Scents & Sensibility

Every year at this time advertising accelerates which means more catalogs and more perfume inserts falling out of them.

Yesterday, I decided to actually sniff at some of these inserts and found myself sidetracked by the naming of perfumes. Long ago, when my dear Mother was braiding my curly hair, there were two perfumes – Jean Nate and Chanel No. 5. She used one or the other to pat down the rosy frizzies crowning my head. Never gave their names much thought. Later on I began to notice other perfumes… Lily of the Valley (not hard to understand), Emeraud (okay…green bottle like emeralds), and then I encountered Tabu – a fascinating name for a fourteen-year-old. Tabu was the first perfume that got me wondering about scents and nonsense. The idea of smelling like something forbidden was quite delicious in my junior-high thinking… as long as that forbidden something actually smelled tolerable.

The years rolled and with them a range of names – some fruity – like Royal Lime and Love’s Fresh Lemon -- with the implications that limey equals royalty and lemons are the scent of love. Then came Love’s Baby Soft – who doesn’t love a baby and they are soft! There was also 4711 which I never understood, except that if Chanel could have a number 5, there were perhaps 4,706 other scents between the two including 1000 De Jean Patou, 12 Couturier, and 273.

There were the flower scents – Fleur de Desirade, Fleur d’Eau, and Fleur D’Interdit as well as the water scents – Cool Water, Eau de Soir and Eau Savage (what do savage waters actually smell like… a Minnesota pond in late August? No sale.)

Moving forward in life, I noticed that perfume naming branched out – Obsession, Compulsion and Secret Obsession hit the market – perfumes which had a corresponding diagnosis code in the Physician’s Desk Reference. Now one could literally, wear one’s issues on one’s sleeve. And then there are the subtle implications of smelling like Intuition, Happy, Splash, Splendour and Sensuous. One can choose between a drop of lofty, laughy or a little naughty.

Then came Eternity and Heaven. Perfume could be a spiritual experience that lifts one’s sight above that of human experience. Clothed in eternity, one hopes to reach heaven so these are scents that seem somehow, relevant.

Which brings us to yesterday. The first fragrance to fall out of the catalog was Unforgivable. What does that mean? Is the person who wears it is beyond forgiveness or is it unforgivable to purchase it – or not purchase it? What does being unforgivable actually smell like? It seems to me that being beyond forgiveness may actually have the scent of death about it. Does anyone actually want to smell that way? Isn’t being unforgivable a scary thing?

Perhaps it is too great a leap to jump from perfume to the Bible – although there was that woman who used a bottle of precious perfume on the feet of Jesus. Jesus was all about forgiveness and it seems He wanted us to be about forgiveness also. The Bible says there is only one thing that is truly unforgivable. I, for one, do not want to be known for that. Yet forgiveness is not a ride on a pink duck (to borrow a phrase) – sometimes it is easy to feel unforgivable and very hard to be forgiving. But do we want to smell Unforgivable?

Have we come to a point in our culture that being the bad man or woman is so alluring that we glorify it and name perfumes after it?

I would like my life to reflect a different aroma – perhaps a perfume called Integrity or Compassion or Faithfulness or Gentleness – but those fragrances are not to be found at the perfume counter and I wonder… Why?

The answer was found in the next fragrance leaflet falling from the catalog.

It was called I Am King.

Google Analytics...

... do you have google analytics?

It is that helpful little program that fills one's life with all sorts of interesting statistics. For example, this evening I clicked on analytics and found a red 43.6 percent with a downward arrow. (Insert sad face.)

But my favorite part of the reporting is going in a bit further to read about visitors (Don't worry, it does not divulge the identity of blog visitors-- you, dear reader, may remain anonymous!) There are interesting stats, graphs, maps and categories -- the best of which is entitled:
Absolute Unique Visitors.
Isn't that a wonderful label?

After all, most people are absolutely unique in some way. It is a privilege to discover exactly what is unique about each person.

As we enjoyed an evening with good friends tonight, listening, laughing and sharing stories, I looked around the table and was struck with the uniqueness of each friend. We have different interests, backgrounds, and life experiences and yet the delight of being together, catching up and relating as a group was rich and satisfying.

