Happy Birthday Flannery O'Connor! only one day late...

You know Flannery O'Connor, right?  Brilliant, strange, southern gothic writer from Georgia?  I am still fascinated with her stories---particularly her characters.  How she could get into the minds of all these different characters and shape such awesome stories is a perpetual marvel.

She was born March 25, 1925; died of lupus when she was 39.

My favorite of her stories:  "A Good Man is Hard to Find"; "Revelation"...so many...   "The River" is still one of the most horrifying stories I've ever read.  To say anything more than that is to give it away so all I can say is find yourself a copy and read it!

A compelling life theme was her belief that God is discovered in our lives at the point of pain or great violence.  I think she related the words somehow---violate, violence---that to wake us out of our complacency God has to sometimes literally violate our lives.  This is the crossroads, the point in our lives where we are best able to see or hear God's intention to be with us, to change something so deeply rooted and damaging that it has to be surgically altered---the violence is a means of waking us to the desire to be and pursue something better than our complacency has lulled us into.  I think "A Good Man is Hard to Find" speaks to that more than any of her stories. 

One bit of fun trivia---apparently a reporter once asked her if she felt universities were doing enough to encourage young writers and she replied she felt they were not doing enough to discourage them. I love that.

Finally back on the patio before dawn to write!

First day back.*  Without school’s early morning departure, the longer dark morning is heavenly.  Moreso this morning because of the rain. The puffs of breeze through oaks, pines and palms.  Moderate temperatures finally around 70.  I am out on the patio in this holy darkness with just the old lamp hunched over the work.  This beloved lamp, black iron with odd spatters of green which must have been popular in the ‘50s. The flat oval base has three ridges for pencils to lay across in front and on either side dimples perhaps for erasure or paperclips.  Then the base lifts in diminishing ripples like tiny Chinese rice terraces tapering into the thin coiled neck with narrow segments for easy bending stretching about a foot and bowed as I have placed it with that single 60 or 75 watt bulb holder from which hangs the rusty chain with a tiny ball on the end, and the bulb is hooded with what almost looks like a miniature German helmet.  Eight or so years ago the cord finally frayed out at the dangerous plug and a friend cut it off and hooked up the wires to a new and longer cord.  This was my father’s desk lamp when he was in school and he had it at the house.  I’m not sure when it was passed along to me but I know I’ve had it as long as I can remember, at least back to high school.  I’ve had other desk lamps here and there at work or other locations in the house and this by far is the best and my favorite.

If that evil little coolpix camera were working—can you believe it?  Two days longer than the 30 day return policy and it quits working!—I’d put a pic with this. 

But my point really was more about being out here early!!  First day back on the patio to focus on the writing...  It is in every way delicious!  (Except for the writer’s block hurdle of having been away from it so long.)

YAY Spring break!

About that rain.  Last night the wind was just hurling through and as it got dark I was a bit miffed because the wind through the trees sounds like rain!  And then BAM! Torrents of rain whipped through here and thunder and it was glorious!  But in between—when it was raining hard and tapering just before the thunder and lightning hit, I was struck (so to speak) with the sound of the water spatting the pavers, the big rain drops tapping the leaves and suddenly in my mind’s eye I was seeing a campfire.  It sounded like a big fire smacking and spitting and crackling.  Of course I smiled.  The two elements most opposite—fire and water—and here they sounded so much alike.

*"back" meaning it's warm enough and I'm on vacation so I can lean toward getting back to really writing...working on story...really really...it's so lovely I cannot verbalize it!

How could I be lost?

Every day is a hunter’s perch
    when we crouch in the center of our lives
    weapons of doubt and self flagellation
        locked and loaded
space is easy—terrain and landscape marred and scarred by
    choices to build or demolish

it’s time that’s elusive
    at exactly what point did I become committed
        to being
        who I am
what day was it
    what was I wearing who did I know where did I live
    what had I eaten for breakfast
    when I decided to
            or not to
        be
        or do
            that which locked me into this place and this time
on the perpetual center of the turning world
    I can only see the space
    380 degrees in all directions
        the past and future
        point to one end
        which is always here
            always present
how could I be lost
   

(a few sentiments borrowed from TS Eliot’s Four Quartets — a stronger and more complete meditation about our impermanence and memory)

Crane Drop Humidifier

Still seems counterintuitive to me.  That to fight sinus congestion one should get a humidifier.  Didn’t they used to call them vaporizers?  Now that sounds more like a sci-fi term for disappearing aliens. 

