Zenith

The end.

[Are you as grateful as I am that this series is over? Ha!]

Yellow

Mixed Metaphors

I’m a brunette.

No yellow hair here –

not even on my belly.

So it should be no surprise

that I didn’t turn tail,

that I decided to stick –

that I turned into

your arms

instead of

away.

This is a Magpie Tale and part of my ABC's of Gratitude series.

Xanadu

My choices for X were kind of limited. I thought about using Xmas & giving my speech about how the X is NOT crossing Christ out of Christmas, but that’s a rant for another day.

I don’t know about you, but when I think of Xanadu this is what immediately springs to mind:

Oh 1980, did you know at the time that we were going to mock you so? I think you did.

In 1980 I was in high school, and I was one of those unkissed boy crazy girls who goes to the prom with a girlfriend. I was making plans for my life based on my expected spinsterhood, and tormenting my mother with my superior knowledge of language. I was churchy and bookish and a mostly A student who didn’t really apply herself very much. And while I thought Sandy was cute and all, I secretly wanted to be Rizzo. On the other hand I was appalled that Sandy had to change herself to get the guy. Wait, why am I talking about Grease?

Is it 10th Grade Bug? Or Mattie from (the original) True Grit? You make the call!

Anyway, I was your typical conflicted teenage nerd in 1980 with no idea what my life would look like in the future. I probably thought the idea of Xanadu was magical, sort of a forbidden heathen heaven. A nice place to escape. And what teenager doesn’t want to escape a little bit?


Why does Xanadu make me thankful? I look back at that girl and, while I’m grateful for her, I’m so thankful to not be her anymore! She envisioned a different life than the one I have now. Her idea of heaven wasn’t the same as mine. I wonder what she would have thought if she had looked down that long road and seen me at the end of it? She might have been horrified, but I know Xanadu when I see it.

Weary

Photograph of Florence Thompson with three of her children by Dorthea Lange, 1936. Reproduced from The Commons on Flickr with use restricted to personal, educational or research purposes.

Weary

I move through the rooms of my life
As if in a dream, exhausted by
All those undone and undoable things
As if in a nightmare, moving through
Molasses air and endless hallways
As if my life were an inescapable burden
Placed upon my bent and broken back
My rucksack is full of food and clean water
And currency for the desires of my heart
In that rucksack is a college degree
And an embarrassment of shoes
I have five pairs of black trousers
The back of my petulance is broken with blessings.


This poem is for the Poetry Jam and for my ABC’s of Gratitude series. Almost done!

Vend

Well, what do you know – another word on my ABCs of Gratitude list that makes no sense. I’m pretty sure that I was just writing down words that began with the appropriate letter instead of considering what they really meant. However, I will work with what my brain spewed out instead of cheating & choosing a nice word like “Vast” or “Vicissitude.” Let’s see how I do.

One of the definitions of Vend is: To offer (an idea, for example) for public consideration. Well now, I can work with that! For what is this blog, but a place to offer my fabulous mediocre interesting ideas to you, the public?

I started the blog because I was reading & commenting on other blogs & felt like I should offer those folks a place to say hello back. I had an additional goal of working on my writing skills and perhaps beginning to write poetry more regularly again. And I wanted to entertain, in a forum that felt safer to me than face to face interaction.

I think I’ve met those goals pretty well over the couple of years I’ve been writing here. I was going to be all self deprecating, but I’ll just say that I enjoy writing here & I feel like I’ve written some good poetry (sometimes – other times I hold my nose while reading it).

But what I didn’t expect was the feeling of family. You come here to read & I go to your place to read & we get to know each other so that I almost feel like I could go & stay at your house if I were in your neck of the woods. (For the record, I like a nice fat pillow & lots of blankets).

People who don’t have cyber friends don’t really get it – but at least in the places where we intersect here on the interwebs, I feel like we’re family. I want to know how your day is going and whether you got the job/award/new shoes. And you guys do a good job of acting like you want to know about my life too. It’s all very affirming. And I’m grateful for the opportunity to vend my mental wares and browse through yours. Hmm – that sounded dirtier than I meant it!

Under

image source: Google images, unknown photographer

 Under

An old nightmare.
In my dream there
is yellow chaos (well isn’t
there always chaos?).
I am filled with
adrenaline and
orange terror
and for once this
isn’t a dream about
going to the bathroom
in a wall-less stall.

My teacher is shouting
and I am under my
unsuitably buoyant
red chair.

This is it this is it this is it.
The world glows white.

I’m the only one left.

I think I hear a machine gun,
but it’s only my heart
wrenching me from
frantic airless sleep.