In the analytics of my heart, the evening will be recorded as 100 percent with an upward arrow. I am so grateful for the gifts of authentic relationships, laughter, and the love of friends!

15 Years of Thankful...

This is a significant day in our lives -- I am so thankful for the last 15 years. The ups and downs, the crazy pace, the people-packed years, the love, giggles, sobs, sighs, struggles, triumphs -- they add up and spill over with the sheer joy of knowing you are there, morning after morning, day after day, year after year.

You know who you are... and why I'm so thankful.

I'll keep showing up, as long as you are there!

H., H., T., M.,

L

Giving Thanks at All Times in All Places

Poised on the edge of great gratitude, the world news pops up on your screen and you read about violence in India... or just before bed, your stepson pops into the kitchen with a long face to tell you that one of his young colleagues was randomly, murdered last night on the way home from rehearsal. And the great swell of gratitude on Thanksgiving eve -- enhanced by the fragrance of freshly baked pie -- turns into a swamp of stinky despair and questions.

There are no answers for this type of evil and the contrast between this and the great feast we are about to enjoy in the name of thankfulness simply boggles the mind.

Yet we are called to give thanks... and when we can not -- when the journey is too incomprehensible we find it hard to mark the day with anything but sadness.
Gratitude is a choice.
When I do not feel it. I will do my best to choose it... and leave the rest to the One who already holds the outcome to all things in His holy hands.

Handel's Messiah

This evening, it was a privilege to hear the Kansas City Symphony and Chorus perform Handel's Messiah. No matter how many times I hear it, the music and words move my spirit. Coming away, the night air was brisk -- there was quiet... but the memory of the music pulsed in head and heart. Is there a better gift than music -- especially the music that sounds through corridors of time?

I'm grateful!

Whoops! Blogging... I Forgot!

Apologies Dear Readers (all 17 of you!) I fell out of cyber space for a time and forgot all about blogging. Hate when that happens.

Picking back up on the gratitude theme, tonight is brought to you by the letter W.
This evening I am thankful for:
word games -- especially the win-able ones...
warm home on a chilly night
wonderful siblings -- they each deserve their own entry, coming soon to this blog
wool sweaters, especially the soft ones
wonder that fills the mind
windows which give perspective on the world and
wisdom from above -- always just when needed, never too late

Thanksgiving is coming... my all time, favorite holiday... blue plates, best eats ever and bubbling over with happy memories of family and special friends. Wonderful!

List Interrupted But Gratitude Continues

Interrupted by life, there are times one falls off the blogbox, but the gratitude continues to pile up.

A few more remarkable things for which I am grateful:

• vitality (when I feel it)
• robust health (especially when I don't have it!)
• freedom
• having meaningful work AND
• being paid to do meaningful work!
• blogs that inspire new thoughts -- or old thoughts about important subject
• blogs that make me laugh
• singing hymns -- in my heart and sometimes, out loud
• the gift of a piano in my home
• the intelligence and compassion of my family, especially my dear Mother -- she deserves her own post and one of these days, she'll have it
• friends who will not let me rest, until I've seen a doctor
• friends who bring chicken soup, jello and all manner of soothing eats when one of us is ill
• phone messages that remind us we are loved
• the little personal notes my husband writes on the grocery list in between peanut butter and paper towels
• facebook! (also on the list of things I hate... facebook! so perhaps it cancels itself out -- but on the positive side, how amazing to connect with people from 20+ years ago!)
• Psalms
• my five-year-old neighbor who refreshes my perspective with her enthusiastic outlook
• a down comforter on a chilly night
• hot tea + lemon juice + honey --- and the ahhhhhhh it brings
• Jeff's chapel talks and the faith that prompts them
• finished projects!! (thank you K, S, M, M, C and C for the gift catalog... significant accomplishment for all)
• kindred-spirit colleagues/friends

Giving thanks... for all these things and more!

Thankful for the Skidlets...

My life was changed forever the day I met these three amazing little people...

...who grew into these three delightful musketeers...

... who one day became these three admired and much-loved friends.







I am so grateful for Stephen, Meredith and Jeffrey!
Giving thanks for them and because of them... with great love!

