126) silly attempts to take pictures while driving, ending up with nothing but a lot of sky
127) birds and butterflies fluttering on the sides of houses, hovering
128) making hot (mint) tea on a ninety degree day
129) the fact that the local library i'm currently sitting in used to be a church, including a painting of Christ praying in the Garden of Gethsemane
130) a globe with animals native to the countries its defining features
131) the sun illuminating the cobweb tinged screens
132) a half dozen barn kittens romping in the backyard; drinking from the drain pipe bucket; sitting on the edge of the horse's drinking trough; pouncing upon each other and stirring up the dust; one even flipped!
133) mozzarella sticks
134) subdued sunsets: violet, blue, rose, grey
135) the air-skating of the fireflies; figure eights galore; their steady, daily presence
136) a kitten head-butting its mom's stomach, making its existence known to the outside world
137) baby jersey cows in a small apple orchard
138) meeting mom, on the spur of the moment, for dinner in town
139) receiving an encouraging letter from a friend, out of the blue
140) mom calling me 'chef' jokingly when i made some macaroni & cheese today
141) being remembered by the waitress at the restaurant, having met somebody there for appetizers two days prior
142) inter-library loan books of poetry (Bly, Cummings), words that nourish and calm (or jolt) my heart, if for only a moment
143) non-verbal communication across language barriers
144) discovering the word 'ugly-beautiful'
145) mom reaching across the table to brush my cheek
146) watching ayla's kittens squirming and chafing against their warm liquidy womb, eager to break out and into air and go outside
147) polka dots, never stripes
148) an old clay something-or-other i made as a kidling that my mom still keeps for display
149) music that relaxes me, that seems to hum itself into my anxiety, bringing order to my scattered soul
150) a single streetlight illuminating nothing more than a couple of houses and our flowers, which under the light, take on an unearthly sheen
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
angels descending, bring from above...
101) rose tea after a long, full weekend, bits of pink petals in the loose leaves
102) language: verbal, non-verbal; how humans communicate with each other, and with the divine
103) a sunday afternoon nap
104) listening to her playing hymns on the piano, singing along to the tunes her hands are comfortable with
105) words, phrases, sentences, how they're spliced and glued together, read into poetry and prose; the way they roll off the tongue; the way they attempt to communicate precisely what is in the heart, but often fail
106) the possibility of reconciliation with God
107) zucchini slices covered in cheese
108) attending a sunday school class for the first time in about a year and feeding off of the words and ideas of others
109) sitting in the same pew i used to always sit in, and next to the same person, too
(plus ca change, plus c'est la meme choose)
110) being embarrassed in front of the entire congregation by being mentioned as a 'non-guest', i think i even heard clapping
111) coming home to a discarded $5 DVD my sister left behind
112) granted traveling mercies in a state of pure exhaustion
113) oh, how He loves us
114) faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen
115) the whoopie pies my mom always buys, but which i never seem to get around to eating
116) this lovely streak of grey in the bangs of her hair
117) clouds that are substantial, clouds that look too proud to move, engraving themselves into the sky like statues or frescoes
118) the Bread of Life
119) never thinking i would be grateful for the speed of my internet, but finding myself so
120) being pleasantly surprised with the outcome of some pictures taken on my phone
121) watching pre-teens growing into teens, developing acne, of all things
122) introducing her to Hawaiian Pidgin
123) echoes of mercy, whispers of love
124) attempting to pronounce russian words...i can basically manage breetanskee (british)...forget the cyrilic alphabet at this point
125) wishing the repose of the household matched the repose of my heart
102) language: verbal, non-verbal; how humans communicate with each other, and with the divine
103) a sunday afternoon nap
104) listening to her playing hymns on the piano, singing along to the tunes her hands are comfortable with
