainly worth living.

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Here comes the sun. Sailed on the Phoenix to the center of the lake.