The Blessing of Special Friends

What could be better than a friend -- someone with whom to laugh, cry, work, play and pray? Today I am grateful for my friend, Kristin -- for her joy and humor, for her creativity and curiosity, and for her honesty. Her undivided heart is an inspiration. Her smile lights up any room. This fine friend blesses my life!

We Interrupt This Listing for a Brief Rant

Tattoos

Why?

I simply do not understand.

Number 13. Changing Seasons

Have you ever noticed how people avoid the number 13? Some buildings don't have a 13th floor. Some folks won't sit row 13 on and aircraft (and some aircraft don't even have a row 13.) In the midst of all this gratitude, I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable by showing up in the number 13 spot, so... let's give thanks for someTHING! I am thankful for the changing seasons, especially Fall. There's nothing quite like waking to a crisp morning, colored leaves and that special something in the air.(No, I do not mean mold and pollen.) Here's a little poem for Fall

Falling

Flipping their crimson curls,
the trees shake their heads.
Burgundy, gold and brown leaves
float farewells
through crisp air.
Against a balsam backdrop,
the true-blue sky
sings of summer.
But the wind,
nipping at the waves,
whispers “change!”

Number 12 - The Bookies!!

When counting things that count in life, books are important, but relationships are always on top of the list. I am so grateful to be part of this little knot of women (and now, one man has also joined us) who meet once a month to discuss books we've read. Perhaps being part of a book club has become a bit of a cliche -- but really, who cares? I love the Bookies! It is refreshing to read books (mostly good ones, but there have been a few not-so!) and then have meaningful conversations about the impact the stories had on our lives.

We've read many books in the years we've been together... classics, contemporary fiction, and yes, even some biographies. I am grateful that the Bookies taught me to appreciate biographies.
We have different tastes and are sometimes at different stages in our lives, but that simply adds to the interest of the group. A few members have come and gone, but basically we have the same core group and there is never a break in the conversation. Silence is not a problem for any of us.

Sometimes there have been challenges in organizing -- we all have different ideas about what to read. There have been years when it's been all spelled out in advance, months where each person takes a turn selecting, times when we examine the lists of other groups and periods where we float from month-to-month, searching for the next big idea. The group is not overly thematic, overly structured, overly serious -- but each person has ideas and all ideas seem to be welcome.

Who are the Bookies? Well, there is Dolores (a movie expert exactly my age!) brimming with life and vigor, there's Jean with her hilarious sense of humor (not to mention tennis player extraordinaire with good taste in greeting cards!), there's Ruth (world renown composer!) the most thoughtful of our group and able to argue all sides of a dilemma but end up right where she needs to be, there's St. Lyn (our best-dressed-glamour gal), who in spite of a hectic family schedule and caring for an aging parent, always has time to look up good context and tie in other themes. And then there is Carl (famous concert pianist), our token person of the male gender who was reading-all-of-the-books-anyway-and-sending-his-comments-via-his-dear-wife so really he was part of the group all along and we love him!

This is a small but mighty band of intellectual giants who make the first Thursday of each month something special. Surely, there is no topic this group could not conquer... with style! The Bookies are truly a gift -- and I'm grateful.

1 Listed, 999 to Go!

Working on the thousand gift list today, I began to notice many small things that inspire gratitude, like:
2. The way light filters through the bedroom curtains just after dawn
3. The crisp, cool morning and damp grass on bare feet
4. Freshly painted woodwork in the family room,
5. The furiously wagging tail and look on our beagle's face first thing in the morning
6. The taste of fresh juice... really fresh juice
7. A bouquet of sunflowers on the kitchen table
8. Being surrounded by books...lots of books... and more books -- there's something about books
9. The 'laurel blue' linen curtains in my office -- such a soothing color
10. My tattered Bible with post-its and book marks falling out of it

And then there are the big gifts -- such as the one mentioned yesterday -- the big, transforming, wonderful gifts of special people.

11. Today I am grateful for my Dad, Ernie-Bert -- the big-hearted, giant of a man who is so loved and missed. He would have celebrated is 86th birthday this year. September 20, his birthday, passed unmentioned for the first time -- an oversight that now hurts my heart.

