We had some eager wearers of snow boots, and new shovelers and ice-chippers of the church steps.

Thanks to Carrie Anderson for taking the photos.

Back home, it was discovered that falling on the ice is not as much fun as it looks on the Bambi video.

But the swingset still works.

If you bring your fiancee to America on the fiancee visa, you’ve got to get married within 90 days of setting foot in America. So after some discussion, my foster son and his fiancee decided to get married quietly and to have a party later. The Rev. Mikel Satcher, pastor of our church, Trinity Baptist, agreed to perform a small wedding in the church’s parlor. Because the pastor was leaving town for a few days to visit his mother, Manyang left the date open on the license application. He picked it up a few days later with the date blank.

So last Wednesday at 3 p.m. Manyang asks me to call the pastor to confirm. I thought I was calling to confirm that he was back in town.

“Yes, I got back last night. We’re on for 7 o’clock tonight, right?”

“Tonight?!”

So we put together a wedding on four hours’ notice. If you ever need striking but very affordable wedding bands in a big hurry, go to Crossroads Trade. My husband had just finished installing some custom woodworking there and Kate and I talked about what was available in the right sizes (which, fortunately, we knew). My husband came home with a ziplock bag of choices, and the bride and groom found two silver bands from Nepal — hers a sort of angular Celtic knot design, his a band of elephants.

By some miracle, all the dress-up clothes for all the African ladies were in shades of red. I didn’t know we had a color scheme until we got to the parlor. Me, I wore the African clothes Manyang bought for me in 2007.

We had two dinner guests who didn’t know they were coming to a wedding, looked down at their clothes, and I’m glad to say, came anyway.

We had a delightful service.

I read First Corinthians 13.

Vows were exchanged.

And those rings were exchanged.

Then the pastor, continuing the evening’s surprises, turned to me and said that a solo was customary here. I racked my brain and came up with “Song for the Asking,” which I had on a Peter, Paul, and Mary cassette long ago but was, I have learned, written by Paul Simon.

No one had told the bride about this American custom of kissing in front of everybody.
 

You know, maybe every wedding should have a couch for the restless.

 
And then we had some pictures

And went home, because a wedding on a Wednesday night is a wedding on a school night.

Outside my window… the sun has set.
I am thinking… about dinner.
I am thankful for… the past two weeks, where the impossible has become the everyday.
I am wearing… purple pants and a multi-colored shirt.
I am remembering… the laundry to fold. But I’m not folding.
I am going… shopping for big bags of flour soon.
I am reading… Less Than Angels, by Barbara Pym.
I am praying … for job searches.
On my mind… much less than before!
From the learning rooms… Starfall.com
Noticing that… “May I Have a Word?” is being picked up from Word Girl.
Pondering these words… “Never give up! Never surrender!”
From the kitchen… I think I need to cook.
Around the house… it’s actually pretty quiet. See Word Girl above. Well, no, Achol is now downstairs, distributing tissues.
One of my favorite things … eating together.

See other entries at The Simple Woman’s Daybook.

Rebecca is reading to Ngor.
Abuk is cooking.
Achan is either petting the cat or watching Achol.
Manyang is helping Abuk.
Alan is sleeping in front of football with the cat on his lap.
Me, I should go to Target after we eat.

L’chaim.

  Some people know that ever since our foster son came to live with us, he has struggled to get his children with him. We got the twins out of the refugee camp in 2004. We’ve been working on getting them here since 2006. Along the way, Manyang got a fiancee and a new baby. We have worked with three different immigration statuses for four people, with many setbacks along the way, but with help from many, many people. Even last week there was a glitch, and even last week someone helped moved things along.  And so tonight we picked everyone up at the airport.

From there, the baby’s car seat, phone calls on the way home, socks for the sockless, tea, dinner, one to bed early, visitors, baby Tylenol, toothbrushes for all. Life, pretty much. L’chaim.

