Well, it all worked out okay today. The belts for both of us were too big, which we only discovered as we got out of the car to go into the festival. However, they were still functional.
Fortunately, though, we didn’t have to hassle the whole day with slightly-too-large belts (that also happen to be carrying several things for us). After we spent a lovely time at a knife and sword shoppe (and my mom graciously bought us all our own hand knife), we went to a nearby shoppe they’d mentioned likely could help us. Sure enough, the girl there was quite happy to punch some extra holes in each of our belts, and we were quite happy to be in belts that now fit us properly.
So, it all worked out with the outfits, and we got doke awesome handmade knives.
Thank you, God, for this blessing of a day with my family. In your name, I pray. Amen.
Well, we’re going to RenFest tomorrow, first thing. We wear awesome outfits that I made. They could use some minor yet valuable adjustments. Yet, somehow, every year, I forget to make the adjustments until the last minute… this year’s being no different, I didn’t even pull them out until tonight…
So, I’ll be fiddling with my man’s cloak in the car on the way up in the morning, and hoping I’m doing the best thing for it. However, so far as our new drinking horns are concerned, I came across them by accident the other day, about a week ago, I guess… I remembered that we needed to seal them for safe drinking. So, I hauled them out, washed them, looked up what I was supposed to be using and doing to make them ‘safe’ for use, and then went this past Sunday to get the stuff. I did the sealant and let them cure for more than double the recommended time (kind of forgot about them), and now they’re ready! Of course, because I kind of forgot about them, 1)they each have a couple droplets that are, basically, permanently on an outside edge of the horn, and 2)I genuinely almost forgot even to go get them as I packed up our stuff tonight. It was only because I went through the whole bag and came across the carriers that I even remembered we had them… as though I hadn’t just prepared them for use a handful of days ago…
Like I said, I kind of forgot about them… 😛
Anyway, I hope tomorrow goes well!
Dear God, keep us safe and well, please. In your name, I pray. Amen.
Well, it poured and rained for most of the day today, yet the festival was still a success. Not all the groups got to perform today, but they all did yesterday, when loads of people were at the festival, so it kind of balanced. Nowhere near as many people came today as yesterday, but there was still a surprisingly good number of people, despite the rain. When the rain started letting up somewhat in early afternoon, even more people kept showing up. So, sure, the grounds were basically flooded in spots all over the place, and most people just walked around, getting soaked, no umbrella to be seen. (That part actually really got me. Sure, the weather forecast had changed a bit from what it had said last night, but the sky was dark this morning. The sun barely even rose. There was no way one couldn’t look or step outside and not know that it would be raining a decent amount today. And, likely, it already was raining by the time anyone did step outside to head to the festival. Nonetheless, loads of people had no rain protection whatsoever. Okay, folks… haha.)
Anyway, great day and great time with my family today, and then great dinner with my dad and my man this evening. I’m already in bed about to go to sleep, and it isn’t even ten PM. Thank you, God, for all these blessings. Be with us always, please. In your name, I pray. Amen.
Today was a success! Yay! Sure, there were definitely some moments of awkwardness, and I also had to sit around and wait for an hour and a half, simply because certain people did not communicate a schedule change to others. However, it all worked out okay, and I even got to walk around the festival for a while with my mom. I also got to sit in a shaded VIP area for a while with my mom and just hang out and rest somewhat. Both opportunities were great and greatly appreciated.
What’s more, my man built almost the whole chicken coop today!! ** So, an extra yay!! Yay!!
Thank you, God, for a successful day for us all. Grant us peace and purpose always, and heal all of us, please. In your name, I pray. Amen.
**I only just a few days ago re-learned – because I definitely knew this before – that it is a “chicken coop,” and not a “chicken coupe.” To be fair, I once read a joke, after having already heard my cousin tell it, that kind of made me mess up my spelling of the word.
Relevant joke that is meant to be said and not written: Why doesn’t a chicken coop have four doors? Because then it would be called a chicken sedan.
Though, the written joke had “coop” spelled already as “coupe,” which really messed me up. Also, I never understood the joke, because it was also worded poorly, instead saying something like, ‘Why does a chicken coupe only have two doors? Because otherwise it would be called a chicken sedan.’ I massively struggled with this version of the joke, because I only knew of chicken coops that had just one door. So, the premise alone didn’t make sense to me. Nonetheless, the idea of the joke is cute and comical. Imagining a “chicken sedan,” whatever that is, as well as a “chicken coupe,” is quite a fun game to play in the brain. Give it a go! Vroom-vroom!
