more precious than rubies...
May. 25th, 2005 12:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bunnyjadwigaThis week I was sick. The horrible, nasty, miserable sort of foodpoisoning. I was so sick, in fact, that I arranged to be sick at my friend Sarah's house. This is, of course, a testament to our friendship, that Sarah and her husband Juergen were willing to put up with me curled up on their couch, creaking from the bathroom to the spare bed; to make me tea, fetch me ginger-ale, and wrap me in blankets and put me into the shower to warm up when I got chills. This is no ordinary friendship.
But it is more than that. I called my mom when I was mostly coherent and explained that a) my gut had given me an excuse to avoid my brother's birthday party in a weekend already crowded with responsibilities, and b) no, I didn't need her to drive up and fetch me, I was at Sarah's, and that was almost as good as being at Mom's.
Yes, I am 36 years old. Yes, my mom would still come and be with me when I'm sick if I'd let her. Sometimes I'm tempted. The last time I was truly miserably ill, several years ago with a throat infection, I actually lost my mind for a minute and called her at 7:30 am in a panic, because I was in so much pain I couldn't swallow the pain pill that would make it possible to swallow the antibiotic. In my own defense, I hadn't eaten or slept more than 15 minutes at a stretch in about three days. (She says that is not the worst thing I have ever done to her as my mother, but I think it's close. When your daughters pull away in their teenage years, my friends, remember this may happen to you.) On that occasion, too, I broke down and called on Sarah to rescue me.
I don't want you to think I'm more of a wimp than I am-- I will tough out colds, coughs, flu and the infectious like, grumpily and trailing tissues, meds, and eiderdowns with me like the Sorceresses doorkeeper-toad in Tanith Lee's _The Dragon Hoard_. But sometimes, you just can't manage being sick by yourself, even if you are a bitterly independent wimp like me.
But this post isn't about that. It's about Sarah. It's not just that she opened her home to me, as she has done countless times since we first met almost seven years ago. It's not that she gave me sage advice and felt my forehead for signs of fever (in fact, Juergen mostly did that); or that if I was at home, ill, she would drop off ginger ale and homemade chicken soup if I needed it. It's the pure comfort level of her house. When I'm there, I feel secure, loved and comfortable.
And it IS her house. Much as I love Juergen, I think he would cheerfully camp out in a ruined tower or half-shed if it was warm enough and there was a dry place for the computer and the assorted bits, a futon to snuggle on, and someplace to store his cheese sandwiches. Stuff would pile up around him in drifts until he wanted it, or not. He's not much of a THING person, you see.
Sarah, who fusses at herself for the untidiness of her housekeeping, still has the most welcoming house I've ever been in. She makes people feel at home. She also is one of the best home-cooking cooks I know. (Juergen, again here, is not much of a food person and is confused by how much energy we spend on it.) Sarah has taught me more about comfort food than and just plain cooking skill than I've learned from much of anyone else (my mom and Juliana come in nearest). She patiently teaches me how to deal with chicken, not an ingredient I like and one that squicks me out. What she can do with some rice and some beef is amazing, and her way with brussels sprouts is amazing. Food is one of the ways she shows her love. We experiment with period and modern foods together and dance with joy when the spicing is right.
But... I'm also the proud owner of a few handwork items by Sarah, like the felted Maunche and Silver Crescent medallions she made me because I complained that mine embarrassed me by clanking. Or the small purple pouch woven on a five-cent loom with handspun yarn. She and her mom spin, knit, crochet, embroider like spiders. The height of my needlework achievements were counted cross-stitch samplers and of course the endless parade of t-tunics I can turn out with a fast sewing machine. In her house I've learned to enjoy reading Piecework and Spin Off though my well-meaning spinning attempts have been rather, ahem, exciting and almost nobody has ever seen me with a needle in my hand.
She has wept with me when I mourned and we have laughed together in celebration. And I am not the only one. She has shared her religious holidays with me and with others, and helped me celebrate mine. She is there to help friends who have babies, and always seems to know the right thing to say to those who are grieving. She's always giving; many times it's food, but sometimes other things too-- when I help her clean we have to find people who can use what we are discarding...
