Tag: lifelessons

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Tonight’s Chinese Fortune

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Hello Strangers,

I am so sleepy, but this seemed like a good way to end the day. I’ve been meaning to come back on here for a while and time just keeps getting away from me. The pictures above are of a project I’m working on which is about houses and this woman who is obsessed with them. For my birthday, Henry got me a glass dip pen, ink, and a book I can bind myself, and I finally began using it the other day. I try to draw when I have energy or am too awake, because the strokes and scrumbles are very meditative for me and it fills me with quiet that I’m often lacking. I’ll have to come back here soon and do a post specifically on the pen and drawings.

But today was a very good day. I talked to three friends, and I put away a large pile of laundry on the floor, washed the bedding, and put in a load of towels after that. 

Every time I’ve asked Henry to take care of a spider in recent months, he has gone and found a piece of paper and a cup and relocated them, even if they were especially squirrely. I tell him it’s sweet of him, and he just says it’s never sat right with him to kill a spider after he read that poem that ends, 

“If I am killed for simply living, let death be kinder than man.” 

So, this evening when I was on my phone call and saw a sharp, spindly little creature racketing around my laundry closet, I told my friend offhandedly, 

“One second, I have to kill this spider.” 

And as I was looking for something to wack it with, I poked my head out to ask Henry to kill it for me, and I remembered that he doesn’t like to kill spiders. And then I remembered the poem. Then I remembered that I don’t like to kill spiders. And so she gets to live in the wash room until she meets her natural end. It’s only fair. I always thought that poem was beautiful, and it broke my heart but for some reason, it wasn’t until I watched someone live it out that I found it in myself to do the same.

A little bit later we went to our favorite restaurant and talked about the art our friends make; one makes impressive, beautiful paintings, the other makes photography with skill I can only aspire to. She got a new camera with 120 mm film, as opposed to her usual 35 mm film. I’m really looking forward to seeing what each of them make this year. 

I paid this time, he often does, and when we got in the truck we broke our cookies and read our fortunes. He should be open to adventure on Wednesday, and my night will be filled with connection and love. 

He’s in the other room working on an exam, and I’m here, doing chores and writing this letter. And my night is indeed filled with connection, and love. 

Here’s hoping some of it gets to you, 

—Mabel

Oh, P.S., the poem is “Kinder Than Man” by Althea Davis.

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A Little Relief

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There is a girl who every time she sees my cabin, breaks down crying. She grabs her chest, grips her breasts, falling to her knees and weeps. She loves it here. She’s a woman actually, not a girl, but she feels small and insignificant like although she is technically alive, one day she stopped progressing. Like maybe she didn’t deserve to age like the rest of them so she stopped. Truth be told, I have never actually invited her in.

I built this house for her. I said I built it for others, but it was for her. I assumed she knew that but.

She has never been inside. 

I think she loves it because she aches for home. She feels the swirling patterns of the wind in the front yard and she sees the brown leaves it picks up in its arms, and she hears a song by Iron and Wine and she thinks of the man she will send that song to when he’s away and she will tell him he is her home. And earthside, he is. He is the same as the song by Iron and Wine, and the wind and dead leaves, and the blurry idea she has of this cabin as she stands outside it weeping. 

I think she weeps because she feels relief and relief feels like grief. She weeps like a woman that is safe. She pays no mind to the fact that she is not invited in. She thinks not of wolves or strange men in the forest. She weeps as though she has lost everything, or that there is no such thing as loss, maybe.

She is not often in my front yard. She does not often haunt my window like the dead. More often, she is driving around an unexplored neighborhood at night with gas she does not have. She sobs about how beautiful the porch lights are. And twinkle lights and garden lights and streetlights. They give her a little relief. 

More often, she is buying a cup of ice cream with strawberries and chocolate fudge for seven dollars even though that is a painful price for a cup of ice cream and she should save her money. It gives her a little relief. 

More often, she is taking a phone call from her best friend, or maybe her oldest friend, or her love. 

More often, she is checking the weather app to see if it says “rain” or “thunderstorm warning” even though she has a shift to work and can’t go outside. 

More often she is making a cup of coffee that will hurt her stomach. It offers a little relief, in theory. 