He died in January 1997, after a long and debilitating illness. But what a life he had! He had an amazing ability to relate to people, was at once tough-minded and kind-hearted, and truly looked at life in a unique way. His sense of humor, punctuated by "ernieisms' brought light and laughter to just about everyone he met.

He was not just a father, but also a friend -- walking with me through some of life's darkest hours. He was present in my life, when presence was the greatest gift of all. From him I learned both who I am and whose I am.

I am so grateful for his life and his legacy.

Now, let's get this show on the road and wind things down....

An Exercise in Gratitude

The Thousand Gifts

Fall is a favorite season, bringing many gifts with it -- crisp mornings, breezy treezies, and a sense that everything is on the move. Along with all the seasonal changes, October ushers in a time focused on harvests, celebrations, and giving. (And lest we get lost in a autumnal bubble of nostalgia, it is accompanied by great expectations and a lot of hard work.!)

Recent thoughts have led me to consider how to Do Differently This Year. Through a friend's blog, I stumbled upon another person's concept of building a "gratitude community" -- which starts with citing a list of the thousand gifts for which one is most grateful.

Interesting concept, don't you think?

Why not start today. Here is the first of the most wonderful gifts I've ever received:

Having David as my husband is truly a gift. He is a man brimming with energy, enthusiasm, humor, compassion and spiritual depth.

Like every family, we have experienced the ups and downs that pave life's journey. But what a privilege it is to travel with someone who is a co-pilgrim and true, best friend!

I am so grateful for this gift!

Once Upon A Time...There Was A Little Boy

...who dreamed dreams of cowboys, heroes, baseball players and movie stars.

He outgrew the horse, the boots, his baseball uniform, but never stopped hoping, planning, working and dreaming.

One day... his dreams came true.

So proud to be both family and friend!

Here's to you, Stephen...

Never stop dreaming!

Please go see it, folks.

http://www.allroadsleadhomethemovie.net/

Politicians & Promises

Is anybody else tired of the constant stream of rhetoric, unsolicited political emails, biased news articles, and attack-mode advertisements?

The pitch of politicians has inspired me to make a few promises of my own. From now on:

• I promise to delete unread, any political email sent to me by any political party or candidate on any political topic.
• I promise to recycle unread, any political articles and ads in the newspaper and in magazines.
• I promise to change the channel when any political pitch hits the airwaves in my car.
• I promise to mute the sound when a political advertisement is broadcast on television.

In short, I want all the character-slamming innuendo that is being called a presidential campaign out of my sight, out of my hearing and out of my thinking -- because the negativity is driving me out of my mind.

If there is a candidate that would simply stand up and say, "this is who I am, this is what I believe, this is what I will do..." I would vote for that person.

Or wait a minute -- maybe not. Because maybe that is what they are doing already. Maybe who they are, what they believe and what they will do is exactly what they are already saying and doing.

A sad discovery!

Thoughts in the Night

Rethinking facebook...
It is addictive.Yet with every passing day,there is an unsettling loss growing within. Logging on, I'm immediately met with updates on my myriad of 'friends' -- people I know (and some I want to know) but don't really know. Their numbers grow, providing a false perception of relational-ism -- they are my 'friends' -- but what do I really know about them? Other than knowing that they are 'contemplating the universe" or "taking a break" or "happy for the weekend."

Two friends overseas actually talk about life in a different culture and the pictures of friends at a distance are good reminders. But the vast majority of these 'friendships' are spread out over a thin veneer of depth. There is no requirement to invest in their lives beyond benign comments. I don't know their joys and sorrows. We are not pilgrims together, finding meaning along life's path.

Rather, we are glib, cyber-drive-by-commenters skimming the surface of life. It makes me -- not bitter -- but deeply sad -- this psuedo sharing of the insignificant.

We dare not ask the hard questions like:
What does life mean?
Why am I here?
How can I make a difference?

Instead we feature new notches on our friend belts, snapshots, games, flair buttons and lists of where we've been.

I am the worst offender of relationship-lite!