Sarah is a mistress of the many crafts that I once, as a child, hoped that womanhood would bring mastery of. I never wanted to be a great housekeeper. I wanted to be a good cook, an artist, someone who could do for herself and others. In my 20s, I wished that someday I would have the house, the husband, the pets, the child, and even the minivan. Slowly I gave up that dream and learned other ones. But Sarah is who I wanted to be. And she's good at it.
Together we cook, talk, sing, drive through the countryside, clean, garden (one area where I am not as backward); she teaches me to crochet and explains how to cut up a chicken. Now that Becky is older, we can have girl-talk together. We are women together. She gives me relationship advice and I share my gardening advice. Being with her makes me concious of being part of the lineage and circle of women, of the womanly traditions I've always loved and reverenced. And I tell Sarah that, and she is still too humble to really believe me. But she is. And I am blessed to know her.
Sarah, I love you. Thank you for being my friend.
But it is more than that. I called my mom when I was mostly coherent and explained that a) my gut had given me an excuse to avoid my brother's birthday party in a weekend already crowded with responsibilities, and b) no, I didn't need her to drive up and fetch me, I was at Sarah's, and that was almost as good as being at Mom's.
Yes, I am 36 years old. Yes, my mom would still come and be with me when I'm sick if I'd let her. Sometimes I'm tempted. The last time I was truly miserably ill, several years ago with a throat infection, I actually lost my mind for a minute and called her at 7:30 am in a panic, because I was in so much pain I couldn't swallow the pain pill that would make it possible to swallow the antibiotic. In my own defense, I hadn't eaten or slept more than 15 minutes at a stretch in about three days. (She says that is not the worst thing I have ever done to her as my mother, but I think it's close. When your daughters pull away in their teenage years, my friends, remember this may happen to you.) On that occasion, too, I broke down and called on Sarah to rescue me.
I don't want you to think I'm more of a wimp than I am-- I will tough out colds, coughs, flu and the infectious like, grumpily and trailing tissues, meds, and eiderdowns with me like the Sorceresses doorkeeper-toad in Tanith Lee's _The Dragon Hoard_. But sometimes, you just can't manage being sick by yourself, even if you are a bitterly independent wimp like me.
But this post isn't about that. It's about Sarah. It's not just that she opened her home to me, as she has done countless times since we first met almost seven years ago. It's not that she gave me sage advice and felt my forehead for signs of fever (in fact, Juergen mostly did that); or that if I was at home, ill, she would drop off ginger ale and homemade chicken soup if I needed it. It's the pure comfort level of her house. When I'm there, I feel secure, loved and comfortable.
And it IS her house. Much as I love Juergen, I think he would cheerfully camp out in a ruined tower or half-shed if it was warm enough and there was a dry place for the computer and the assorted bits, a futon to snuggle on, and someplace to store his cheese sandwiches. Stuff would pile up around him in drifts until he wanted it, or not. He's not much of a THING person, you see.
Sarah, who fusses at herself for the untidiness of her housekeeping, still has the most welcoming house I've ever been in. She makes people feel at home. She also is one of the best home-cooking cooks I know. (Juergen, again here, is not much of a food person and is confused by how much energy we spend on it.) Sarah has taught me more about comfort food than and just plain cooking skill than I've learned from much of anyone else (my mom and Juliana come in nearest). She patiently teaches me how to deal with chicken, not an ingredient I like and one that squicks me out. What she can do with some rice and some beef is amazing, and her way with brussels sprouts is amazing. Food is one of the ways she shows her love. We experiment with period and modern foods together and dance with joy when the spicing is right.
But... I'm also the proud owner of a few handwork items by Sarah, like the felted Maunche and Silver Crescent medallions she made me because I complained that mine embarrassed me by clanking. Or the small purple pouch woven on a five-cent loom with handspun yarn. She and her mom spin, knit, crochet, embroider like spiders. The height of my needlework achievements were counted cross-stitch samplers and of course the endless parade of t-tunics I can turn out with a fast sewing machine. In her house I've learned to enjoy reading Piecework and Spin Off though my well-meaning spinning attempts have been rather, ahem, exciting and almost nobody has ever seen me with a needle in my hand.