The sound of pounding
feet fades away.
The night is dark
and calm as gray.

There was nothing
cold about that war.

This is a Magpie Tale and part of my ABCs of Gratitude series. I’m grateful that, while this old dream is real, the nightmare it foretold hasn’t happened. Yet.

Try

Today’s gratitude word is “try.” And when I wrote the word down in September I’m sure I had some noble purpose in mind (not really). But I’m going to do something slightly different today because I am bursting with miscellanea that has nowhere to go but right here. So instead of the noble idea (that doesn't really exist), I’m going to share recent things I’ve witnessed that illustrate the power of working hard for your goal.

·         There’s this one. I admit I was a little grossed out by the idea of piecing together partially digested money. But what an intrepid couple! And they’ve learned a valuable lesson about leaving things where their dog might get them.

·         On Monday as I was driving to work I glanced at the car in front of me & saw a MOUSE running along its back bumper! The car started moving & the mouse went back into the trunk. Later, as I was trying to figure out how to tell the lady she had a mouse in her car (& whether that would even be a good idea in morning rush hour traffic), I saw the mouse on the bumper again, poised to jump off the car as it stopped. I didn’t get to see the leap, but I choose to believe that the mouse made it safely into the grass by the side of the road. Can you imagine how it was feeling? It was so cute & brave… OK, I know it probably wasn’t really brave, but I choose to believe that it was.

·         The other day I was trying to sing in the car. I came to a sad realization. Listen to this “playlist” – I sang: Come Ye Sinners, Amazing Grace, America the Beautiful, the Star Spangled Banner (badly – it’s kind of hard to sing that one sitting down), and Be Thou My Vision. Do I have anything other than religious or patriotic songs in my repertoire? Well, I do have ONE other song that I can sing from memory, but the chorus goes, “Hey mister, take a chance, it only costs you a dime a dance, and if you’re looking for romance, I’ll be nice to you. Hey mister, it's so cold when you don't have anyone to hold - I'll do anything I'm told to do... Baby, I want you.” I’ve mentioned it on the blog before – it was on the flip side of Vicki Lawrence’s The Night the Lights Went out in Georgia. I was nine when it came out & I used to sing Dime a Dance all the time. Thank goodness there were no “Misters” out there taking me up on my offer. Anyway, the point here is that I’m trying to sing some every day. Reya says it’s good for you – it makes your voice stronger, and it’s fun. I just need to learn some new tunes.

·         One last thing. I’m trying a really simple version of yoga these days. Our rector’s husband is an instructor so he’s offered to give classes once a week. I remember back in the day I could sit on the floor & cross my legs with no problem (criss-cross applesauce). It’s been such a long time since I even tried – it feels good to realize my limitations and try to push past them a little bit each week.

So, what new thing are you trying to do lately? Saving money (literally), taking a leap of faith, learning new things, stretching? Do tell!

Storm

As I think about what “storm” means I keep hearing Stevie Nicks in my head. “I have always been a storm,” she says. And I do believe that she was speaking truth in that song – she has always been a storm. Well, as I once said about myself in a poem, “I am not a storm or an ocean or even a calm sky. I am a catfish pond, murky and sustaining. And that’s all you really need to know.”

What does that even mean? And what does it have to do with gratitude? Here’s what I think.

While I’m predisposed to be dramatic in the telling of events, my life really isn’t all that dramatic. And I like it that way – only stirring gentle winds every now & then to keep things interesting. (From Dr. M’s perspective these winds might not actually be that gentle, but that’s his tale to tell).

But that doesn’t mean that storms haven’t come our way. We’ve had the heartbreak of losing our mothers. The disappointment of jobs that fell through. The real life storm that blew the roof off of our townhouse in 1997.

Common wisdom states that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Well, I don’t really know how true that is. It certainly rips off those rose colored glasses that we try to cling to. But I do know this: going through a storm is one of the best ways to know how strong your community is. God, friends, family – all right there with the wind and the rain. It’s pretty powerful.

I’m not really thankful for the storm. But I am for the hands that held mine and kept me from being swept away in it.

Rust

Tess at Willow Manor likes to talk about patina. It is defined thusly:

1. A thin greenish layer, usually basic copper sulfate, that forms on copper or copper alloys, such as bronze, as a result of corrosion.

2. The sheen on any surface, produced by age and use.

3. A change in appearance produced by long-standing behavior, practice, or use: a face etched with a patina of fine lines and tiny wrinkles.

I suppose that, in the normal scheme of things, patina is to be preferred over rust. But rust is the word I chose for the letter R in my ABCs of gratitude and now I have to figure out why that is.

