Thursday, August 27, 2020
We're in the hills most of the morning. On the way, a man leads his horse to town while riding his motorcycle. The horses are brought down into the city from the farms - they give "pony rides" at all the major tourist stops. A trot around the block costs 50c or less.
I don't know how Veronica remembers the trails. When we get to one steep uphill, we have to climb in the trough cut out by downpours and motorcycles.
Yes, motorcyclists are skilled enough to drive up and down the narrow trench.
We're hot and sweaty after the walk so we swap our trail shoes for flip-flops. We stop for lunch at a nearby tourist spot - where we're king and queen of the castle for a selfie. This is how locals dress for the 85o weather:
Along the roads, the food carts are back but there are not many customers.
And many of the little vans (
angkots that are the main transportation) are parked at the side of the street.
The pickups are heaped with fruit. We drive right by because I'm not quick enough (tired from the hike?) to say, "Stop! I want to buy mangos (or oranges, or apples, or ?)
Old-fashioned transportation exists beside the new: a horse-drawn cart with old car bumpers clicks along.
The walk itself is through pine trees, over-the-head-tall grasses, and fields.
Grass-cutters get precedence - we step off the trail as they come down and pass us. Their load, cut by machete, baled, and put on their backs, is about 45kg (near 100 lbs). We can't even budge the bales on the ground when we push them, never mind carrying them.
Today the air is so clear that the mountain ranges are visible for miles. We take pictures from our own mountain, while the cities below slumber in the sunlight.
The weekend
W and I walk through the neighborhood to a new Korean hole-in-the-wall. The food is good and cheap. It takes a long time though. We're there almost an hour before we get our food.
As we walk, we marvel at the tangle of cables, wires, and circuitry overhead. We decide to take a back route home. We turn off the main street down a "wide" lane (6') and are soon into the chains of alleys.
When we get confused which way to go next, the little kids point the way. We take stairs and curved or straight sidewalks between houses. At 2-4' wide, many paths are too narrow for anything but a small motorcycle or skinny pedestrians. The concrete is poured to lie flat between walls of houses that go to the edge of each building lot. There's no easement, so the paths zig and zag, up and down between them. It's a walking adventure for us.
The abundance of fruit is astonishing. Everywhere you look, nature has seeded bananas, papayas, and other trees in empty lots, side yards, and along the roads.
Sunday
We're always tweaking something at
BICOnline. This is the last of a series in August on familiar Bible stories, matched with chapters of Colossians. Have you ever heard of Samson, Gideon, Ruth, and Deborah? Those were our heroes of the month.
The Gathering has become too long though. No one has stamina online. W will write the next set of talks - he aims for less than 15 minutes. Feel free to join us any Sunday (9am Jakarta time) or on a weekday morning at the link above.
Monday
It's time to write updates again. We're moving from August to September. The month's end is my cue for newsletters and wrapping up paperwork. After two meetings, we go to pick up some items. W wants to try a chicken place: each one of us orders a different kinds of friend chicken. They're either spicy or fire-in-your-mouth. Yum.
After lunch, we drive up the mountain across from ours. The Bamboo Shack restaurant is closing after 10 years and selling off their library. We pick up a few books. My biggest joy is seeing Riga and Arga - it's been months and months since we've met in person. Riga looks 25 but her son Arga is getting closer to that age.
This 8'X15' wall mural is chipped out of concrete. Our friend Robin is a gifted artist: he designed the three one-of-a-kind panels that showcase traditional puppets. (Click to look closer at the chisel marks!) I'm stunned every time I go into the Bamboo Shack. I'll miss seeing them. (And I hope the next owner doesn't plaster over them.)
Tuesday
Today's meetings last from 8-6. The helper is late but I have to leave for the office. We meet in the lane and I give her brief instructions. If I miss her, I usually write tasks on the fridge. In a country where most people would rather talk than read instructions, a face to face trumps a quick howdy and "check the instructions."
The palm has bloomed again: the 2" green balls will turn red soon for a natural splash of color along the driveway.
The neighbor's staghorn fern is thriving - it's about 5' long. I notice when I walk home for lunch.