Sometimes, without being able to explain why, a person goes dumb with pain and mourning. 

If splitting yourself into two people and watching one weep at your window allows you to act with some self-compassion, then split them. Because I have been thinking about a little relief lately. Reliefs that are borrowed. Reliefs that are bought on credit. That run out. That shouldn’t be used. 

Two years ago I wrote this same post, basically, except it was about banana splits. I wrote it because there were dead dogs littering the roads in a town I refuse to claim as mine. And there were dogs starving in public parks and people would throw things at them instead of helping. Puppies left to drown in drainage ditches with their broken-down puppy-mill-mothers. And our neighbors shot their Blue Heeler because he chewed the cords on their boat. And they left him for dead in a blizzard. And because I spent five days a week at a struggling animal shelter. And because someone I lived with watched animals screaming and being tortured online with a mixture of rage and grief for them and wouldn’t turn the videos off even when I begged because there was nowhere I could go to escape it. Any of it. But I wrote to you about a banana split because I didn’t want to be alive and I didn’t want to say that and I didn’t want to write about ugliness.

You take your little relief. You go ahead and watch Moomin Valley or play Minecraft or read a silly book or buy yourself a seven-dollar coffee because we will come out of these times if we don’t succumb to them. Things can get better later. 

You know, that man that the woman loves, he caught her a dying firefly. It died in his hands before he dropped it into hers. 

The dead firefly glowed for a few more hours. 

Take your little relief. 

—Mabel

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I’m Reintroducing Myself

MabelLeave a comment

Hello Strangers.

I’ve been gone a while, but I thought about this space a lot. I love this blog, but I realized along the way that it was getting harder and harder to write, and I knew why but I hadn’t fully processed it.

When I first started this blog, I wanted to give myself a place to practice my writing and work through ideas I have about life and creativity, but I also wanted an escape for me and for the people that would find it. It was a dark time. I didn’t talk about that nearly as much as I could have. It wouldn’t be the place I wanted to stay if I had.

I’ve mentioned a house in the woods, with a light in the window. And though I’m sure most of you could tell from my writing that I am a young woman, in my mind I didn’t have to have an age. I could just be Mabel, and I actually hoped people might imagine me as an older woman. I at least wanted to cast doubt, because Mabel is a character. She is a deflection away from who I really am. And if I’m honest, when I started this blog, I didn’t want to be a young woman with an uncertain life ahead and no idea what I’m doing. I wanted to feel steady, and ready to face any reality, and any other life that came into my orbit.

I wanted to be someone, who even if the world was ending, she would look out the window at the fires in the distance with a sadness in her eyes, but not fear. She’d turn with determined attention back to what she was baking, tidy the kitchen, and prepare for any guests including Jesus. The end of the world doesn’t happen in a day, you know. There are bound to be stragglers.

The problem I came to was that not acknowledging my life, my age, and the person I believe I am, I was unable to share as much as I wanted to about anything. It made me incapable of creating a home here. So now I think it’s time to reintroduce myself.

I’m 21 years old, and only moved out of my parents’ home a few months ago.

I’m in university earning a degree in studio art. I want to build a business selling wood sculptures.

That plan changes every two weeks.

Also, the reason my writing schedule fell off later last year was because of my university schedule, and it will likely fall off again this semester.

My real-life personality is much louder and more awkward than the one that I write here. I also have severe anxiety that I am very good at hiding but it impacts my functioning in almost every faction of my life.

I live in the city now, and suburbs before that. I’ve never quite lived in the country, though some places have come close.

This blog is a mix of reality and fantasy. If I talk about a cottage or a cabin or my old, gnarled hands, I’m telling a story.

The stories I choose to tell might change the vibe of the home I make here but I still want it to be a good place.

Those are some points of clarity for things I either haven’t mentioned or have only mentioned briefly. I made you read all that because I don’t think I can do what I want to do if I’m not a real person with a real life. And real-life grates on me. I’m not excited about ‘life’ anymore. But if someone feels the same, I’m still aiming to have some hope, and have some happy little lights here. So keep stopping by.

And Happy New Year!

–Mabel

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Small Dream Saturday: Firefly Season

MabelLeave a comment

Hello Strangers.