Since I’ve had my share of annual infections that have put me down for the count, I’m trying just about everything.  This cute little drop arrived on my doorstep this afternoon.  It’s silent and just working like a charm so far!  So tonight will be the first night to test her out. 

Yesterday was the last day of the prednosone and augmentin and I’ve been feeling a little bizarre...transitioning drugs is always so much fun.  I still have a few more nights of allegra D so that will tide me over I hope with the congestion thing...  But that post nasal drip thing is pure evil.  Makes me cough.  And I have GERD.  So I may be “well” but I’m definitely not 100%.


MARCH 26, 2013 UPDATE!!!    I confess---I have been sleeping a WHOLE LOT BETTER with this thing!   I fill her up and turn her on medium around 6 in the evening and go to bed between 8:30 and 9 and sleep really well---there is no damp feeling...am not aware of it AT ALL!  there is a light gurgle sound every so often as the water kind of adjusts...but it's not intrusive at all.  the first night there was a little bit of a plastic smell initially but haven't smelled that since!  I love it and recommend it!  easy to use and easy to clean following the directions!  

daylight savings :o( 031113

What daylight?  it's 7:00 in the morning---see all that black on the left?  that's your daylight.  Do I sound bitter?  Hate daylight savings.

not well yet quite right memory sentence 031013

i'm getting impatient i think...the not well yet but not really sick any more stage.  and my eyes have been itching all day which tells me that the allergies are still in full force....  but i've had the doors open all day.  can't help it.  and the glorious chimes have kept me company.  i love them so much!   but i need to get out there to the garden with some sharp weapons...just not in me yet...

and i keep napping---know i need to but also would prefer to read...two pages and i'm asleep.  or write...nothing but wide white blinking abyss there sooooo...  it's futile.

but it's the stage...

salad...memory sentence 030913

Sometimes there's nothing better than a salad.  When I make my own, there is no lettuce--sometimes spinach.  But not tonight.  Tonight i had carrots, cauliflower, broccoli, celery, AWWWW forgot the craisins! dang..., apple, onion, cheddar cheese, BACON!!!, walnuts and raspberry vinaigrette dressing.  Just yummy.

I'm also hooked on a Scottish series from 2006 called Rebus.  Good stories.  (The series that started in 2000 is awful...i only watched a portion of the first episode but was curious that the lead guy and the guy on the cover where two different men, two different ages, two different types!  Found online a guy who categories British mysteries and police dramas and fortunately he mentioned the recasting, refurbishing and rereleasing in 2006.  I think it's based on a novel series.)  The series is intense and captivating. 

Also trying not to get too whiny about the time change.  Seriously, every year I am more convinced that we just need to pick one and stay with it.  Preferably the time frame where i can see the sun rise before hiding away for 8-9 hours.  It is so so so difficult to go to work at 7 in the dark and not see daylight until 3:00.  Borders on abusive.  I never dreamed in my worst nightmare that I would ever teach in a school with no windows.

the ring...memory sentences 030813

In 1926 (I think) Eugene asked Ruth to marry him, presenting her with a ring.  At least I think that’s what happened.  Should really revisit the story with Mama.  The first time I saw the ring I honestly thought: yay Pa!  What style and class!  The ring is gorgeous, I think.  I wish I had known him as a young man...what he saw in Ma...what she saw in him.  The ring now lives on my finger and often I rub it like I expect some Genie to appear.  My three wishes would likely include something like the ability to access anyone anytime.  By that I mean to be able to set some kind of cosmic date to meet someone in another time frame.  To be able to show up in my great grandmother’s childhood and get to know her and she would have no difficulty grasping that I would one day be her great granddaughter.  Or to visit Ma when she was pregnant with my mother.  I know Oscar Wilde played with the idea of going back and reliving former days but that’s not exactly what I’m talking about.  Perhaps even “The Time Traveler’s Wife” is a cautionary tale about such things.  But that desire to be with someone you have lost is a universal thing.  This ring which Pa gave to Ma is now on my finger and connects me to them tangibly, memorably, sadly reminding me of such a distance between us. 