I could have meant the color of the leaves on the trees I can see outside my window. Or perhaps a soft skirt I once owned in that same color. But I think I was feeling thankful for the absence of rust. Specifically that rasping that accompanied the movement of my left hip. It’s gone now. I’m still in terrible shape – I don’t exercise enough & the area around that hip needs strengthening, but I can crawl around on the floor if I want to. And I can stand for hours and minutes at a time without hip pain. And I can sleep on that side when I go to bed.

So instead of feeling rusty and ready for the nursing home, I consider myself to have a fine patina, a sheen well suited to my age.

Quiet

I’ve been getting off track a bit in the last spate of posts. This is supposed to be ABCs of GRATITUDE after all. What was I thankful for about “Plan” – could you tell? I’m not sure what my point was. I guess I’m grateful that I’m able to choose to plan or not. Heh.

Anyway, it’s easy to be thankful for “quiet.” I do listen to audio books in the car, but otherwise, left to my own devices, my world is really quiet. When Dr. M isn’t home I don’t turn on the TV or music (unless it’s baseball season). At work my office is remarkably quiet – people comment on it as if it’s a bad thing. But I have all these words in my head (Not voices! Really. Really!) and as Dr. M can tell you I’m easily distracted. It’s so nice to just be able to focus on my work or writing or what I’m reading. Especially at work, because that leaves me a little more able to interact with Dr. M when I get home.

So, today I’m thankful for my quiet office and the opportunity to work without distraction.

P.S. The best part about doing this series is picking out a different font for each letter. I love doing that! But after you’ve looked at the letter “Q” in the 20th different font… it just sort of looks obscene, you know?

Plan

My idea of a perfect weekend is one with no plans whatsoever. I much prefer to go with the flow, letting serendipity run its course.

On the other hand, my natural inclination to do nothing means that I miss out on experiences that I would probably enjoy.

There is a space between sloth and overwhelmed by obligations. I would like to inhabit that space a little more comfortably.

It would probably help if I didn’t give everything the stink eye. Girls’ Night Out? Too much trouble. Symphony? Too much trouble. Yoga once a week? Too much trouble.

This week I’m making plans & participating in life. I did (modified for decrepit individuals) yoga on Monday. Dr. M & I are attending a symphony performance on Sunday. And, well, I’m skipping Girls’ Night Out but it’s because I’m participating in a church meeting instead.

See? That wasn’t so bad – I can make plans. I’ll probably need a week to recuperate, but baby steps people! Baby steps! 

Open

I wrote this poem back in May for a couple of poetry prompts. It’s always my standard response about why I (born and raised in the Southern Baptist Church) am now an Episcopalian. When I wrote the poem I really really wanted to put “Food Fight!” at the end. And wouldn’t that be fun? Open can be uncomfortable, but why shouldn’t it be fun too?

Welcome

Beggar blind man rich man fool
Teacher’s pet & satan’s tool
The watchful waiting wary too
All are welcome at the table

The first the last the meek & mild
Weakened hearts and Thursday’s child
Wicked warped and undefiled
All are welcome at the table

Ancient crones and newborn souls
Ishmael Isaac Vishnu Joe
The undecided and in the know
All are welcome at the table

Come in come in it’s almost time
I’ll wash your feet and you wash mine
Eat the bread and drink the wine
Just join me at the table!

Never

I told Lee that I

would never date you –

too much baggage

and I’m all wrong

wrong wrong.

I figured that I

would trample

all over your

sweet self.

Was my love

for you already

so strong that

I would save you

from me?

Never say never?

Well, this time

never turned

into always.

Mine

I know it’s kind of a loan.

But it’s long term and don’t you forget it.

(I also consider any chocolate in the house to be mine, but that’s a little more negotiable.)

Love

Earlier this year my dad’s wife, Amy, won a gold medal at the state senior games in Raleigh, NC, for her essay about her childhood. Go here to read this essay. Go ahead – it won’t take you long. I’ll wait.

Done now? When I first read it I couldn’t decide if Amy was brave or crazy to share that story (sorry Amy – it’s true!).  But when I read this paragraph I realized that the story contains an important message:

“My parents’ influence and their continued acceptance of me have made a vast difference in my life. I learned from them to love freely, to be forgiving, to accept and show respect for others, to know that all people have worth and should be treated with dignity…”

The love Amy’s parents felt for her gave them the ability to accept the child she was – in fact I’m sure they celebrated the child she was. I had that same kind of love from my parents. Love can really make or break us, can’t it? It can be devastating if we feel as though no one loves us.

