For Evangelicals in the late 80’s and early 90’s, Halloween was a holiday of the Devil. After a few Halloweens when I was really small, we didn’t celebrate it in my family growing up.
Over time, we developed a tradition of getting together at the home of family friends out in the country where people didn’t bother to trick or treat. We watched old musicals while stuffing our faces with candy. We watched Fiddler on the Roof, and The Music Man. I can still sing many of the songs. (“There’s troublllleee! Trouble! Right here in River City!”)
It took a long time to out grow that idea, that Halloween wasn’t for Christians. And in the meantime, I lost many opportunities to dress up.
This past spring, I learned there would be a Mindful Making Retreat about an hour away from me, co-taught by Katrina Rodabaugh and Meg McElwee. I’ve made a number of Meg’s patterns this spring and summer and have been gradually embracing the idea of slowing my sewing down and making it more of a practice than a drive.
That has been a process. My typical M.O. is to bring all my other responsibilities to a halt, let my children run feral, and whip up a top or a pair of shorts as quickly as possible.
As part of my goal to feature a title each month by a person of color, I just wrapped up Woman of Color, by LaTonya Yvette.
Part of me is embarrassed to feature this book – not because it wasn’t beautiful and well written. Instead, it’s because, even though Yvette doesn’t say so, I don’t completely feel like this book was for me, because while I’m a sister in womanhood, but I’m not a Sister.
It’s a theme, not feeling like I belong. It has everything to do with me and my own insecurities.
In that regard, this was the perfect book to read.
It was late in the day and I had just given myself permission not to do an evening meditation when Three knocked at my door.
She asked if we could do a meditation together.
This past spring, I posted about our forlorn backyard. The space was characterized by packed dirt and scattered scrap metal. It was well into spring, I thought. I was sure that was as good as it got.