I waited all winter for firefly season. I usually write about pleasant things, but I won’t today. It was a cold and gray winter. The highways were littered with the bodies of dogs dumped in the streets by their owners. A puppy in the middle of a bridge. Animals shot, but not killed. Police and animal control called, but not answered. Everywhere I looked, there was a starving dog or a cold house filled with suffering people, a junkyard or a sick horse. You volunteer. You step in, or step up, but you can’t save them all. In fact, you can’t save many at all.

I waited all winter for firefly season. They’re still here. But I’ve missed it.

My small dream this Saturday is that next year I would get up and bring a mason jar outside. I’ll catch ten or fifteen lightning bugs. I’ll take a picture. I’ll watch them blink. And then I’ll let them go. A bit of the old magic from childhood. It’s one of the smallest dreams I have on here.

I just said a lot of hopeless things. But I’ve been thinking about this lately: In the story of Jacob and Rachel, Rachel has two children. The first was Joseph. The second child, she named as she lay dying. She called him Ben-Oni, which means ‘Son of my Sorrow.’ Jacob looked at the child and called him Benjamin, ‘Son of my Right Hand.’ I have also heard it said, ‘Son of my Strength.’ What Rachel believed was grief, Jacob named strength. When she died, the child would have to bear his own name. Jacob chose to name him something he would be able to carry.

What we name things, situations, people, matters. What we name ourselves when the hard times come is similarly important. And so often, the things we count as sorrows are the vessels for strength. So if you’re a helper, and I’ve made you feel like it isn’t worthwhile to keep helping, that’s not the right way to view it. This winter I was in pain and that wasn’t wrong of me. But what I called grief, I misnamed. Opportunity. Every ounce of suffering, an opportunity.

“And I have been a constant example of how you can help those in need by working hard. You should remember the words of the Lord Jesus: ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’” Acts 20:35

In the short time I have left, I’ll take pictures of any lighting bugs I catch.

Blessings to you, and don’t waste your firefly season.

–Mabel

P.S. If you look closely at the picture above, you’ll see a tiny orange speck in the background to the right. That my friends, is a window in the dark.

Small Dream Saturday

Small Dream Saturday: entry 13

MabelLeave a comment

Good morning, Strangers.

Velma Dinkley: Chocolate Ice Cream at Night

When I was a child, I watched Scooby Doo obsessively. Didn’t matter the series or story, show or movie, it was guaranteed the tv was mine from 7:00 to 7:30 every single night. It was family ordained. I’d stand there eating a hotdog at the border between the kitchen and living room.

Scooby Doo was the seed that grew the desires to have a van and go on road-trips. It led me to consider becoming a private detective, and inspired my addiction to mysteries and fantasy alike. It was the first thing that made me feel clever and sparked an interest in cryptozoology.

I have three small dreams for this morning. They get smaller as they go along.

1. I would like to write a Scooby Doo television series. Scooby Doo is a franchise that acts like a comic book world. There are alternate universes with different sets of lore, different kinds of stories, different art styles, tones, and even character development. I think it’s likely that in twenty years, we’ll still be making Scooby Doo shows. And I’d like to write one.

2. A smaller dream, but still large, is that I would like to have insulated sheds on my very wild, natural property. These sheds would hold animation/digital art tech, so that I could make short videos, but also much longer and more detailed comic books and graphic novels that I would then self-publish. (Or maybe publish traditionally! Who knows?) They would be cool and dark, and they’d be an escape from their more primitive surroundings.

3. This is the littlest dream, and it’s the one that will prepare me for dreams 1 and 2. I’m going to write as much fan fiction as possible. I should have started when I was twelve like all the other writers, but I just wasn’t ready. So now, I’m going to be indulgent. I’m going to learn by doing, and even if it’s all hot garbage, I am going to have fun and grow as a person as I write incomprehensible cross overs, multiple-plot line series’s, and just fun, ridiculous one off stories. It’s going to be magnificent, and I know that because I’ve already started. My motto is quantity over quality. For that is the way to improve.