But every night, in the half-light between wake and sleep, there is a pinch of sadness --
for not encouraging my friend in her faith journey,
for forgetting to affirm the young mom who puts family first,
for sending 'I-heart-you' buttons to the niece who would do better with personal attention.

Facebook -- merely faces with books that gloss over the real stuff of life and relationship. I'm not giving up on it, but...

...let there be more than this, is my prayer,
...let us be truly present,
...let us make even a small difference that resounds in eternity
...let it be so!

Halcyon Days

what riches --

waking to sherbet sunrise,

hearing deer dance on

broken branches

as they make their

way to water,

watching leaves

flutter their 'good morning'

to the sky.

what wealth --

witnessing light

that flirts with

liquid lake

at midday.

what treasure --

listening as

loons call

fond farewells

as day slips below

honeyed horizon.

There was also This, This, and This

What Happened to Summer?

Where did August go? I don't know... just looked up and it was September. All ideas about blogging were left in a cloud of good intentions as the woods called my name! But it was good -- so good!

The Wild Woods

The orderly part
of this perfectionist
would manicure
the wild woods,
correcting corners
where tree fall
mars magnificent views.
But the wild woman
knows in her soul
that as things have
always been
they shall be,
and true beauty
includes moss,
moisture,
hollow logs
and yes,
mosquitoes.

Vacation Songs

Ditch is dense with daisies --
bright faces,
pristine collars.
Intent on collecting a share
to shimmer up
my woodland table,
I fail to notice
just beyond my bent form
a fragile fawn
comes slowly forward,
as if she recognizes
the Collector of All Things Orphaned--
puppies,
posies,
people.
Locking looks
we recognize each other,
motherless child and
childless mother.

Songs From The Road

Travels lead to many places, outside and in. Often, it seems one repeats the same journey--but careful observation reveals new ways of seeing, understanding, being. Here's one from the road...



The Journey

Ribbon of road rises before,
lifts sight,
connects earth and air.
No separation between
path and perspective
as though the journey
from here to heaven
holds horizon
as translucent,
passable,
simple as
next step.
I have traveled this road
and more.
Once knew it well,
but now see
beyond blue
in the sky of your eyes.

Poems in the Night

Full Circle


darkness
waiting
light comes
cresting over
life’s horizon
I should be content
with gentle glimmer
soft sigh of sky streak
rosy ribbon rising
but I long for
bursting brightness
shimmering, shocking, shining
juice, joy, justice
life’s horizon
cresting over
light comes
waiting
darkness

High Winds

It was a dark and scary night... last night. Storms ripped through the city, leaving broken branches mostly. One area a bit north of here had something touch down. The ever-present precipitation predictors could not decide whether (weather??) it was a tornado or not. (Now there's blog-rant potential -- television weather types manufacturing news. But then, that is not in keeping with the new Fill-In-The-Number Days of Optimism. So, no going there!)

Back to the weather. The first time I visited Kansas City was nearly 15 years ago. Storms were raging that week as well. High winds, rain, twisters, flooding -- a spectacular display. But even that drama could not compare with being swept away by someone I met here. Life was never again the same. He still sweeps and the storm continues.


Tornado Time


Temperature plunging
High winds
Hail
You enter my life like
A fast moving storm
Whipping up all the dirt and debris
On this dry patch of ground
My heart

Marks and Scars

It has been a while... The forty days of optimism stretched into many more than that and continue to weave a fresh pattern in the fabric of my life. Lately, the topic of brokenness has been on my mind. We all experience it. We all have choices about what we do with it -- how we use it.

One of my favorite books is Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan. It's not on the New York Times best seller list -- in fact it's not new at all. It's not a fast-paced, action-oriented potential script for a Hollywood movie. But it is something that keeps drawing me back, year after year. A favorite character is Mr. Valiant For Truth. As his pilgrimage draws to a close, he offers some parting thoughts. Here is the well-loved excerpt:

"After this it was noised abroad that Mr Valiant-for-truth was taken with a Summons by the same Post as the other, and had this for a Token that the Summons was true, That his Pitcher was broken at the Fountain.

When he understood it, he called for his Friends, and told them of it. Then said he, I am going to my Father's, and though with great difficulty I am got hither, yet now I do not repent me of all the Trouble I have been at to arrive where I am.