Shred, file, recycle — shred that half, recycle that half — how much money did we lose in October ’08, don’t look, it’s coming back. Can we just save the annual summary, is there an annual summary? Shred insurance policy of car son no longer owns, the record of daughter’s cashing out a CD, better keep that student-loan info a while longer. How is that annuity doing, and that 401(k)’s not bad, have to roll that one into something else now though. Do we have to shred more to make everything fit in that file box? No, it fits, the pile is gone, recycling is this week. Should do this more often.

There are those who know how long this kitchen window has sat neglected, and I sure hope they don’t tell. This is to report that suddenly, cicada-like, things can happen.

And this is the town we made for my mother. Looks good here, I think.

Outside my window it’s a nice late-summer day.

I am thinking when to get some rest.

I am thankful for persistence. Despite what I’ve been hearing. See below.

From the kitchen there are leftover and my mother-in-law’s homemade baked beans.

I am learning the right balance the work and rest. I hope. Slow and steady isn’t me, but some bursts of energy are now overdue.

I am wearing  flowered pants and a silk blouse that were my mother’s.

I am reading A Light in the Window. An escapist read. Back to reality!

I am hearing  “Backslider’s Wine.” 

I am hoping for energy.

I am creating not too much. See what I’m hearing above.

I am praying for victory on Gaba Road.

I am going to hear some missionaries from Bulgaria speak about orphanages and street kids, because we’ll have a similiar project at Village Help for South Sudan.

Around the house it’s time to rest and then get rolling.

One of my favorite things is biscuits. Which are downstairs.

A few plans for the rest of the week is to catch up on blogging and web work and cleaning. Oh my.

A photo for you: the quilt we’re working on at Trinity Baptist Church. Which is still just a quilt front with one very uneven edge. See “What I’m hearing” above.

In the ’70s I never tie-dyed anything, or made my own yogurt; that time, apparently, is now.

I’ve done a lot of dyeing, most notably my mother-of-the-bride dress, and it’s always come out fine. (I use the washing machine with no problem, even the time I forgot to run another wash cycle. For dye, I use Rit. No activating the indigo, crushing the walnuts, or boiling the onion skins for me. I read those adventures admiringly in others’ blogs. Just get me to the hardware store.)

So a few rubber bands on a duvet cover  shouldn’t be so difficult, right?

Well, make sure they’re on tight. Rubber bands that come off and languish in the bottom of the washing machine do not accomplish a lot.

I thought I had dyed a solid piece of fabric. But upon unbanding those that stayed, I found it looked pretty good. My pattern’s just sparser than I wanted. Like it the upper left-hand cover of the photo.

As I was unpacking a trunk from my grandmother’s house, I found a yogurt maker. Now I was the owner of two unused yogurt makers, both five-cuppers from Salton. The other one was languishing in a cupboard.

So it was time to try at least one.

Do you know, it works just fine. Dug out the big glass measuring cup, warmed the  milk (slightly less than a quart next time, because the cups will run over) in the microwave to bread-baking warmth, stirred in Trader Joe’s European-style yogurt, poured it in the cups, plugged it in, went to bed. In the morning, there was warm liquid yogurt, a little thinner than lassi, more like the liquid yogurts of Uganda.

Chilled, it was spoonable. And delicious with maple syrup.
I’m keeping at least one. I plan to need it.

I was in Fabric Corner with their 40-percent-off monthly e-mail in my pocket on the next-to-last day of the month when I turned the corner and encountered a roll of white eyelet. “Are my troubles over?” I thought. Could white eyelet solve one problem in my life?

It looks to be so — that problem about the unreachable, hard-to-clean mini-blinds over the kitchen sink. And maybe, even with my sale coupon I can buy enough so both kitchen curtains could match!

The road is never so easy. Sewing curtains is usually the classic easy-but-rewarding beginners’ project. Using eyelet teaches that the devil is in the details. It took four tries to find the right tension — relax, relax, turn the sewing machine’s tension knob up to seven — but the real trick was using a needle for knits. Eyelet is woven, but it snags every quarter of an inch with a universal needle.

Insert digression about following the rules versus responding to the situation here.

Anyhow, the first side seam is pretty puckered, the other seams are better, and just because it’s up in the window doesn’t mean it’s finished. Onward.