That’s all for now! Happy Saturday, my dears, and happy writing! All love,

—Mabel

cottagecore

A Breath of Life

Mabel2 Comments

Hello Strangers, 

Sometimes, a person finds themself in a place they don’t want to be. There could be any number of reasons why they ended up there, but it is a deeply uncomfortable thing. And it will shape them. Maybe it was a job, a sin, a hiding spot, maybe any one or all of those things of those things and an opportunity. But whatever the reason, they wake up in the morning and look at the edges of their world, and they feel trapped. 

That’s happened to me many mornings in the place I am now, and usually, I’m able to look past it. I’ll find beauty in the sunlight and trees, or the stream behind my house, or even the insects that buzz around my feet when I walk through the wildflowers on my way to the compost heap. I bake, or write, or paint, or pray, or in a moment of exhaustion and defeat, collapse in a heap to watch a beloved tv show. But last week new details emerged about an animal cruelty case that we’d been following, (my family knows the animal) and I couldn’t just ‘get past it’ like I usually do. This had to do with people we know. And it’s just one case, there are thousands like it in this area. I wanted so desperately to run away but a stone sank in the pit of my stomach when I realized just how far I’d have to run to truly get away from this. 

Sunday came around, and we didn’t go to church. And I felt guilty, but on this particular occasion I was relieved; my heart wasn’t right. My father suggested going to the mountains where there’s national forest and parklands. There’s this travel stop on the way that has the best sandwiches; ham and bologna clubs with fresh veggies, pickles and mayo…Ice cold. I’d been craving those sandwiches for a month. It was the perfect distraction. I only wish we could have stayed longer, because it was a gift from God. 

The roads began to wind, and the country was different from what we usually see. Brighter and cleaner. One of the park sites had a long stone stairway which led to shelves on a beach. The water was teal and rushes of white water burst forward in swells. And it was cool out, but it smelled like spring. I felt like I was able to breathe.

Earlier that week, I’d stumbled across Psalm 19, the first half of which is dedicated to describing how nature itself praises God. I’d wanted to write a post on the benefits of being in nature that week and I was inspired by a speech my little sister wrote. But every time I tried to write it, I got blocked. Nothing came out right and I was frustrated. Then that horrible thing happened, and I just felt angry and defeated. That defeat that so often comes with this place. But all along, God had the perfect moment lined up to show me His hand in the situation, and to provide relief and joy. And in that moment, on that day, there was absolutely no denying that that had been His plan. I’ve felt distant from Him, and like He was distant from me. But here was a gift I didn’t deserve, given to me when I was steeped in darkness, and which lifted so much weight and sorrow off of my shoulders. That’s who God is, and that’s how nature refreshes the soul. Because He made it. 

I came home and the world was still dark. The problems were still there. And I still feel like I’m looking at the borders of my whole world. But I’ve got a light I often forget about, and as for the edges of the world? That’s just a feeling, and it will pass as all feelings do. Thank God for the reminder that I have things to do. That we have things to do. This life is not hopeless; you get a breath of fresh air and get moving. 

1 The heavens tell of the glory of God;
And their expanse declares the work of His hands.
2 Day to day pours forth speech,
And night to night reveals knowledge.
3 There is no speech, nor are there words;
Their voice is not heard.
4 Their line has gone out into all the earth,
And their words to the end of the world.
In them He has placed a tent for the sun,
5 Which is like a groom coming out of his chamber;
It rejoices like a strong person to run his course.
6 Its rising is from one end of the heavens,
And its circuit to the other end of them;
And there is nothing hidden from its heat. – Psalm 19:1-6

This is what the Sovereign LORD says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life. I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the LORD. – Ezekiel 37:5-6

And thank You, Lord, for all You’ve done.

All love,

–Mabel

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Easter: No Longer Separated

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Hello Strangers, 

As I was doing the daily devotional for Good Friday, the closing statement said that Jesus’ death on the cross meant that we could never be separated from God’s love, and asked readers to reflect on that before finishing and going on with their day.

In my mind, I couldn’t visualize what that meant. He has always been with me from the time I was a child and came to know him, but what specifically does that look like? All I could see in the present was a blurry haze, so I thought back instead to what that has meant for me in the past. 