My Sword I give to him that shall succeed me in my Pilgrimage, and my Courage and Skill to him that can get it. My Marks and Scars I carry with me, to be a witness for me that I have fought His battles who now will be my Rewarder.

When the day that he must go hence was come, many accompanied him to the Riverside, into which as he went he said, Death, where is thy Sting? And as he went down deeper he said, Grave, where is thy Victory?

So he passed over, and all the Trumpets sounded for him on the other side."

There it is -- that line that makes me tear up every time, "My Marks and Scars I carry with me, to be a witness for me that I have fought His battles..."
Everything else was given away, but the marks and scars -- the defining experiences, emotions, events that left visible evidence were carried on as a reminder that there was a greater purpose.

The marks and scars of my own life -- like those of may other people -- are deeply carved on my spirit. They are not beautiful, nor poetic, but they have deep meaning and are continually at work shaping who I am and how I relate to other people. The important thing seems to be not what they are as much as what they mean, whose battles they represent, and how I allow God to use them for purposes that may have nothing to do with me.

As the years unfold, one begins to realize that it is not our wholeness, but our brokenness, not our perfection but our imperfections, not our successes but our missteps that set our pilgrim feet on the path to true fulfillment. Brokenness and imperfections and missteps are not the fun part of the journey -- especially in the immediate experience. But in the restoration of those things, in the realization that experience (even the heart-shattering kind) can be redeemed, we find the real juice and joy of life which is getting out of ourselves and aligning our purposes with those of One with scarred hands and feet.

40 Days of Optimism

In the Christian tradition, Lent is the 40-day period that represents a time of prayer, fasting, and self examination leading up to the celebration of Easter. A time of preparation, it provides opportunity for reflection and self denial. Lent traditionally commemorates the 40 days that Jesus spent in the desert -- that time of temptation and testing of faith and commitment. Different faith flavors embrace their own details concerning Lent, but most come down on the side of making ready and making room for Easter. In simplest terms most agree that Jesus was tempted with demonstrating his power (doubting his position), pride (questioning his confidence in God's provision), and significance (challenging his importance). In each situation, Jesus responded by reciting scripture. Not being a theologian, these are rough interpretations -- but interpretations that speak to some basic human insecurities nonetheless.

As a lifelong PresbyLutheran with Scottish and Norwegian roots, every year. for the last 40 or so, I have tried to take the idea of Giving-Up-of-Self during this time period very seriously. Annually, this effort has extended to three or four days -- five at a maximum. Frankly, it is exciting at first. Doing without chocolate, ice cream, steak -- loses its romantic charm in less than a week and soon, the idea of treats or a substantial meal becomes more of a focus than sacrifice. It isn't long before the idea of preparation flies out the window faster than one can say cupcake.

This year, my desire was to come up with a sacrifice that was truly significant. After much reflection, the thought came to me that one of the biggest challenges might be giving up my propensity to analyze and complain about people, circumstances and Life In General. (A very cushy life, by most standards.) A confession here -- I did consider giving up going to the grocery store in my bedroom slippers. But that seemed superficial. Taking a deep breath and whispering a God-help-me-prayer, my mission became: to give up complaining.

More Cynic than Saint, my stubborn nature predicted that this might last about 12 hours. But I decided to give it a sincere try. In order to increase my chances of fulfilling this Impossible Dream and curious about what it might accomplish, I asked myself, "What would it take to ensure success?" And the answer seemed to be -- prayer, perseverance and a whole lot of accountability. So, I enlisted the help of God and a few other friends.

My best-friend-step-daughter was the first person who heard me out. Her response was, "What a great idea! You are launching a journey into Forty Days of Optimism!" That young-old-soul-wise -woman possesses unique perspective. Fresh in her faith, she really inspired me to a deeper commitment. Further, I shared this with a few colleagues and asked them to call me on any slip ups.