She has wept with me when I mourned and we have laughed together in celebration. And I am not the only one. She has shared her religious holidays with me and with others, and helped me celebrate mine. She is there to help friends who have babies, and always seems to know the right thing to say to those who are grieving. She's always giving; many times it's food, but sometimes other things too-- when I help her clean we have to find people who can use what we are discarding...
Sarah is a mistress of the many crafts that I once, as a child, hoped that womanhood would bring mastery of. I never wanted to be a great housekeeper. I wanted to be a good cook, an artist, someone who could do for herself and others. In my 20s, I wished that someday I would have the house, the husband, the pets, the child, and even the minivan. Slowly I gave up that dream and learned other ones. But Sarah is who I wanted to be. And she's good at it.
Together we cook, talk, sing, drive through the countryside, clean, garden (one area where I am not as backward); she teaches me to crochet and explains how to cut up a chicken. Now that Becky is older, we can have girl-talk together. We are women together. She gives me relationship advice and I share my gardening advice. Being with her makes me concious of being part of the lineage and circle of women, of the womanly traditions I've always loved and reverenced. And I tell Sarah that, and she is still too humble to really believe me. But she is. And I am blessed to know her.
Proverbs 31:
Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil.She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life. She seeketh wool, and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands. She is like the merchants' ships; she bringeth her food from afar. She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her household, and a portion to her maidens. She considereth a field, and buyeth it: with the fruit of her hands she planteth a vineyard. She girdeth her loins with strength, and strengtheneth her arms. She perceiveth that her merchandise is good: her candle goeth not out by night. She layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold the distaff. She stretcheth out her hand to the poor; yea, she reacheth forth her hands to the needy. She is not afraid of the snow for her household: for all her household are clothed with scarlet. She maketh herself coverings of tapestry; her clothing is silk and purple....
Strength and honour are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to come. She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness. She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness. Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her. Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all...
Give her of the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates.
Sarah, I love you. Thank you for being my friend.
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no subject
Date: 2005-05-25 03:22 am (UTC)All four of you (Jenne, Sarah, Juergen, and Becky) have been such an important part of my life for so long. Even when we were out of touch, or not speaking. You have all been a part of me through everything I have endured for the past six (seven? i can never remember) years, all the good and the bad, the love and the loss. You have always been with me, if only in my heart. It fills me with such joy to know that you are all my friends. Thank you for being there, for coming back, for being my friends, and mostly for being who you are. I love you all so dearly. You are _home_ to me.
no subject
Date: 2005-05-25 05:11 pm (UTC)Oh, now that I have your attention... Becky would like a play date with you and
no subject
Date: 2005-05-25 09:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-25 03:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-25 09:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-25 06:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-25 05:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-25 06:58 pm (UTC)See? This is why I shall miss Eisental . . . not the place or the land or the events . . . ok the events are way cool cause there's the homestead but still . . . it's the people. Really cool people.
Sarah gave me the greatest compliment when we were together last . . . she asked if I'd share my family's apple pie recipe. Simple thing. But it absolutely made me feel . . . part of something and I can only read your words about feeling part of the circle and think, Yeah! That's it!
Now I only need to get moved and unpack and find my recipes . . . =oP and her e-mail address . . . and . . . my life . . .
~hugs~ I'm so sorry you're sick, sweetie . . . get better.
And Tell Sarah and Juergen hello for me, please.
no subject
Date: 2005-05-25 07:17 pm (UTC)That was just beautiful. I am blessed in many ways.
On the other hand, though: Would a ruined tower with a fat T1 not epitomize Cool?
Love you!
Ruined tower with T1?
Date: 2005-05-25 09:10 pm (UTC)Re: Ruined tower with T1?
Date: 2005-05-25 09:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 05:12 pm (UTC)And I too agree that Sarah & Juergen have always been there and known what to say. And upon my doorstep when Jeff and I both were sick with the flu I was given her most wonderful chicken soup. Life could not be better with that soup. :)
But alas I do love Juergen and Sarah with all my heart. They are indeed wonderful people and there is nothing like their house to make you feel better :)
Thank you both!! I love you!