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an everyday life

Tag Archives: Everyday Life

Fly Paper Moon

12 Monday Jul 2010

Posted by Janell in Life at Home, Writing

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Everyday Life, Iowa Summer Writing Festival, Writing

Here I stand, on the brink of a week-long writing adventure in Iowa.

Without nerves, without excitement, I pulled out paperwork this morning, filed away last March, to see what it  was I was supposed to have submitted in advance.

Ah, yes.  Two pieces; one for each class.

So no nerves.  No excitement.  But guilt?  Yes, I feel guilt at not spending more time in preparation.  At the same time, as I wonder what this writing retreat will bring, I’m haunted by words written twelve days ago, in response to a good friend’s encouraging word on my writing:

“You are way too kind about my writing.  It is good therapy; nothing much more these days.  I do very little polishing.  What comes out is pretty much what sticks, as if I’m writing on fly paper.  I’ve little energy for much more.”

And there lies the source of my guilt:  My husband has granted me this most wonderful gift — footing the bill with both money and his time, staying home to keep our household going — shouldn’t I at least feel a little energy about going?  Is it too much to expect a little excitement?  And shouldn’t I give my writing a little more thought and consideration, than throwing words at fly paper?

Well, this morning I tried.  This morning I thoughtfully edited an old blog post about Daddy to satisfy that first class requirement — and then before I could edit it to death, I pasted it in an email and fired it off to Iowa by internet.

But here’s the rub — I think I like the unvarnished truth more than the polished, shortened piece I sent.  Maybe my preference for the not-too-polished goes back to who I am — someone comfortable living with unfinished loose ends, someone who prefers to ‘keep it everyday real and simple.’   Or maybe my preference for the unvarnished stems from the same reasons I prefer candid photos over posed shots.

The piece I edited was one of my favorites about Daddy; last year’s “Good Night, Moonshadow” has now become, with shorter and tighter prose,  “Dusty Halos”.

Who knows but maybe there will be room to ‘workshop’ both “Paper Moons?”

Dusty Halos

A lovely crescent moon is doing its best to light our world tonight.  Wearing a halo looking like smudged paint, could this be moon dust, I wonder?

I wish some moonshine would fall into Daddy’s bedroom window.  Too often he bumps into the dark.  Wearing a shiner smudging his left eye, last week it was crescent-shaped.  Purple, blue, yellow — Daddy says it doesn’t hurt.

From new moon to full moon to new moon, we cycle too.  We begin and end life needy.  We are invisible without voice.  But aren’t we most needy when full of ourselves, when our blinding light and blaring sound makes us dim-witted?

Far on the light-dimmer side, Daddy is almost new — man dust and heavenly halos — invisible to the eye, here all the same.  For now, a still lovely Daddy is doing his best to light our world.

What’s love got to do with it?

11 Sunday Jul 2010

Posted by Janell in Home Restoration, Life at Home, Prayer, Soul Care, Writing

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Everyday Life, Prayer, Self-Knowledge, Soul Care, Writing

Is it my fault that I’m better at starting projects than finishing them?

The more I live, the more I realize that fault has nothing to do with it.   The simple truth is that I’m okay with unfinished business.   Tying up loose ends, for me, is analogous to eating canned spinach, something I might do, only because it’s good for me.

I’m not one who needs closure.  If I’m not enjoying a television show, I’ll just walk out of the room.  Sometimes, for the rest of its television shelf life.  But  while I don’t need closure, that’s not the kind of world I live in, either here at home — with a husband who happens to love decisions and lining up ducks in a row —  or in this great big beautiful world, where we pursue high school diplomas, college degrees and all sorts of certifications.

If my husband were here, looking over my shoulder as I write, he would be nodding his head in agreement.  My husband loves to have a plan to execute, while plans for me, are nothing more than one possibility.  Life was once tense until we figured out we each  regarded “plans” differently.  Now when I causally mention a movie I might like to see “this afternoon,” he knows I’m only dreaming out loud, that I’m not really making definite plans to go buy tickets and sit in a theater.

Pity my poor husband who believes in the holiness of made beds every morning and a well-ordered kitchen.  Though I finally bought in to his way of thinking on the bed, my kitchen is never orderly when I’m in the business of entertaining with food.  My wonderful husband has cleaned up my kitchen messes since the beginning days of our marriage, where it seems my goal is to dirty every bowl and pot in the kitchen.  Almost twenty-five years into our marriage, we each, by now, know our roles and lines:

I apologize for the mess and say, ‘Thanks, Honey,” as sweetly as I can.

He in return smiles, shrugs and says with matter-of-fact acceptance, “That’s my job.”

It’s good to know and accept our lot in life.  And perhaps it begins by knowing and accepting ourselves (and each other) for who we are…. and for who we are not.  It begins with knowing ourselves, followed slowly by self-acceptance, followed by a steady diet of prayer, mostly of the canned serenity variety:  God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference.

