Tag Archives: Writing

Mountaintop Experience

10 Friday Apr 2009

Posted by in Far Away Places, In the Garden, Life at Home

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We’re spending Easter weekend at a lovely B&B in Eureka Springs.  It’s one of many located on the town’s “historic loop”, a ribbon of road that winds around the mountain top, a steep city block above the quaint collection of old Victorian shops and spas that make up the town’s historic center.  It’s an appropriate place to spend Easter – the ornamental trees and tulips are in bloom and the grass is a lush spring green – the old colorful Victorian homes that nestle in the grass and dot the mountain look like a bunch of colorfully decorated Easter Eggs.   

 

We’re staying at Mt. Victoria Inn, a vestal white virgin three story in the midst of a crowd of ‘Painted Ladies’.  We’re told these old Victorian homes cannot change their paint color without a lot of government red tape.  How long this house has been painted white I do not know.  But I do know that the home was built in 1902 as a home for nuns; so it would not surprise me if it were born white, the same color as the church that sits across the street.

 

This is my second visit to the inn in less than a year.  My first was with Kara when we came blueberry picking last July.  We stayed just one night, but I so enjoyed my visit that I wanted to come back to share it with my husband.  It rained that July and it rained yesterday and today.  All this rain makes for gorgeous gardens.  And for good sleep.   

 

Chris and Lisa are our innkeepers, a down-to-earth couple who take seriously the comfort of their guests.  They’ve done a good job based on all the awards heaped on their little inn.  Even Oprah Winfrey has given them her seal of approval.  But what I most appreciate about Chris and Lisa is that they playfully spat and spit at each other in front of their guests just like they were one of their four cats.  But the way they do this is so comfortable, you’re made to feel like family.  

 

The house is beautifully decorated, filled with Lisa’s family heirlooms.  And the breakfasts prepared by Chris are divine; they are so filling, they allow me to get through my day on two meals.  And yes, in case you’re wondering, I confess to breaking my Lenten fast two days early….  But who’s counting?

  

I remember writing a little bit in my journal when I was here last July.  And now, here I sit again, writing a few words for my blog.  Most of the time I’ve no idea what words will come when I sit down to my keyboard.  Writing mimics life in this way.  Two weeks ago I had no idea I would be sleeping in Eureka Springs tonight.  But writing is the thread that binds together my stays at this B&B, as it binds all the days of my everyday life.  And no matter where I am, writing my life can often become a mountaintop experience.      

  

Quotidian Laundry

08 Wednesday Apr 2009

Posted by in Good Reads, Life at Home

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My dryer is not working so I’ve turned our upstairs bath into a makeshift dryer.  Everyday I hang a new load of laundry on towel and shower curtain rods, and on the shower head and caddy.  With the sun streaming through the west window, the little room quickly becomes saturated with the lovely scent of clean laundry.

 

As I’ve hung clothes this week, I’ve thought of those old clothes lines that use to be a staple in every backyard, long before backyards became outdoor entertaining spaces.  When we redid our backyard a year ago, we created a small utility area to hold my compost tumbler and two large trash cans.  I expressed hope of making room for a small clothes line as well…. but my husband couldn’t imagine how this would mesh with our landscaping plan. Remembering my granny’s clothes line full of sheets and towels and unmentionables flapping in the wind, I thought it might fit in quite nice, as I am planting a cottage garden rather than one more formal.  

 

My next door neighbor still has one of his vintage clothes line poles.  The big letter ‘T” hangs out near our shared fence and I wonder where its twin has gone.  My daughter Kara’s backyard may also have just one clothes line pole.  I wish I could put one and one together and marry them with wire for use in my own backyard.  Then I could once again sleep on crisp white sheets, bleached by the sun, full of that special scent that can only be described as line-dried sheets.  I fear at least half of North America would not know this smell if it hit them in the face, because unlike me, they’ve never  had the pleasure of being near sheets, anchored by clothes pins, flapping them in the face.  An Oklahoma wind doesn’t always play nice, and rarely does it tumble gently.           

 

These words about laundry remind me of a Kathleen Norris book I read six years ago – “The Quotidian Mysteries – Laundry, Liturgy and “Women’s Work.””  My friend Kathy, who once titled herself, the “diva of the dishwasher,” could write words worth reading if she were so inclined,  like this other Kathy whose book she gave me. 

 

I would like to be a ‘diva of the dryer,’ but the repair shop cannot tell me when my part will be in.  Even in this day of high technology and instant communication, some things remain mysterious.  Is this a quotidian mystery as well?   To answer, I must pull out my partially chewed up Merriam Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary, Tenth Edition, which is now a little lighter for the hunk Max took off the corner last Sunday.  And there it is:      

 

“Quotidian:  occurring every day; belonging to every day, commonplace, ordinary.”

 

No wonder I am pulled toward reading this old friend again.  Ms. Norris’ everyday mysteries and my own everyday stories make me think of two clothes poles in two separate yards.  What kind of laundry connects them, if any?  And how in the world could an un-everyday word like quotidian mean everyday?  It is a word worth hanging onto, as I hang our freshly washed laundry on my makeshift clothes lines and wait for the quotidian mystery of a dryer part to show itself.

Empty Nest

07 Tuesday Apr 2009

Posted by in Life at Home, Prayer, Soul Care

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It’s a rare day at home without plans.  The gorgeous day lies before me with endless possibilities.  What will I do?

 

Whatever it is, the day began on a high note when the phone rang and it was Kate Louise.  Phone calls from my daughter Kate are exceedingly rare as her days and nights are full with new life.  In her first year as a registered nurse, she works for an OB-GYN practice in Norman, and when she’s not doing that, she shares life with her new husband Glen and her new step-children Ryan and Tayler and her own two munchkins, Jackson and Karson. 

 

As I listen to her talk about her busting-to-the-seams life, what with baseball and softball practice and games and gymnastics and devoting Saturdays to caring for her step-daughter’s infant, I am reminded of my own history of career woman by day and Suzy Homemaker-by-night, in those days of young adulthood when anything seemed possible if I only worked hard enough, when I measured fullness of life more by the stuff packed in than the stuff unpacked.

 

As I write this, I realize that even now, life is too full.  Why else would I treasure this rare day of having no plans?  My fullness comes no longer from raising money and children, but raising flowers and God consciousness and maybe helping others to do the same, as I undertake plans toward certification in master gardening and in spiritual direction.

 

What is it with certifications anyway?  I am a certified public accountant, though I no longer practice.  When I did, I found certification did not make accountants better than they were before receiving their certificate.  By the same token, I’ve learned from working the master gardening ‘hope desk’ that certification means very little in the way of practical knowledge.   And I imagine it will be no different in serving as another’s spiritual director.  Maybe certification is merely a sort of good housekeeping seal of intention to practice what cannot lead to perfection.     

 

The practice I most enjoy these days is writing.  It’s one of two daily practices that force me to empty and regularly sort through my everyday life.  Both invite me to tiptoe closer to eternity, where time grows so heavy it stops and where busyness has no meaning.  Maybe if I’m lucky, some of my written words will survive my death, and until then, perhaps the clarity they shed will allow me to live larger than life.    

 

It’s ironic that I most enjoy the practices where certifications are not given.  While certifications have inspired others to listen to my words, and even to pay me for them, the best listening happens without want of certifying, as the words written and prayed just naturally seek the right audience.  And maybe my own audience is the most important of them all, as prayer and writing force me to listen to my own life.   

 

I will leave today empty of plans.  And with this intention written and prayed, already a sense of fullness invades.  I scoot over to make room in my nest for something larger than me.