It was successful, by the way, the gift. When I presented it to him, he didn’t fully understand. It just looked like an odd, artsy, plant-y presentation of a rose-shaped folded piece of fabric. After the distractions of other sudden comments and conversations from passers-by departed, he finally continued opening up the rose-folded fabric… One guy commented enthusiastically, “It’s a scarf!” at which point I realized that no one had any idea what it actually was yet, and he needed to unfold it all the way. Finally, he got there, and he discovered that it was a Hawaiian shirt! And it was a very nice and pretty and purple Hawaiian shirt. He was delighted, huge smile and hug and everything. He showed it almost immediately to his friends, and they went wild, cheering. As I had said, he’d needed a Hawaiian shirt. 😛 Even though he enjoyed it greatly, he commented at one point that he thought his friends might be even more excited about it than he was – a major compliment on the present. I was thrilled and grateful that it had played out so well. My mom had done the folding and presentation setup of the shirt, cutting palm fronds and leafy, green things, and picking up moss clumps to put it all together in a beautiful presentation, like a fancy flower on display in a box. (Naturally, I never got a photo of it in good lighting, because I was so excited about gifting it…, but it is what it is, so here is the poorly lit photo I have of the “flower”.)
A rose, by any other name, might be a Hawaiian shirt…
Separately, my mom and I went to an Islamic Art Festival today. It was filled with luminous, beautiful, heart-filled art. So much heart and light and love all around that room today. I am grateful to have been able just to be present with it all. I am further grateful for the fact that just a tiny bit of it came home with me this evening, thanks to my mom.
However, there was one piece that caught my eye early on in the day: a medium-large, mostly white painting. (I know, a white canvas sounds impressive, but it absolutely was…) It had some gold foiling on it, but looked like an otherwise white , slightly textured painting (almost oil-like with the depth and textures), with script shaped to look a bit like a whirling dervish, a Sufi. I wanted to know what it said. But mostly so that I could be clear that it had been calling to me in particular…, because it felt for the first time in my life that I wanted to – **snoot-snoot** – ‘purchase an art piece for our personal home collection’. I know it may seem to be odd wording there, but that was what it was. Like the Sophie Kinsella book “Remember Me?”, how they collected art for their fancy “loft-style living” penthouse, I wanted to start my own real collection of art today. (**Note: In the book, she had gone from having missed a bonus by a one-week hire date at her new, low-paying job to, after a car accident and resulting amnesia, being five years older, married, in a high-paying leadership job at the company, driving a Mercedes, and living in an extremely posh penthouse in London along the Thames. So, the lifestyle was absolutely foreign to her, and their art collection had particularly blown her mind simply as a concept, let alone what the art pieces were and how much they had cost [loads and loads, obviously]. Her commentary upon discovering everything in her ‘new’ wealthy life and lifestyle was comical and relatable, and her story was quite inspiring in terms of pursuing lofty dreams in life… like having a posh art collection in ‘loft-style living’. Hashtag real-life goals, right?… Anyway, moving on…)
When we returned later to speak with the artist – she hadn’t yet arrived to the festival for the day when we first were there -, I began crying during her explanation of the words on the piece and why she had done what she had for it. I couldn’t explain myself except that I was overwhelmed, literally overflowing with water. And I couldn’t seem to stop for a while. The words she was sharing through that piece were exactly what have been my guiding light lately in life, it was no wonder I was so drawn to the piece. I hadn’t even noticed initially that they were words, the energy of it was so loud and so truly in line with where I am presently moving in life.
She could tell it was positive crying, I believe. The piece itself she had set for $500, with all of the proceeds going to a charity she likes and supports. The latter part was impressive in and of itself (including what the wonderful charity does), making me want to support the artist all the more (and, of course, making me cry a bit more in gratitude for the wonderful, heart-filled good that people are still pursuing and doing in this beautiful life). The former set the piece where I believed it belonged, in a ‘true art piece’ category. She went on to tell me that she would be more than happy to work with us… on other offers of price, or, even, on a print of the piece – she’d gladly work with us on any of the options, as she wants the piece to go somewhere where it will be loved and appreciated and wanted.