This thread of thoughts is helping me sew up one large loose end that has been hanging and dangling in the wind since Daddy died.  When Daddy decided it was time to tie up loose ends here, I was in the midst of writing a research paper, a  final requirement to complete  my spiritual direction coursework.  But after-wards, words and thoughts wouldn’t come, no matter how much I wanted them to.  The writing part of me  just shut down for a while, that’s all.

But tying up loose ends is very much in my business plans right now.  Both at my sister’s place as well as completing that final bit of writing for class.    Words are finally coming and I’m so happy I could weep.   I go to bed thinking about the project and wake up with new ideas.  Then I write.  Steadily.  I’ve almost got a first draft.

I’m writing on a subject that has attracted me for more years than I can count,  with an eye toward how self-knowledge (specifically, knowing our spiritual type) ties into spiritual direction.  The coupling of spiritual direction and self-knowledge is as old as the hills, of course.  It’s scattered upon most every page of the Bible, from Eve to Noah to Moses to Jonah to Peter to Paul  to Doubting Tom.  Dick and Harry too, I imagine, though their stories never made it to print.

Spiritual direction and self-knowledge are natural  companions, in any encounter between God and humans.  Even beyond the pages of the Bible, we find in  the fourth century B.C. writings of Plato that everyday Greek saying, “Know Thyself”, said to be one of three inscriptions carved into the walls of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi.  The apparent wisdom lying beneath this Greek proverb was this:  seekers had to first know themselves before they could properly apply guidance received from Apollo’s mouthpiece, the priestess called the Pythia.

Then and now, self-knowledge is good soul food and a good meeting place to encounter God.  Tying up loose ends has evolved into a spiritual practice for me, for there is always something of God in it when I’m picking up a loose end.  God knows that loose end will be tied strictly out of love for others:  My husband;  My children:  My sister.

And speaking of my sisters… in that photo at the top, showing my sister’s newly renovated kitchen, where Sis is busy preparing for her first dinner party and I’m busy snapping photos…. well… about those lovely kitchen cabinets.  Would you believe me if I told you that they’re not quite done.  They need another coat of paint.

But just between us — aren’t they pretty anyways?

Sideswiped and Shaken

03 Saturday Jul 2010

Posted by Janell in Life at Home

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

Close Calls, Everyday Life

A jogger ran into this evening.  Literally.

It happened while we were on our way home from a fast-food dinner.  My husband had just stopped our car at the intersection of Northwest 18th and Walker.  We had almost cleared Walker when out of nowhere, a jogger sideswiped us.  He hit our front driver’s side window with enough force to shake our moving car, leaving an imprint of his sweaty forearm.

“What was that?,” I said.

My husband replied.  “Someone ran into the side of us.”

My husband pulled our car to the curb.  We stopped directly in front of the first house on the north side of the block.  My husband rolled down the window to talk with the runner.

“What?  Is he okay? Where is he?”  When excited, one question never does it for me.

Looking into his rear view mirror, my husband said, “He’s behind us.”

The runner was busy taking a photo of our vehicle license plate.   He didn’t make us wait long.  The runner jogged back to the rolled down window, and while continuing to jog in place, started yelling and cursing at my husband.

He began by accusing my husband for f—king running the stop sign.  My husband said, “I did stop.  Did you?  You also had a stop sign.”  My husband pointed his hand at the four-way stop sign at the intersection.  Before crossing 18th Street, the runner should have stopped.

The runner replied, “Pedestrians don’t have to f—ing stop at stop signs.”

The runner was young.  Mid to late twenties, maybe.  Definitely hot and sweaty.  He may have been tired.  By the looks of his ear phones, perhaps he was distracted by whatever device he was listening to.   Was it an I-phone?  Maybe.  It was probably the same device he used to snap that quick photo of our license plate.

Had the runner not been tired and distracted, surely he would have realized that it was he that ran into us.  Not the other way around, as the young runner accused.  Our car doesn’t travel sideways.  Had we hit him, the runner would have been hit by the front of our car.

After a few more cross words, the jogger ran off into the night, continuing his northerly path up Walker Avenue, seeming no worse for his running into us.  By the speed at which he left us, nothing appeared to be injured.  Other than his pride.

I hope he makes it home okay; he was wearing hard-to-see dark jogging attire.  Black, I think.  It would be so easy for any car to hit him — he blends so well with the night.  His parting shot was that he’d be “in touch.”

Was it his words or his tone that I found so ominous?   All that searing.  Raw emotion.  Accusations.  It leaves me feeling threatened.  Shaken.  So sideswiped by his words.

Still, I’m thankful he wasn’t hurt.  If only “our” jogger could feel the same.

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