Today, perfect by all definitions. Unseasonably warm weather means a taste of summer months early. The sun's rays wrap around like a blanket dried in its very warmth, afternoon breezes skirt the cheek like a lover's hand.
Taking advantage, we tarried at the park, reading and dreaming, limbs bared to the sky for a guilty chance at color. Later, steaks on the barbecue waft to our attic, Carmenere legs melting in the setting sun. Doves mourn the fading light, robins' heads tilt toward greening grass. A jet plane trains by, blinking west.
Nearby, a dog yips as a boy pedals his bike, its wheels retarded by cards in the spokes. Vroom, vroom, vroom, whir. Out back, a paned window moans open with kitchen curtains fluttering. Voices decry an unexpected smoke alarm. A disco jockey celebrates the weather and announces the next song. Laundry is collected and we reluctantly head inside.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
Reflection
We are well into the season of Lent, but you wouldn't know it looking at my life. Nothing foregone and no penance made. No new Easter dress in the closet, tags dangling, and (gasp!) even an "Alleluia!" cried at the end of a difficult day. Perhaps worst of all (for my Lutheran guilt-meter, anyway) I haven't attended a one of our church's midweek Lenten services. But, with dinner in the oven and a found pause, this week I finally made the two minute walk to our church for vespers.
Most parishioners were finishing a soup supper in the narthex, giving me the chance to steal a few moments of solitude in the sanctuary. Stained glass windows yawned open to the warm evening, and the unadorned altar, low light and simple silence gave me a chance to calm my pace and mind.
The pastor, a guest preacher, spoke on the story of Lazarus' death and the words said and action taken by Jesus as his friends Mary and Martha grieved their loss. When Martha faithfully confirms that she knows her brother will rise again at the resurrection, Jesus says the well-known words "I am the resurrection and the life; those who believe in me, though they die, yet shall live, and whoever lives and believes in me shall never die." The preacher affirmed that these words are spoken in the present, not the past or the future, and the hope and promise of the resurrection is living and available for each of us, today.
He also suggested that true faith arises not in the absence of doubt but rather in its presence. He stressed that to be a person of faith, one is by nature also a person of doubt, but this doesn't diminish us; reassuring words indeed. My summation doesn't do justice to his words, but his strong and uplifting message remained with me that evening and still today.
After a few niceties and greetings, I set out for home in the darkened, cooler night, a benevolent moon above and a right spirit within.
Most parishioners were finishing a soup supper in the narthex, giving me the chance to steal a few moments of solitude in the sanctuary. Stained glass windows yawned open to the warm evening, and the unadorned altar, low light and simple silence gave me a chance to calm my pace and mind.
The pastor, a guest preacher, spoke on the story of Lazarus' death and the words said and action taken by Jesus as his friends Mary and Martha grieved their loss. When Martha faithfully confirms that she knows her brother will rise again at the resurrection, Jesus says the well-known words "I am the resurrection and the life; those who believe in me, though they die, yet shall live, and whoever lives and believes in me shall never die." The preacher affirmed that these words are spoken in the present, not the past or the future, and the hope and promise of the resurrection is living and available for each of us, today.
He also suggested that true faith arises not in the absence of doubt but rather in its presence. He stressed that to be a person of faith, one is by nature also a person of doubt, but this doesn't diminish us; reassuring words indeed. My summation doesn't do justice to his words, but his strong and uplifting message remained with me that evening and still today.
After a few niceties and greetings, I set out for home in the darkened, cooler night, a benevolent moon above and a right spirit within.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Prairie Schooner
We're told time and again to Live in the now! Stop and smell the roses! Savor each moment! I suppose like many, I like to think I subscribe to these credos, but in truth, I find them to be some of the hardest advice to follow. Nice in theory, incredibly difficult in practice. Indeed, with all that is crammed into schedules and the immediacy of communication, work, play, overtime and out of time; planning, calendars, dates and deadlines, sometimes I find it damn near impossible to pull over, stop the car, walk out into the field, breathe deeply and enjoy. After all, if I live in this wonderful moment, I'll likely be late and ill-prepared for the next!
Today, I find myself in a position I'd have given anything for a year ago. A trip to Seattle planned for April, with Gus juggling three interviews over a long weekend. The third, a flattering surprise - an unsolicited call from a hospital that heard he was returning to Seattle and wanted to express their interest. After many years of standing at the echoing well, our cup now runneth seriously over.
And yet, it's so hard for me to just bask in this long-awaited moment. To just sit down, shut up and feel the warmth and accomplishment of this pivotal moment. No, instead I find myself chomping at the bit, thinking, "That's great, now what's next? Chop, chop!"
It's in these moments that my mind turns to the life lived by the iconic Laura Ingalls Wilder. Sustained for months on one letter from family, out of date upon its arrival, yet reading and rereading the good and bad news of those familiar. The thrill of a beautiful new dress, a sticky stick of strong peppermint candy, a well-worn story from Pa, a perfect, fragrant orange.
I know this simplicity is all but lost to modernity, replaced by so many other wonderful ways of life, but I still long to capture the essence of her sustained appreciation from time to time. To get off the sleek speed of the bullet train express and mosey on over to a covered wagon, and take my seat on its worn wooden bench.
Today, I find myself in a position I'd have given anything for a year ago. A trip to Seattle planned for April, with Gus juggling three interviews over a long weekend. The third, a flattering surprise - an unsolicited call from a hospital that heard he was returning to Seattle and wanted to express their interest. After many years of standing at the echoing well, our cup now runneth seriously over.