I love this ring.  It will likely never leave my finger—yet I have promised my mother that I will leave it to my niece who was born the week after Ma died.  I can’t remember the last time I took it off.  Now it is...stuck...initially 15 years ago my finger was perfect, maybe the ring was a tad snug.  But now the ring is far too small and the knuckle has swollen slightly, but I can still twist it.  At this point, I can’t conceive of not having it on. 

Far, far too often I miss my grands...and ancestors I don’t know.  Sometimes I can almost feel their presence.  I wonder what they would think of the world today.  Wonder what is perpetually cyclical.  What they would advise about different questions, thoughts, doubts, hopes I have.  Are they essentially the same as what they experienced?  Did they wonder about their choices and whether things would have been different if?  Did they have to work at not being afraid of losing her home?  Their savings?  Did they fear losing their ability to endure?  Did they ever get discouraged by a profound sense that everything they’d worked so hard to accomplish was ultimately futile?  Did they feel obsolete? 

Just look at those questions...negative, fearful, doubtful, dark.  I twist the ring and it is a reminder of endurance, value, hope, joy, connection.  But I have to admit, right now, I feel sad.  Proud.  Blessed.  Fortunate.  Connected.  Grateful for this gift.  Hopeful that this isn’t where the story ends.  Hopeful there is more to this mortal life than a fragile chain of progeny, like some delicate, brief flower chain we used to make as kids... 

snow day! "guest" memory sentence 030513

My lifelong friend lives about 2 hours west of Chicago in beautiful midwestern country...here's what she wrote me this morning:

at 7 am, there is just the littlest bit of snow falling which is what the report keeps saying, the heavier snow is supposed to begin around 10 or so, but it is odd sitting here looking out the window at nothing changed from yesterday and have a snow day!   This is one of those times where they really do have to kind of make a call based on predictions as opposed to waking up to snow covered roads--I know we chatted about this, and as goofynasit is I guess I do appreciate the fact that its much easier for working parents in particular to make plans for their kids if they have some warning. Plus, as one who lives out of town so to speak, I appreciate not having to worry about driving through those few miles of wide open spaces that drift and hide the edges of the road and being flat farmland with no definition and nothing to block even the slightest wind, well, it's usually pretty much vast whiteness--beautiful yes, but not good for driving through--

Ok, so I'm sitting on my bed looking out my window this morning, watching for that first snowflake, enjoying for the first time in i don't know how long not having to immediately get going--it's quiet, still--I take a quick look at the weather on my iPad--takes maybe 20 seconds--I look up again out the window and there are 6 pheasants within 20 feet of me!  I don't know why I found that so funny, maybe because you would think they would have made some noise getting there, maybe because it was 6 of them--instant wildlife!  They hung around for awhile, then suddenly got all spooked out--the local stray cat!  Who is yellow and mangy but the only bright objection a cloudy black and white background--and funny to see it mosey through so oblivious while these birds hopped around and clucked furiously at it--so nutty!  And this after a night of being interrupted by weird noises outside--finally looked out and there were 2 deer maybe 3 feet from the window, their feet crunching through the snow was making the noise, plus they were kind of poking through the plants and bushes there, looking for lunch I suppose. A midnight lunch!! (Which is what nancy drew called their midnight snacks :) ) my wild kingdom tale for today

Big flakes now, beautiful!  And call me crazy, but there is something about thick falling snow that just feels luxurious -- a curious word in this context, I know!  But that's what it feels like to me, like being drenched in calm or something--all to say, I'm enjoying this! 

glorious sunlight...memory sentence 030513

Finally the temperature rose, air seems clear and I sat outside for about 10 minutes at lunch.  Ran errands after school in the glorious sunlight.  How beautiful!  I must say, though, I prefer to have a full day of sight and access to the real outdoors...  Really hard to be sequestered from daylight for upwards of 8 hours.  I’d almost forgotten.

Lectio notes John 2 & 3

Lectio notes

John 2 ... felt unfinished because I had no comment on Jesus taking a whip to the money changers’ set up in the temple—this story being told on the heels of the Wedding at Cana where he turns water into wine.  I want to say something but have nothing to say. I’ve always appreciated His audacity—drawing the line of impropriety....

John 3

“No one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit” (John 3:5).  The lesson from turning the water into wine from chapter 2.  It is a miraculous and astonishing miracle.  Also seems to be the beginning of reminding these people of how truth works—stronger in metaphor, stronger in story.  There is a place for literal truth, for straightforward instruction, but the greater power, the deeper truth is found only in the heart and soul which can more fully be found in meaning, in story, symbols, connections beyond the surface of the literal.  Nicodemus asks the question—questions are the bridge, of course, to understanding—“How can anyone be born after having grown old?” (John 3:4). 