105) words, phrases, sentences, how they're spliced and glued together, read into poetry and prose; the way they roll off the tongue; the way they attempt to communicate precisely what is in the heart, but often fail
106) the possibility of reconciliation with God
107) zucchini slices covered in cheese
108) attending a sunday school class for the first time in about a year and feeding off of the words and ideas of others
109) sitting in the same pew i used to always sit in, and next to the same person, too
(plus ca change, plus c'est la meme choose)
110) being embarrassed in front of the entire congregation by being mentioned as a 'non-guest', i think i even heard clapping
111) coming home to a discarded $5 DVD my sister left behind
112) granted traveling mercies in a state of pure exhaustion
113) oh, how He loves us
114) faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen
115) the whoopie pies my mom always buys, but which i never seem to get around to eating
116) this lovely streak of grey in the bangs of her hair
117) clouds that are substantial, clouds that look too proud to move, engraving themselves into the sky like statues or frescoes
118) the Bread of Life
119) never thinking i would be grateful for the speed of my internet, but finding myself so
120) being pleasantly surprised with the outcome of some pictures taken on my phone
121) watching pre-teens growing into teens, developing acne, of all things
122) introducing her to Hawaiian Pidgin
123) echoes of mercy, whispers of love
124) attempting to pronounce russian words...i can basically manage breetanskee (british)...forget the cyrilic alphabet at this point
125) wishing the repose of the household matched the repose of my heart
and the list continues...
51) fireflies so numerous they look like an undulation of stars
52) watching romantic comedies with a group of girls, always in frustration and anticipation
53) playing apples to apples and discovering what my future husband may be like
54) a house full of people and love and warmth and laughter, the presence of God in abundance
55) realizing how much of an intellectual i've become, and how i sometimes ramble on about too many things cranial
56) knowing i'm not alone in feeling strong bonds with the friendships i've made in college
57) bursting out in laughter at times when it is least expected
58) realizing how much grace i have yet to learn and receive and practice
59) having homemade fruit tea
60) coffee without cream but with sugar, and not too bitter either
61) a globe framed by flowers from next door
62) a friend baking a berry pie with berries she spent the afternoon picking herself
63) remembering pranks at youth retreats
64) enjoyinng witty responses and comments to all manner of conversation
65) eating ukrainian chocolate
66) watching a mother of eight navigate and delegate
67) watching her, again, a woman of God, kneading and folding fruit into dough, much as she prays for and feeds her children with the Bread of Life
68) a tender hug between the husband and wife
69) hot dogs and hamburgers and pasta salad and baked beans
70) wondering how things and people have changed and grown, sometimes for the worse, but grateful for the good
71) a tabby kitten in the basement
72) recalling sleeping on this kitchen floor and talking well into the night
73) extended 'family members' and friends i know i will cherish always
74) being shown a candle one of her daughters made for one of the ladies of the church
75) the handmade oven mitts woven by the girls
76) giggling over the leftover posters and wall decorations of older brothers' room
77) a family that communicates, honestly and openly, sometimes in frustration, sometimes in delight, sometimes regarding mundane chore-like things
78) a leftover pot of coffee
79) finding a norah jones cd in the aforementioned boys' room
80) family photos, collected over a decade or two, spilling out onto the piano
81) a tattered, barely usable baby blanket still slept with every night by a preteen
82) the late hours of the night, when i feel like i'm the only person awake, calmed by knowing i am not alone
83) "the sands of time are sinking..."
84) thinking upon the wonder of it all
85) forays into kairos
86) venison sausage...what a concept. ; ) although something i would probably never eat, unless i learned to like venison.
87) a clock with birds where numbers could be
88) spreading the yawns
89) teapots upon the top shelf, all decked out in florals
90) a wine glass imprinted on the top of the wine berry pie
91) moose tracks ice cream
92) the prevalence of the moose in this household, on picture frames, etc.