I wonder what my world would look like if I behaved as if everyone I met was worthy of love? And if they could tell that I thought they had value? What if I gazed upon their ten penny nails with love and compassion? I wonder…

Karma

kar·ma   
NOUN:

1. Hinduism & Buddhism The total effect of a person's actions and conduct during the successive phases of the person's existence, regarded as determining the person's destiny.
2. Fate; destiny.
3. Informal A distinctive aura, atmosphere, or feeling: There's bad karma around the house today.

I’d love to believe in karma – that the bad things people do will come back to bite them & that the good things people do will be rewarded. And I do believe that our actions have consequences. But bad things happen to good people. It’s not just a saying – it’s the truth. I don’t believe that their behavior in past lives is giving them grief now, and I don’t believe that God is punishing them in some way. Things happen. It’s up to us to live up to our own ideals (for me those would be the WWJD* ideals) and forge a path through life that leads to as few regrets as possible.

When I put karma on the gratitude list I think what I had in mind is that I’m really grateful for the life that I lead. I was given the opportunity to go to college. I’ve never had to go hungry (quite the opposite, in fact!). I’ve always had access to clean water and good health care. I married my soul mate (almost 21 years ago!). I am deeply aware of how blessed I am. And I know that things could change at any moment.

For today, let’s just savor what’s good in our lives. We can go back to our regularly scheduled kvetching tomorrow. 


*What Would Jesus Do. Although Who Wants Jack Daniels would be pretty darn interesting too :)

Jest

I’m not the least bit funny

And it pains me no end

Always somber, that’s me.

Yep.

Straight faced.

Almost dirge-like.

I’ll try to be less serious in future.

This is another fine post in my ABCs of Gratitude series.

Insulation

What in the world? Seriously, I was truly in some sort of trance when I wrote these words down. What could insulation possibly have to do with gratitude?

Well, considering my substantial back side perhaps my subconscious was referring to my natural insulation. Or maybe it was thinking of the way that I can turn off the world when I’m reading a good book.

Or…I have a terrible memory. If you’ve offended me I’m not likely to remember why for very long & I’ll even forget that I’m supposed to be mad at you after a while. In fact, I feel certain that I’ve already shared this trait (more than once), but I don’t remember.

And isn’t it nice to live in this nice cushioned room with unremembered grievances? I’m shielded from the distress of being hurt whenever I think about them. Because I don’t think about them.

Now this isn’t to say that I don’t have a list of things that go in Dr. M’s minus column*, but they’re amorphous. If I were asked to give a concrete example of an offense I would probably not be able to be that specific. In fact, I’m sitting here trying to even come up with a category (snoring? Falling asleep during a documentary now that I’m hooked on it so I have to stay up to watch it?) – I don’t really have anything. I’m not very good at keeping score.

And that’s where this turns into gratitude. Who needs to keep score anyway? Why can’t every day be a fresh start with a person, full of the possibility of lovingkindness? Forget yesterday – I certainly do. And I’ll just go ahead & issue a blanket apology right now to folks I may have offended – because you know I’m not going to remember doing it anyway!

*Dr. M’s pluses so vastly outweigh the minuses that I’m even embarrassed to use him as an example. Our marriage isn’t perfect, but my goodness do I get treated like a queen! I feel like the worst sort of heel whenever I complain. Although I am having to be responsible for dinner a lot lately. What’s up with that Mr. Works-More-Hours-Than-I-Do-Now?

Heredity

image source here

Heredity

My father is writing a letter to the editor.

Erudite and logical as Spock, he rests his case.

Maybe this letter will be sent and published

or maybe it will remain in his head, an ode called

Thoughts While Mowing the Back Forty.

No issue is beneath his scrutiny, and I am

just as random and ruthless in my own head.

We do not suffer fools, my father and I.

I like this inherited trait much better than

the gift of hairy legs and a substantial backside.

This is a Magpie, and part of my ABCs of Gratitude series.

Green

Green is the color of this blog or recycling or being new or envious or the color of spring. And it’s the color of a Christmas tree. (Usually) 

From here

As we move through autumn and head toward those long cold dark nights I am thankful that I can anticipate Advent and the light that illuminates the dark cold long nights. And even as Advent moves through Christmas to Epiphany I jealously hoard the light and that green and gaudy tree. Last year’s tree stayed up (in an out-of-the-way corner) until March 18^th. I wanted to keep it up until the time changed, to hang onto that light for just a while longer.

I know I should be posting Halloween stuff today, but instead, here is a fragment 1996's Christmas poem. Go here to read the whole thing. 

This green ritual!

This fragrant season!

I close my eyes.

Surrounded by a forest,

Now that's green to me!