Contained in that question seems to be a theme throughout—how can anything change?  Especially against the law of chronos?  Especially against the law of common sense?  Logic?  Tradition?  Science?

In this same conversation Jesus says, “And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up . . . ” (John 3:14).  I can almost remember the day when this image connected.  Satan comes in the form of a serpent and the First Ones are deceived (Genesis 3).  The bronze serpent Moses made and lifted up that those bitten by the poisonous serpent could look up at it and be healed (Numbers 21:1-9); and now this connection when Jesus says He Himself will be lifted up.  Ironic that the essence is duality—evil and death embodied in the form of a serpent/antedote and life in the metaphor of a serpent...   A study of the symbolism in the serpent in that part of the world would no doubt be interesting...basically perpetual life, fertility, and yet also a rival for the human/son...

memory sentence...ennui 3.3.13

Last full day to rest and recover and yet I don't feel actually well enough to take on a full day tomorrow.  I will, though.  I will go.  A great part of me is ready to shift back into the routine and reality.  A great part of me desires to hunker down and stay cloistered.  All of me wants to sleep well tonight.

It has been a blistering bright sunny day but quite chilly and windy.  I would have liked to get out into the sun some.  But this week is forecast to be cold.  I am grateful to be feeling better and stronger every day.

sleeeeep memory sentence 030213

I will be glad to sleep a long full night once again.  Last night as I was still awake at 2:00 a.m. decided to take half a benadryl.  Napped away most of the morning.  Day went fast.  Working on a flash fiction but it is wholly without emotional impact.  sigh.

Lectio Notes John 1 and part of 2

Lectio John 1

“What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people” (John 1:4).

“No one has ever seen God.  It is God the only son, who is close to the father’s heart, who has made him known” (John 1:18).

They searched for “Rabbi” “teacher” and found “Messiah” “Anointed” the promised one...the expected one...  What we find will be better than what we seek.  What we find will encompass what we seek.  (John 1:35-42)

Relationship.  The chapter (the book?) is all about relationship—what happens when the Word is spoken.  We will either hear it, or we won’t.  When the Story is told.  We tell stories to know we are not alone (C.S.Lewis, right?). So God speaks, tells Story, stories, that God won’t be alone? So that we will not be alone?  //  We are all one...but somehow “all one” was manifest in Him...as He is “all One” manifest in us.  This is the light, the light of all people.

“You will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man” (John 1:5).  Again, we will see far more than we look for, ever increasing our relationship, strengthening the connection.  This is the hope of faith....  We will now see...because the Light has come.

Something about this chapter makes me want to do a meaning study of the preposition “of” and yet that would be going too deeply into the grammar of English than necessarily into the intention of the Aramaic....


John 2
connect this above in chapter 1 to verse 25 that ends chapter 2: “...and needed no one to testify about anyone, for he himself knew what was in everyone.”

First miracle... wine: symbol of life with the added implications of the spiritual inextricably connected.  And this wine was miraculously wrought from water, that exceedingly human element of which we are made of 80some percent.  So what is of us most human at the mercy of Jesus may become the finest of wine in the end. ...by extension, the ocean makes up also around 3/4 of the earth, right?  Perhaps this, too, is connected to what is promised in a new heaven and new earth.  (To be consumed and enjoyed by wedding guests...surely there is a line to extrapolation of meaning in a story...unless we also are the wedding guests as well as the Bride...images and meaning interplay and interrelate...)

also...as first miracle...on the surface it seems gratuitous—appealed to by his Jewish mother who ignores his clear statement to her that this is an inappropriate time, she turns to the attendants and orders them to do whatever he tells them.  I wonder if Jesus felt any kind of guilt—that he was somehow compromising what he seemed to believe was a higher calling...because he submits to his mother’s wishes instead of his own view of appropriation that God has more extraordinary things for him to do later and in another context besides a (mere) wedding, a cultural celebration...  Yet in the long run it is this simple obedience, this honoring of his mother at such a young and yet powerful age that becomes pervasively revealing about the nature of Jesus as a son, as a man, as a miracle worker, and the fundamental root of transforming human beings takes on the most amazing (and universal) of symbols: turning water into wine. 