Oops, the meal is nothing like the notes I left on the fridge. There's no food for Kirsten, who can't eat beef. Supper has to be redone as well. I ask the helper, "From now on, please come 10 minutes early each day." I don't care if she leaves earlier.
Just after 6pm, I close the computer and lock the office. Everything is quiet in the hall - how we miss the gatherings of people.
When I'm done for the day, it's dark out. Before I head out, I run up to the third storey to take a picture of the full moon.
My watch measures only ascending: 17 storeys so far today. Between work sessions, I run stairs and walk to stretch my legs.
I meet W and K around the corner at Miss Bee for fish and chips. We walk home. W's flashlight prevents us from stumbling on the uneven paving.
Back in our own kitchen, I put the beef broth in freezer bags, tidy up, and feel ready for a visit with a good book.
Upstream (Dan Heath) and
Your Brain at Work (David Rock) are this week's reads. (Plus a few novels.)
Wednesday
After my early stint in the office, W and I meet at Nara for breakfast. W's calling today and tomorrow date days for our 43rd-anniversary. At breakfast, he asks if I really want to know where we're going for lunch.
Of course I do. One of the things I like least is a "here comes a surprise." If a surprise shows up, that's fun. But "Hey, we're going and it's a surprise so I won't tell you," is no fun at all. I have to block out dreaded options. For example, we've passed a few dim-sum shops in the last week. When W reminds me that there's a surprise ahead, all I can think is, "I hope it's not dim sum. I'm not in the mood for that today."
But he asks, and yes, I want to know, and yes, knowing where we're headed (not dim sum), I happily anticipate a great lunch all morning. The vegan food is good.
Despite all the reading this year, I have written few public reviews. I've immersed myself in reading and recording the main points in my notebooks. I circle each unique author or article with a colored marker so they are easy to find again.
I started keeping track of incoming ideas when COVID hit. So far, I've filled two scribblers with notes. Periodically, I browse to see the trajectory God's sending my way.
I believe that there's not much randomness in the world. Even unplanned and unintentional moments can be useful - and so it is with books, articles, podcasts, and conversations. Plus I thrive on intake. My mind naturally recombines the ideas and visuals in next ways. It's like an ongoing shift - click - move - lock - shift - click - move - lock ...
Sometimes a good idea tilts into something else. Last week, I bought orange and blue fabric to cover pillows but the fabric has shifted in my head. With batik, the length may include borders, areas of combined color, and solids. Placement and cutting determines the focus.
I wrap the LR pillows in the fabrics and they look cheery, as hoped. But with no one around, I don't have to sew them on. Maybe they're meant for something else. The pins start tumbling in the lock of my brain.
There may be a quilt in them instead. We'll see. (Hey Mom, I hear your voice in my head, "Oh Rosemee! what next?") My need for order and cleanliness comes from Mom, while "all the world's open for a try" comes from Dad.
I grab a stack of recently published books online. These two pages from
Quilting with a Modern Slant (Rachel May) make my heart pound. A carefully controlled drift of color, a sweep of shapes? Love it.
What do you like most about when you know something needs to be done? For me, it's the exploration and possibilities of a project. The planning. The start. The beautiful beginning of pieces for assembly.
Yet when I bite off a huge piece, I find myself groaning over the tedious step-by-step. A long process drains my energy like a creek churning through a muddy field. By the end, there's nothing left. I finish what I start if something is worth finishing. (If not, I don't mind admitting, "it's not for me!" and walking away.)
I promise myself, "No more hand-quilting for now." I'm on the last 2 sides of a king-sized cover I've been Zoom-crafting. During online calls with a friend, I thread a dozen needles. As we talk, I spend a few hours of up and through, down and back. So boring that it keeps my mind open.
Living in the land of batik means the eyes are always exploring. The next quilt has to be machine-pieced and -quilted. Let's see what my 25-year-old Bernina can do! Somewhere in the Bernina accessory box there's a quilting foot.
Read more:
*[Jesus told his disciples,] Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?
Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? Matthew 6:25-27NIV
*And just as Jesus was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” Mark 1:10-11
Moravian Prayer: Heavenly Father, that each of your sons and daughters is your beloved is the greatest blessing! May we lead lives reflective of that tremendous gift—offering love, tenderness, and forgiveness to others. Amen.