93) shared laughter in which it seems as if joy is transferred, electrically
94) tiny bottles of nail polish strewn about the desk
95) a pillow with the words 'my family tree is full of nuts'
96) a girl standing up in a tractor next to her father
97) wide open spaces, corn fields, stars
98) narrow city streets, lamplights, chimney tops
99) for what was once my 'church family'
100) for the fourth of eight, bethany is her name
52) watching romantic comedies with a group of girls, always in frustration and anticipation
53) playing apples to apples and discovering what my future husband may be like
54) a house full of people and love and warmth and laughter, the presence of God in abundance
55) realizing how much of an intellectual i've become, and how i sometimes ramble on about too many things cranial
56) knowing i'm not alone in feeling strong bonds with the friendships i've made in college
57) bursting out in laughter at times when it is least expected
58) realizing how much grace i have yet to learn and receive and practice
59) having homemade fruit tea
60) coffee without cream but with sugar, and not too bitter either
61) a globe framed by flowers from next door
62) a friend baking a berry pie with berries she spent the afternoon picking herself
63) remembering pranks at youth retreats
64) enjoyinng witty responses and comments to all manner of conversation
65) eating ukrainian chocolate
66) watching a mother of eight navigate and delegate
67) watching her, again, a woman of God, kneading and folding fruit into dough, much as she prays for and feeds her children with the Bread of Life
68) a tender hug between the husband and wife
69) hot dogs and hamburgers and pasta salad and baked beans
70) wondering how things and people have changed and grown, sometimes for the worse, but grateful for the good
71) a tabby kitten in the basement
72) recalling sleeping on this kitchen floor and talking well into the night
73) extended 'family members' and friends i know i will cherish always
74) being shown a candle one of her daughters made for one of the ladies of the church
75) the handmade oven mitts woven by the girls
76) giggling over the leftover posters and wall decorations of older brothers' room
77) a family that communicates, honestly and openly, sometimes in frustration, sometimes in delight, sometimes regarding mundane chore-like things
78) a leftover pot of coffee
79) finding a norah jones cd in the aforementioned boys' room
80) family photos, collected over a decade or two, spilling out onto the piano
81) a tattered, barely usable baby blanket still slept with every night by a preteen
82) the late hours of the night, when i feel like i'm the only person awake, calmed by knowing i am not alone
83) "the sands of time are sinking..."
84) thinking upon the wonder of it all
85) forays into kairos
86) venison sausage...what a concept. ; ) although something i would probably never eat, unless i learned to like venison.
87) a clock with birds where numbers could be
88) spreading the yawns
89) teapots upon the top shelf, all decked out in florals
90) a wine glass imprinted on the top of the wine berry pie
91) moose tracks ice cream
92) the prevalence of the moose in this household, on picture frames, etc.
93) shared laughter in which it seems as if joy is transferred, electrically
94) tiny bottles of nail polish strewn about the desk
95) a pillow with the words 'my family tree is full of nuts'
96) a girl standing up in a tractor next to her father
97) wide open spaces, corn fields, stars
98) narrow city streets, lamplights, chimney tops
99) for what was once my 'church family'
100) for the fourth of eight, bethany is her name
Saturday, July 25, 2009
counting my blessings, what i'm thankful for, naming them one by one.
1) stepping outside, after dusk, to breathe in the sweet primrose
2) tea: the act of drinking it
3) worn hymnals given to me by my mother's church
4) model houses that represent places in 'Sarah, Plain, and Tall'
5) the hum of a refrigerator, oddly comforting
6) cold toes, nudging me to bed
7) a large red mug yet to be sipped out of
8) a floating clump of cat hair
9) a sign stuffed in the corner of a bookcase, willkommen, welcome: welcome, home.