Lent is not complete yet -- it culminates on the Saturday before Easter, but already, I have experienced at least a dozen Little Easters as a result of this journey. It has not been without a bit of stumbling and staggering; it has not been without daily (and sometimes hourly) prayers for persistence; it has not been with out much tongue-biting. In certain ways, the challenges that have come my way have been greater than ever before -- ill health, unfulfilled plans, mistakes. But these days since Ash Wednesday have resulted in some of the most profound, transforming experiences in my recent life. It has sent me on regular treasure hunts for those things that are going well, for those things that are life-affirming, for those things that lift people (and me) above life's lowest common denominator. Those Things are all around us -- look deep and you will find them.

Yes, there are still bleak moments in life. There is sadness. There is imperfection. There is evil. But without becoming too glib or superficial -- the promises of God come alive in new ways when we look through the lenses of appreciation. Somehow, the giving up has become a perpetual means of receiving -- more than I ever "asked for or imagined."

The story is not over. Can't wait for the next chapter!

One of Them

Yesterday spun out of control. After a week away, unanswered emails totalled 97. Add in 17 unreturned calls and three telephone meetings on the schedule and voila -- an outline of the work day. The tyranny of the urgent was upon me, punctuated by a small mountain of undone laundry, dust galore and a nearly-empty pantry (which would be another great blogrant because what most of us consider an empty pantry would constitute a feast for 2/3 of the world!)

In addition, yesterday was the day appointed to install new tile in the laundry room -- the freshly painted laundry room, thanks to my wonderful, handy-man-husband. In the last several months we have become quite the do-it-yourself-ers... well, he has anyway. In my case it has been more the 'watch-it-happen-while-he-does-it-himself' with the occasional 'hand-him-the-_____ (wrench, pliers, light bulb, paint brush)' role. But back to the tile-- the tile installation was to be my small contribution to the gradual transformation that he is accomplishing in our home. We finished about 7:00, all but the crooked crannies, which were his, upon which to wield his magic.

At 7:30, it seemed as though we might need food, so I bundled up and headed into the night -- hunting and gathering on my mind. Realize, dear Reader, that this red-headed-rick-rack-girl has always, always been concerned about the way things look. Clothes, hair, shoes -- the total package communicates many things from respect to style (or lack thereof!). It is rare to leave the house without at least a thought toward appearance. (And there are reasons for that, having been in Public Life where the smallest wardrobe infraction is subject to critical comment.)

But last night was different. Last night was about one tired out gal jumping in the car, dashing into the store for supplies and rushing back to the refurbished nest in hopes of throwing in a load of laundry before pumpkin-time.

It was at the check out counter that the most egregious of errors was noticed. Dropping the car keys and reaching to retrieve them, my heart skipped a beat as my eyes focused in on the toe of my... bedroom slippers. Oh dear! I have become one of Those Women. Bedroom Slippers In The Grocery Store. Things have gone too far. My white-gloved Grandmother would have swooned. I died a thousand deaths in that moment -- face burning with a stealthly look around to see if Anyone Had Noticed.

Hmmm... no one was looking. There was one person in line eyeing my purchases, but otherwise no interest. Slipping out to the car, glad for the cover of darkness, I unloaded my cart and headed for the safety of home.

It is a downhill slide from here. This morning found me at my desk by 8:45... in a track suit! Yesterday the slippers, today sweat pants and who knows -- perhaps pj's tomorrow. And flip flops! What is the world coming to -- or should I say, to what end is the world coming? Isn't it nice to know that No One is Looking? Isn't it refreshing that the inside matters more than the outside? Isn't Life Grand?

Currency of the Heart

some spend wildly,
lavishing descriptors to purchase
attention.
some hoard wealth,
privately counting the cost of the meanest
expenditure.
some watch and wait,
measuring the return before
investment.
squander,
simper,
sequester,
words are the currency of the heart.

La Pintura de Dios

Perched above the Pacific this afternoon, light lingered over the water as waves beat steady time on the shore. Silence raised her head between the surround sound of surfers and seagulls. Time suspended, except for the in and out of breath.

Walking back from the beach through a maze of casitas, a blue and white message was baked into pristine tiles..."La pintura de Dios es el mundo."

Strolling through God's gallery, is there anything better?