There was a time when I was struggling not just with sin, but with crippling guilt and shame over something I’d done. I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone about it, so it stayed inside of me, festering, for years. I had panic attacks, developed really strange, awful tics, had nightmares, and grappled with my faith in a way I didn’t know was possible. I thought God had left me. Though this ordeal lasted over three years, it was about the first six months that I cried myself to sleep every night. I begged God not to leave me. I begged for forgiveness. I begged that any harm I’d done to others could be undone or healed from. I remember sobbing, “Stay.” 

Well at the end of that six months, I felt myself changed. I was exhausted. Drained. I was unhappy and sick. But I was also a fundamentally different person than I had been before, and that was the beginning of a blessing. 

As more time passed, I gained some distance from myself, and some clarity on what had actually been happening. I felt some calm and peace, though the storm was far from over. Every night that I’d hysterically cried out to Jesus, whether in anguish or terror, He’d been there. When I think back now, I imagine him sitting patiently in an armchair, listening to everything I said. As though I were gripping his arm as I asked him if He was there at all. It was a comfort. When the devotional said that nothing could separate us from God’s love, it was referring to Romans 8:38-39 which says, 38 “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,[a] neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, 39 neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”  What I realized because of that time was that no matter what a person has done, if they’ve allowed Jesus to save them from their sins and trusted in Him as their savior, He saves them. And then He stays. And He continues to love them. He’s not leaving, and that’s final, and it’s fact. 

When Jesus died on the cross, a veil in the Holy temple was torn. (Matthew 27:51) Now it’s called a veil, but it was four inches thick, very long and very wide, and it symbolized our separation from God because of sin. When Jesus died, it tore in half from top to bottom with no human interference; God took away the separation. The significance of that is this: Anyone who calls upon the name of the Lord will be saved. No matter what you’ve done, no matter any failings, or pain, guilt, or shame, God is available to everyone. Many people think that Christians believe they’re better than everyone else and that their group is an exclusive club. Some Christians do feel that way, unfortunately, but God has made himself available to everyone. All they must do is ask Jesus to forgive them of their sins, and then turn from them. If they call on Him, He’ll heal them. 

After Jesus died, he rose again. Without that detail, none of the others matter. In that moment He defeated sin and death, and made life available to every person. If you’re interested in learning more about Jesus but don’t know where to start, I’d recommend any of the Gospels. My personal favorite is John. 

This world seems every day like it’s getting darker and darker. This Easter, I invite you to take up an eternal hope and light. Jesus loves you. Find Him. 

Photo by Italo Melo on Pexels.com

All love,

–Mabel

Small Dream Saturday

Small Dream Saturday: Entry 9, My Death

MabelLeave a comment

Hello Strangers,

For many years now, I have dreamed of my death.

Now, I know that sounds dark, but listen. My sister and I used to have a game we’d play. We’d talk about how we wanted our bodies to be processed when we die. She, I believe, wanted to be floated in a pool filled with Grape Fanta. I think I wanted to be coated in honey? I’m not entirely sure, but I do remember how I wanted to be buried; In a glass casket, inside a mausoleum with a skylight. I’m not sure death scared me at that point, but being buried terrified me. 

Anyhow, it was a hilarious little game we played to amuse ourselves. We laughed because everything we suggested was utterly preposterous. 

“Do you know what would happen if we submerged a body in Fanta?”

“How would we even get a whole swimming pool of Fanta?” 

“Can you imagine how expensive that would be?”

“Let’s do it.”

But somewhere along the line, I began thinking of my actual death. Would I like to die doing something noble? Is it really best to die in one’s sleep? What would be the most pleasant? 

I thought about dying as an old woman surrounded by people at a family picnic, but decided that those usually happen during the summer in the middle of the day and it would be too hot and uncomfortable. Not only that, but there are lots of children at those kinds of things, and I didn’t want to scare my tiny grandchildren and great nieces and nephews; that would just be mean. But still! I wanted to die outside. That much I was sure of. I wanted to die surrounded by people. That much I was sure of. I couldn’t die in the speckled light of the beautiful forest, because again, I could only imagine being alone there, and I didn’t want to be alone. And then who would find me? No, it simply wouldn’t do. 

