bunnyjadwiga

This 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.

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...