10) recalling when i was once called upon to inventory the book cases, as a young girl
11) wishing i could fit inside of a bookcase shelf, warmly tucked between my favorite novels, or books of poetry
12) my head aching, again, nudging me towards rest
13) a cat scratcher, in the shape of a wave, each rubbing up against it stirring up foam
14) an at least 2000 page collection of all of Shakespeare's works
15) books my sister and I wrote, prize-winning authors that we are
16) many of the novels coming after Anne of Green Gables, but not that novel itself
17) books that I've known, or have been owned by my parents, as long as I've been alive
18) gilted spines and gold-edged pages
19) fireflies so numerous and vigorous it seems, as I coast along the highway, I am venturing into some sort of 'hyper' space
20) waking up at night to discover patches of light dancing about the window
21) being sent an encouraging note by someone i've never met, someone who knows me indirectly
22) discovering, gradually, how much i look like my mother, comparing our baby pictures
23) giggling and smiling profusely, as i do every time, at the sometimes awkward, always tender falling in love of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth
24) the goldfinches attracted to our bird feeders, that my mom always mentions (and loves)
25) the way the flame of a candle is magnified upon our white walls, which flows and throbs
26) the little stacks of coins my mother puts on the window over the sink, including one of Maine, which is one of the places she most wants to go, in the world
27) being complimented, out of the blue, in a kind, respectful way about how lovely i looked on a day when i felt anything but
28) hearing my mother snort in her sleep
29) generally, moments of delight and freedom, moments when my smiles/joy are genuine
30) never ceasing to be amazed at the sky; tonight, i saw a sliver of the moon being swallowed and later framed by cumulus grey, hearty fluffy things
31) receiving flowers
32) picking flowers
33) stopping the car because i saw.noticed.found something and i had my camera with me, feeling slightly foolish, hoping my efforts will be rewarded
34) being told, after playing a hymn at church, that it almost sounded like the words of the hymn were coming out of my flute
35) lying in the grass, under the stars
36) for You, alone, O Lord, make me lie down in safety
37) wanting to have someone to read to, poetry or fairy tale, or otherwise
38) how appreciative my mother is when i offer to do the dishes...it's such a little thing, such a little way to help out.
39) cats sitting in windowsills
40) a weekend trip to see and cherish the company of a beloved friend and family
41) simple faith, faith like a child
42) warm, soft knit socks
43) a cat resting at my feet
44) the incongruous patterns of our living room rugs and couch covers
45) a cupboard of family 'achievements' and memories: diplomas, coca-cola bottles, black and white photographs, etc.
46) movies rooted in my childhood memory: mrs. doubtfire, sister act (2), little women, pride & prejudice, etc.
47) classic films, starring Humphrey Bogart, Audrey Hepburn, Cary Grant, Gregory Peck, James Dean, Ingrid Bergman, etc.
48) paintings from the 1989 and 1999 Half Moon Bay Pumpkin festival, the artist being a mother of a very good friend
49) our Portuguese landlords in California, who had a make-shift wine 'cellar' in their garage
50) a backyard made of bark
to be continued, again, and again.
To be continued...
2) tea: the act of drinking it
3) worn hymnals given to me by my mother's church
4) model houses that represent places in 'Sarah, Plain, and Tall'
5) the hum of a refrigerator, oddly comforting
6) cold toes, nudging me to bed
7) a large red mug yet to be sipped out of
8) a floating clump of cat hair
9) a sign stuffed in the corner of a bookcase, willkommen, welcome: welcome, home.