So, we have all of her information, and I will be discerning over the next several hours and couple days, and I will reach out to her to let her know where I stand with everything, likely tomorrow or Tuesday. My mom said to me that this was a perfect example of where she would love to be in a life where such a purchase could be an easy, “Yes,” and a, “And here’s another $500 to go with it.” But we don’t live that kind of life. Not right now, anyway. And that is perfect for right now. Regarding what to do about the piece, I would love to have it in my home for the rest of my life. And that is a lot of money for me at present. Sure, I may have money in the bank, but, until I have reliable higher income, that money is there to keep me functioning (safely and reliably and without mental stress) in life with food and housing and transportation, etc.
I want to honor the piece for what it is. And I must honor my current financial state, and trust that God will guide me appropriately forward.
When I saw the piece, when it reached out and called me initially, my experience, though I hadn’t had the words at the time, was one of slight paralysis as the idea settled within me that, ‘I want to see that every day of my life.’ I believe fully that we are exactly where we need to be, exactly when we need to be there. And we are given exactly what we need, exactly when we need it. This piece and this wonderful artist and woman showed up today on purpose – we all fulfilled needs all around. This discernment is here for me necessarily, and right now. God, please guide me clearly forward with this art piece. I trust in you wholly. Amen.
Walking around the Japanese garden, I stop when I come to the take. I stop of just a moment, envisioning myself in Japan, in the real Japanese gardens of the world. Tears come to my eyes, and I wonder Why? What’s going on? Why am I suddenly crying? Why am I shaking inside from my sternum, as though panic is coming up?
And I realize: I miss Japan. Not so much for the whole experience, but for some of the experience, and, especially, for the part where I fit in appropriately, in the right way. I was expected to stand out and not to do exactly as others did. I was expected to turn heads and to surprise and shock those around me. And I did. And I was comforted by the feeling of ‘fitting in’ in that odd sense of it, fitting into the expectations my surroundings had of me.
But it is different being here, where I am expected to fit in one way, but I don’t fit in that way. I am American, but I am multi-cultural. I used to think those two a little more synonymous with one another. But, based on how I look on the outside, – my skin and hair and eyes – I am expected to be on a similar ground with those around me here. Perhaps we have visited other countries, but that was for vacation. Living there, being truly part of the culture, is not in the books for most of those around me, unless they specifically came from that country directly, through their heritage, and moved here after having lived there in the earliest years of their lives (as is the case with one in four people in Houston, actually). However, I am not expected to know how to dress someone in a kimono or yukata better than someone my own age back in Japan. I’m not even expected to know the difference, unless I am what would be considered a sort of geek of Anime and Manga (at which point one still might not know the difference between them, but it is less surprising for them to know such things). I don’t fit into that category, and yet I know so much about Japanese culture and life in Japan, and I have experienced so much of it, that I often find no need to talk about it – it’s become so a part of me and my life, it is similar to putting on shoes or brushing teeth. Sure, we do them both all the time, but hardly ever do we consciously ponder on them and share about them with others. They’re just part of our subconscious and our mostly-daily lives.
Anyway, that was what I was feeling today at the festival in town celebrating Japan and Japanese culture. When I ran into a friend who had spent even more time than I had in Japan, I mentioned to him how I wasn’t quite sure what I was feeling, but I felt as though I was about to cry. Something about feeling like I belong, but then not belonging after all. ‘It’s your first “Japanese culture” experience post-Japan.’ I confirmed his questioning declaration. It was, in fact, the first time I had experienced something that was all about Japan from this country’s perspective since I had actually spent time in Japan. If I had attended the same festival before going, I likely would have felt quite wonderfully walking around the festival. I had a different view of Japanese culture in Japan back then.
This was something like seeing a “Mexican Restaurant” in northern France that time, and feeling a giddy sense of hilarity at what kind of food could possibly be served in there. Or the “American Restaurant” (that was it’s name) in northern Spain, where the “american hamburgers” were nothing like our actual hamburgers. (Think meatloaf, with a slice of thin ham, on fluffy, dense bread.) But now, instead of it being Texas and US culture, it is Japanese culture. And so it was also weird to be relating to Japanese culture – a culture with which I struggled greatly at times, and still do – in the same sort of protective way as I traditionally have related to my original home culture. It kind of added this whole extra layer to my identity semi-crisis. And all that just because I went to a festival.
hannah ananas 