And that’s when I thought of it. My perfect death…

Picture this:

I am an old woman, and it’s midmorning in June. I am out garage sailing with my daughter and nieces—or great nieces—one or the other. We’ve had a lovely, productive morning. We’ve bought lemonade and donuts from a child’s stand. My companions have each bargained for something they wanted; a sweater, a china set, a book, and we’ve come to a nice house with a large oak tree in the yard. I remark that it must be a hundred years old, and I’ve also been looking for a recliner. Lo and behold, this house has one for sale. As everyone peruses, I shuffle over to rock in the chair. Those sun speckles hit my face through the shade of the oak tree. A cool breeze passes over me. I die. 

I have effectively ruined the garage sale for everyone else. No one wants the haunted chair, (it’s not haunted, I’m in heaven, but I left that thought for them.) My family is forced to buy the chair, which they scowl at because they knew this was my design. An ambulance is called, there’s all this commotion…But not for me. I got to die surrounded by people I love, doing something I love, having one final bask in the sun. And you know what, it’s not even a bad memory in anyone’s mind. In the end, that death was a very beautiful thing. 

I died laughing. Think about that.

–Mabel

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The Green Dress

MabelLeave a comment

Hello Strangers.

Last week I went to my favorite thrift shop. My sister was visiting and when we went inside, all of the old things were new. New, old items everywhere we looked, and in a way, I was a bit shocked because that meant that they’d either been sold or removed and replaced with something the owners hoped would sell. Now, that’s obviously how businesses work, but whenever I’d come back before, so much had been the same. Now things looked markedly different. 

I found a green dinner plate engraved with an image of a cottage with a fire in the hearth and thought, this is exactly what I want my life to look like. I looked at the tag and it was only a dollar. It was in perfect condition and frankly, I thought that was a great deal. (Some people, for some reason, like to sell plates for eight dollars.) The plate symbolized something for me. Home, and family, but also the specific ways a person can build a life. It reminded me of food forests and fishing, and the hopes that one day I’ll have a husband and family and we’ll work towards that life together. 

Then we made our way to the other side of the store. 

The other side of this thrift shop has a room that’s mostly 60’s through 80’s vintage. It’s not out of step with the rest of the store at all, but it is distinct. Among the rather disturbing collection of stained plaid couches and slightly greasy feeling clothes, there was a jade green, floor length, ballroom gown. It had massive puffy sleeves, a faux velvet corset attached to gaudy fake rhinestones, and it crinkled in my hands like plastic; I’m actually not sure what the material was. It was ridiculous. It was magnificent. It was twenty dollars. I showed the entire group what I’d found. I picked it up and put it down. I found a really pretty nineties mini dress in purple crushed velvet. Also twenty dollars, and clearly the more logical choice.

And then, I left with neither. 

Dress (c. 1936) by Melita by National Gallery of Art is licensed under CC-CC0 1.0

If I don’t find the time to go back and get it, I believe I’ll regret that for a very long time, as silly as that might seem. Much like the plate represented the life I want to have one day, the dress represented a part of who I want to be as a person. It was unapologetically so ugly that it was beautiful. I wanted to take it out on my expeditions to the woods. I wanted to paint in it and bake bread in it as I have been doing more and more frequently. And yes, I wanted to dance in it. It would have been a statement to myself, that regardless of if anyone else liked it I would have fun. I would enjoy it and be joyful in my ridiculous green dress. But instead, I let it go. Because it was twenty dollars. Because I felt I didn’t have room for it. Because it was silly. 

The other day, I was watching House M.D., and a patient was put on death watch. She received the wrong treatment for an illness, and it was going to kill her within 24 hours. As she and her doctor discussed their lives and the things that connected and separated them, she talks about her regrets. She said she’d made bad decisions every day, but that she’d always thought she was young.

She didn’t say, “I thought I had time.” She said, “I thought I was young.” 

Opportunities come along every day. Whether it’s the choice to drink more water, spend more time in the sun, do the laundry, take the job, get sober, tell that person how we feel, volunteer, read the Bible, or find Jesus for the very first time, every day is made up of choices. We will all have regrets at the end of our lives. I hope I don’t regret not doing the things I should have done because I thought I ‘had time.’ Because I thought I was young. 

To green plates and green dresses, 

–Mabel