10) recalling when i was once called upon to inventory the book cases, as a young girl
11) wishing i could fit inside of a bookcase shelf, warmly tucked between my favorite novels, or books of poetry
12) my head aching, again, nudging me towards rest
13) a cat scratcher, in the shape of a wave, each rubbing up against it stirring up foam
14) an at least 2000 page collection of all of Shakespeare's works
15) books my sister and I wrote, prize-winning authors that we are
16) many of the novels coming after Anne of Green Gables, but not that novel itself
17) books that I've known, or have been owned by my parents, as long as I've been alive
18) gilted spines and gold-edged pages
19) fireflies so numerous and vigorous it seems, as I coast along the highway, I am venturing into some sort of 'hyper' space
20) waking up at night to discover patches of light dancing about the window
21) being sent an encouraging note by someone i've never met, someone who knows me indirectly
22) discovering, gradually, how much i look like my mother, comparing our baby pictures
23) giggling and smiling profusely, as i do every time, at the sometimes awkward, always tender falling in love of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth
24) the goldfinches attracted to our bird feeders, that my mom always mentions (and loves)
25) the way the flame of a candle is magnified upon our white walls, which flows and throbs
26) the little stacks of coins my mother puts on the window over the sink, including one of Maine, which is one of the places she most wants to go, in the world
27) being complimented, out of the blue, in a kind, respectful way about how lovely i looked on a day when i felt anything but
28) hearing my mother snort in her sleep
29) generally, moments of delight and freedom, moments when my smiles/joy are genuine
30) never ceasing to be amazed at the sky; tonight, i saw a sliver of the moon being swallowed and later framed by cumulus grey, hearty fluffy things
31) receiving flowers
32) picking flowers
33) stopping the car because i saw.noticed.found something and i had my camera with me, feeling slightly foolish, hoping my efforts will be rewarded
34) being told, after playing a hymn at church, that it almost sounded like the words of the hymn were coming out of my flute
35) lying in the grass, under the stars
36) for You, alone, O Lord, make me lie down in safety
37) wanting to have someone to read to, poetry or fairy tale, or otherwise
38) how appreciative my mother is when i offer to do the dishes...it's such a little thing, such a little way to help out.
39) cats sitting in windowsills
40) a weekend trip to see and cherish the company of a beloved friend and family
41) simple faith, faith like a child
42) warm, soft knit socks
43) a cat resting at my feet
44) the incongruous patterns of our living room rugs and couch covers
45) a cupboard of family 'achievements' and memories: diplomas, coca-cola bottles, black and white photographs, etc.
46) movies rooted in my childhood memory: mrs. doubtfire, sister act (2), little women, pride & prejudice, etc.
47) classic films, starring Humphrey Bogart, Audrey Hepburn, Cary Grant, Gregory Peck, James Dean, Ingrid Bergman, etc.
48) paintings from the 1989 and 1999 Half Moon Bay Pumpkin festival, the artist being a mother of a very good friend
49) our Portuguese landlords in California, who had a make-shift wine 'cellar' in their garage
50) a backyard made of bark
to be continued, again, and again.
To be continued...
Saturday, July 18, 2009
"Love is not a silk flower -- always bright, with artificially whitened teeth and a fake tan. No, love is a fight. Love is what happens when you've been hurt and you want to quit. Love is what happens when you decide not to. Love is not the beginning of the story but the ending." -Jon Foreman
These words ring painfully true in me. How often I am tempted to give up, quit. What am I giving up on, exactly? Living, I think. Choosing death over life. Choosing not to be a blessing and to back away from the Father in fear. Sometimes I feel like I'm running away from myself, but I'm running on a treadmill, and am not really going anywhere, but in circles, but deep into the rhythms of my own anxious thoughts. I do still hope...hope 'never stops at all' in the words of Dickinson. And I have a hope in the living God, the healer of our every ill, the Prince of Peace, the Lover of my Soul.
I have been hurt. Which sometimes makes me want to hurt back. It sometimes makes me not want to give or show my heart, because I put it on the line, and it was blown away in the wind, or stomped on, or regarded as of little consequence. Maybe not even by those I think have hurt me, but by myself.
So what happens now?
These words ring painfully true in me. How often I am tempted to give up, quit. What am I giving up on, exactly? Living, I think. Choosing death over life. Choosing not to be a blessing and to back away from the Father in fear. Sometimes I feel like I'm running away from myself, but I'm running on a treadmill, and am not really going anywhere, but in circles, but deep into the rhythms of my own anxious thoughts. I do still hope...hope 'never stops at all' in the words of Dickinson. And I have a hope in the living God, the healer of our every ill, the Prince of Peace, the Lover of my Soul.
I have been hurt. Which sometimes makes me want to hurt back. It sometimes makes me not want to give or show my heart, because I put it on the line, and it was blown away in the wind, or stomped on, or regarded as of little consequence. Maybe not even by those I think have hurt me, but by myself.
So what happens now?
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