Poems

Love words. Love poetic expression. (Although my mother would remind me, one cannot love inanimate objects or abstract ideas. Oh well -- she is also the person who with disgust, corrected me for using the word 'fun' too much... but that is for another blogrant.) Began writing poems at the age of 12 -- really bad ones. Continued through the years -- hopefully better ones. This one was written in April 2006 and posted on a poetry blog I'd started. Became friendly with some of the other poet bloggers. Then I noticed that one person had 'borrowed' some of my poetic expressions -- flattery or thievery? Not sure which, but bothersome. Finally came to the place where I learned to let go of my little wordchildren and fling them out there, regardless of the result.


Inblognito

fling and furl
words
out into the great
cyber abyss
capturing consciousness
describing destinations
finding feelings
poking at pasts
testing tomorrows
meandering through meanings
what do all these
rants
really represent
except
a way of writers
traveling
inblognito
known only
through the
random reactions
of resonating readers
who
ooo, aah, argue, exclaim --
new definition
of community
a bringing together
in this
falling apart world

Ordinary Genius?

Last night while perusing the aisles of a local book store, The Einstein Factor by Win Wenger and Richard Poe caught my eye. The first chapter begins with the simple question, "Are You A Genius?"

"Each of us does indeed possess a thinking machine vastly superior to our
feeble conscious minds. The mathematician John von Neumann once
calculated that the human mind can store up to 280 quintillion -- that's
280,000,000,000,000,000,000-- bits of memory...Estimates of the brain's
speed of operation have ranged from 100 to 100,000 teraflops ( a teraflop is
1 trillion flops, the standard measure of computing speed.) Compare that
speed to the world's fastest supercomputer... which clanks along at an
arthritic 100 gigaflops or 100 billion flops..."

Wow John von, I've heard of a gazillion, but had no idea about a quintillion (much less 280 of them). And teraflops, well the concept of 1 trillion flops is one with which I can identify!

The book goes on to discuss Einstein and his early life -- he was considered a slow starter and learned with difficulty, had poor language skills, suffered from dyslexia and in his mid-twenties "seemed destined for a life of mediocrity."

Apparently, his ability to freely imagine, "unrestrained by conventional inhibitions" was what enabled him to develop his brilliant theories.

Surely, we all have untapped intellectual resources hiding within... but could it be (as the authors propose) "that geniuses are little more than ordinary people who have stumbled upon some knack or technique for widening their channel of attention, thus making conscious their subtle, unconscious perceptions."

Could it be?

What an intriguing thought.

Bought the book.
Reading it now.
Storing up a few quintillion bits that may increase my teraflopping... but the jury is still out.

Red Hair & Rick Rack Teeth

From childhood, I have struggled with being different. Perhaps every child feels this way at some point. One of my earliest memories dates back to first grade-- a middle child, I had a difficult transition going to school. I felt lost, alone and beset with anxieties. My fair skin and carrot-colored hair set me apart from the other children. And the hair was not only fiery, but curly and red. Every day in preparation for school, Mom would dip a comb in Jean Nate cologne and try to coax my curls into pigtails or braids. Adding to the frizzy locks were a light dusting of freckles and two partially empty spaces where my front teeth used to be. Where there'd once been tiny pearls, two ragged teeth inched their way down toward my lip.



One day Dad came home from work and found me crying at the kitchen table... not just sniffling and snuffling, all out wailing. My heart was broken. At recess that day, a couple of the little boys began taunting me about my hair. I was strong and brave about it, until I hit the front door. Not long after that, Dad walked in and using his most consoling tone, inquired, "What on earth has happened?" Flinging my wet and weeping self into his arms I said, "Oh Daddy, I am never going to have any friends because of this dumb old red hair and these stupid rick rack teeth!"



There it was, the terrible truth. I had met the enemy, it was genetic, and there was not a thing that I could do about it.



Later, this little incident took on mythological proportions in our family. The story was told and retold with much hooting and hollering... always, there was a little pinch in my spirit when I heard the laughter. But, this is how I came to be called Rick Rack.



The years have polished that little person from tip to toe. She learned to conform to the standards of what the world calls acceptable. But somewhere inside, that same little girl sits with head held in the temple of her hand and weeps for being other.