There are many other lessons in this simple story, too.  Perhaps the idea that what seems at first to be a failure to follow what we consider our calling will become in fact inextricably part of our life’s contribution to our destiny. ...  Honoring our guests by reserving the best of the best for the last. ...  Trusting that God cares even for such a time that might otherwise seem to be outside the lines of “need” (praying for healing is one thing, praying for more wine at a wedding party seems a bit...excessive). And yet it was all in divine order. // Perhaps our efforts are the water, the more "human" and God's touch is the turning of our efforts into wine. // 

How to comfort a squirrel

    Would you find it odd to...   Would you ever be, or have you ever been, compelled to pray for an animal?  I don’t mean a pet, that’s like family.  But a wild animal?  Don’t tell me animals don’t grieve...or don’t desire companionship. 
    Today is the first day this week that I can create in a way that feels normal for me!  While I was sitting here reflecting in my Lectio for the Lent season, I realized that I’d been hearing screeching for quite awhile.  I think subconsciously I chalked it up to the blue jays that sometimes come through and have such annoying voices...but then I realized that’s not what this sound was—it was one of my squirrels.  My experience has been that I will hear this sound and find only one squirrel...and at some point in the next day or so I have found a squirrel on the road behind the house dead from some passing car. 
    So I went outside.  I had vowed not to leave the house and definitely rest and be well by Monday and the weather is getting chilly and yet...I had to check on the squirrel.  Saw him on the big branch with his back toward me, facing the road and continuing to cry out that guttural squeak.  I quietly called to him and he turned to face me, his tail stuck like a mane up his back, neck and head.  He looked at me for a long time and squeaked again a little quieter.  I found myself moved by his crying out, his small and fragile appearance, his attentiveness to my quiet voice.  This small creature with so much emotion.
    Don’t get me wrong, I don’t count myself as a “squirrel lover” per se.  They can get wild out there—three at a time chasing and playing and hiding and seeking and me trying to focus on my writing; I have at times slapped my hands like a mother pushed to her limit to snap them out of it and send them across the street to play—by way of limbs and branches and the safety of their agility through the air.  I also have taken after them when they have had the audacity to come across onto the patio and taste the tender shoots of new plantings or leaves off beloved potted plants.  They are annoying rodents to be sure.
    But they are just being what they are.  And really, they’ve only been annoying because of my way of looking at things.  Even the squirrel who found himself in my Mama Ruth’s living room having fallen down through her chimney was only trying to find his way out again, albeit shredding her curtains and sofa and knocking off precious collectibles from their places upon tables and mantel and piano.  (Fortunately, Mama Ruth lived at a time and in a place where rooms like that could be closed off from the rest of the house—preceding the “open floor plan” and minimizing the potential damage that little fella could have inflicted.)
    I stood outside face to face with the tiny squirrel who was quietly gazing back at me.  Seemed the right thing to do—to befriend, stand alongside in comfort, just be there.  Clearly I can’t know what he’s feeling or thinking by means of words and clearly he can’t know the meaning of my words.  But since he has often seen me before...and since I spoke in quiet tones—not saying much really, just enough to distract his attention...maybe the tone and the presence could mean something to him?  Isn’t it appropriate to pray comfort for his loss or grief or whatever seemed to be bothering him? 
    After all, in the beginning of the beginning, the Story tells us that human beings are responsible for tending to the animals and plants—to the earth.  All is in our care.  Surely that must be rooted in empathy, or sympathy at least.  Saint Francis blessed all the animals.  Never mind, I don’t need to hear your answer now.  Saint Francis raised up these creatures for God’s blessing and I remember the church celebrates the blessing of beasts to this day.  And so I will continue to pray for the little critters in my quiet garden. (And since coming back in the house and writing all of this, I have not heard him again...I hope that is a sign that he has gained some comfort, some succor...an answer to my prayer.)
 
    (I have birds, squirrels, opossums, armadillo, rabbits, butterflies, frogs, crickets, snakes, lizards.   And rats.  Yes I have had Nozzle Nolan set traps for the rats.)

holy darkness...memory sentence 3.01.13

5:00 a.m. Out of the silent, holy darkness a clear and piercing call of the mocking bird as crisp as the early March air snaps me out of my musings and into the moment.  A call to worship.  My mind suddenly at rest, I am welcomed into a pure and stark world of great peace and contentment.