And yet, it's so hard for me to just bask in this long-awaited moment. To just sit down, shut up and feel the warmth and accomplishment of this pivotal moment. No, instead I find myself chomping at the bit, thinking, "That's great, now what's next? Chop, chop!"
It's in these moments that my mind turns to the life lived by the iconic Laura Ingalls Wilder. Sustained for months on one letter from family, out of date upon its arrival, yet reading and rereading the good and bad news of those familiar. The thrill of a beautiful new dress, a sticky stick of strong peppermint candy, a well-worn story from Pa, a perfect, fragrant orange.
I know this simplicity is all but lost to modernity, replaced by so many other wonderful ways of life, but I still long to capture the essence of her sustained appreciation from time to time. To get off the sleek speed of the bullet train express and mosey on over to a covered wagon, and take my seat on its worn wooden bench.
"The real things haven't changed. It is still best to be honest and truthful; to make the most of what we have; to be happy with simple pleasures; and have courage when things go wrong."
— Laura Ingalls Wilder
Saturday, March 6, 2010
New Day
The sun is shining and the skies are blue. Birds are singing, snow is melting and I'm not wearing anything made of wool or stuffed with down. I'm sporting a spunky new haircut and, tonight, a hot date.
Life is good indeed!
Life is good indeed!
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Dropped Calls
I don't know that there is anything that irritates me more than people talking on cell phones in enclosed public spaces. In an unfortunate turn of events, the last three days I have sat next to or in the close proximity of this obnoxious breed on my train commute to and from work. I realize this is an oft-aired complaint, but I feel the need to express my frustration along with the rest of the masses.
I exceedingly enjoy reading on the train, but this is a pastime I find virtually impossible to partake in if someone is gabbing incessantly on his or her phone. For some reason, a two-way conversation with both parties present isn't anywhere near as annoying, that is, assuming neither party has laser nasal voice. No amount of staring, glaring, sighing and head shaking on my part seems to do any good with these "smartphone" talkers, a moniker that clearly doesn't apply to the actual user of the device. Today served up one side of a conversation detailing an entire rundown of the current season of "The Bachelor." The only useful piece of trivia I gleaned from this half-heard dish is that there are two people in the world that actually watch this craptastic drivel. Almost makes me nostalgic for the days when Tupac mused:
"You gotta learn to hold your own;
They get jealous when they see you with your
mobile phone,"
suggesting an exclusivity to the honor of bugging those around you with louder-than-necessary unnecessary banter.
My train does supply "Quiet Ride" cars where riders are not allowed to so much as speak aloud. I usually don't seek these cars out as they are always the first on the train which means they are at the far end of the station, but I may have to change my practices, or someone is likely to get throttled in the near future, and I'll be stuck in Mordor forever!
I exceedingly enjoy reading on the train, but this is a pastime I find virtually impossible to partake in if someone is gabbing incessantly on his or her phone. For some reason, a two-way conversation with both parties present isn't anywhere near as annoying, that is, assuming neither party has laser nasal voice. No amount of staring, glaring, sighing and head shaking on my part seems to do any good with these "smartphone" talkers, a moniker that clearly doesn't apply to the actual user of the device. Today served up one side of a conversation detailing an entire rundown of the current season of "The Bachelor." The only useful piece of trivia I gleaned from this half-heard dish is that there are two people in the world that actually watch this craptastic drivel. Almost makes me nostalgic for the days when Tupac mused:
"You gotta learn to hold your own;
They get jealous when they see you with your
mobile phone,"
suggesting an exclusivity to the honor of bugging those around you with louder-than-necessary unnecessary banter.
My train does supply "Quiet Ride" cars where riders are not allowed to so much as speak aloud. I usually don't seek these cars out as they are always the first on the train which means they are at the far end of the station, but I may have to change my practices, or someone is likely to get throttled in the near future, and I'll be stuck in Mordor forever!
“It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity."
-- Albert Einstein
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
A Chance at Change
This has been one of the most difficult winters I have faced. This cold, gray, leafless season isn't easy for many, and the extreme and interminable nature of our weather hasn't done anything to lift my spirits. Couple these factors with impatient personal challenges and I don't know that I've ever yearned more deeply for the warmth and possibility of spring.
Today, a chance at change, as I saw something that has been missing for weeks - grass! Yesterday's clear blue skies and temperatures in the mid-40s meant that some of the frozen muck melted into the choked, oversaturated ground, revealing what has long been covered. Granted, this wasn't long, soft, fluffy green grass, more like a mangy, yellow comb-over, but it'll do for now. Another sign this depressed season might soon be over: a proud, albeit thin, robin, pecking and poking in a patch of long-hidden lawn, his path crossing with the startling sight of crocus and daffodil shoots making their way into this cheerless winter world.
Today, a chance at change, as I saw something that has been missing for weeks - grass! Yesterday's clear blue skies and temperatures in the mid-40s meant that some of the frozen muck melted into the choked, oversaturated ground, revealing what has long been covered. Granted, this wasn't long, soft, fluffy green grass, more like a mangy, yellow comb-over, but it'll do for now. Another sign this depressed season might soon be over: a proud, albeit thin, robin, pecking and poking in a patch of long-hidden lawn, his path crossing with the startling sight of crocus and daffodil shoots making their way into this cheerless winter world.
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