Bookstore Vikings

Strange things happen to me at Barnes and Noble. Perhaps it's because I stay so long the plot catches up? Yesterday I drove to Seattle. The U district had invited Anne Lamott for a reading/book signing for her new book Imperfect Birds. Maureen saw her last week on the east coast. I won't try to capture quotes like she did in her awesome post. I'll be "telling it slant" as Eugene Peterson says. But before I get to her talk, picture this.

A table with a sturdy captain's chair was available. I had a pile of Wendell Berry, because Glynn had piqued my interest a few days ago. Bright Star, a book about a movie made of Keat's love letters to Fanny. A tragedy. Kathleen Norris' Acedia and Me. Eugene Peterson's Tell it Slant. Donald Miller's A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. And three Ambrose Bierce dictionaries; because they were next to Wendell.

I read several books simultaneously. Three books were turned upside down at the place I had stopped reading. A very stern, serious employee came up and asked me if I was done with any of the pile. I told her which she could take away. Huffing, she came back with a handfull of bookmarks. Pointing to the open, face down books she told me to please use bookmarks. The look on her face spoke volumes about my neglect. I apologized, feeling like a naughty four year old.

Anne wasn't scheduled until seven. About five o'clock, a big viking with long blond curly hair and a stuffed backpack pulled up a chair to my table - uninvited. I scooted my piles towards my side. After grooming himself thoroughly, Hagar proceeded to unpack and methodically set up a shrine. Iconic art cards were placed across the halfway mark of the table. Mostly of the Madonna. One looked like Frida. Rosary beads. A thick book on Augustine. And a mystery item on the corner still in its bag.

Hagar fiddled and fussed.  It took quite some time to arrange all of his worn out shrine accroutements. He had a system. It was obvious this was a ritual he had engaged in many times before. Part of me understood. A bookstore is somehow sacred space. But I had never seen it taken to this extreme before. The only thing missing was a candle. The mystery item hadn't shown itself yet. It wasn't time.

I looked him full in the eye with a serious face and said, "Now don't go and take up more than your share of the table buddy, there's the line." He looked startled and timid, for a viking. It made me laugh. Outloud. Finally, when I could breathe, I told him I was teasing him. He looked relieved. I asked if he remembered fighting for space with his siblings. He looked blank as he fiddled with his rosary.

Suddenly, loudly, he started giving me the full history of the Vatican. He expressed concern over the lack of latin services; they were straying from their true beginnings. He tries to find Greek Orthodox services now. They know how to keep it beautiful.

I felt the group of people behind me getting annoyed at this boisterous  monologue. Monologue means only one person is talking. He finally stayed quiet except for the rattling of the mystery bag. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him eating something with a silver spoon. He would lay it down after a bit and pick up his book. Often, he shuckled. At Augustine? Hmmm. Pretty soon he would repeat the sequence. Rosary. Eat. Read. Rosary. Eat. Read. Fiddle, fiddle. Rearrange things. Repeat.

I couldn't concentrate any longer. As I packed up and left, I looked into the bag. I had to know. It was a half gallon of chocolate ice cream. A different kind of communion, for sure.  He didn't offer me any.

This needs to be continued tomorrow. I still have to tell you about Anne.

Choosing to Breathe

Waiting monster 

hangs out underneath 

the bathtub drain

it scares me

when he grabs my

unsuspecting ankle

sucking me down swirling  

to live with him

in dark, suffocating 

misery

kicking loose 

the choke hold 

licking it's lips to 

enslave me

I run outside 

to gulp 

deep breaths of

garden life

gathering dayspring
 basket full of 

manna

just enough

for the wilderness 

today  

Bud to Bloom

Buds wait for warmth when unfolding is safe.

They seem comfortable waiting for their mysterious

future. There is a plan unfurling. They stay put. 

Bloom happens. It always does. Every time. 

I see what these buds will be.

So does he, with me. 

Grape

Scarlet Trillium

Wisteria

Hosta

Tulip

Parfume

This gift of my favorite OLD parfume and bath powder (with a puff) came from my little sister last week. She was excited to have found it online, as it isn't sold in fine stores any longer. She probably spent a small fortune on it. Parfume vs. cologne. The result and the prices match. 

When she was young and impressionable, it was the only scent I wore. It was a signature thing. I felt elegant and sophisticated. It bedazzled her when I would allow her to take out the glass stopper from the  bottle to dab on a drop. She would smell delicious for days if she didn't bathe or wash it off. Real parfume has staying power that blends with your body's natural chemistry and oil. This mingling creates a signature scent, unique, yours alone.

I haven't looked for it, seen it, or thought about it for twenty years or more. Opening it was delightful at first. The box, bottle, and container were familiar, bringing back many memories. Some a bit provocative. 

Gingerly, I dabbed some here and there. Immediately, I felt like throwing up. The memory wasn't matching the reality. My chemistry has changed since way back when! I smelled like an ancient woman trying to conceal some horrible body odor behind the wretched stench of dime store cologne. 

It was scrubbed off with soap as soon as I could manage. The high quality parfume had penetrated my skin like a tattoo. A full sleeve tattoo. I felt pregnant with morning sickness ALL day. Couldn't shake it off. Car sick. Sea sick. 

My little sis called wondering if I was surprised and delighted. Lying wasn't going to work. She is so generous, she would have kept me supplied for the rest of our lives. I would want to be the first to die. Seriously. 

The only thing to do was confess. 

We laughed till tears ran, and changed our minds ~ tainting the memory a smidge. This will be my first and only give away on this blog. You can have the boxed set. I'll pay shipping. I will even pay you to take it. 

I am unable to throw such delicious memories in the trash or thrift store. Save them from such a tragic end? It would be like giving grandma to Goodwill.

Would you like me to send you a sprayed paper sample? [evil grin]

Cling

This grape vine tendril knows to cling is good. It finds strength at the ready when the top gets heavy or winds want to whip it loose from the arbor. It stays fast to its mooring ~ its grounded, planted deep, rooted place. 

Clinginess and clingy seem like unhealthy words. Yet, to cling is wise sometimes:

I cling to the rock that is higher.

I cling to an anchor that steadies. 

I cling to truth that is more than merely what I believe. 

I cling to my marriage vows. 

I cling to covenant friendships. 

I cling to the roots, traditions, and heritage of family. 

I cling to faith. 

I cling to a few unfinished dreams. 

Clinging is different than clutching in fear.  

Ferns Unfolding

Have done 

am doing

will do 

again and again

for

each new season

every next chapter

unfold

till the end 

of a new beginning 

forever open 

I collect specimen ferns for my back yard's native garden beds. They enchant me each spring as they open. If the tender fiddle heads are damaged, they never recover for that season. The next year they start over ~ more maturity brings a more magnificent plant. As they age, they become majestic. Noble. Stunning. Statuesque. Honorable. Stately. Elegant. Regal. Priceless. 

Bees Knees and Me

Pollen swollen legs 

heavy with instinct
spread

pollinate

gather
aching need 

waiting blossom

yearns 

with petals open 

 for tango touch

a gentle dance 

upon her center

 sun days ahead

turn flower to fruit 

  sweet juice drips

leaving

sticky kiss on 

ripe skin

Tune Up

Hard talk last night.

We slide too easily into ruts. 

They get deeper by the day. 

Comfortable, easy grooves where steering isn't necessary. 

Looking ahead isn't important in this track. 

We forget to shake off the stuckness. 

I'm always greedy for more ~ passion and curiosity, 

earnest learning, and my man pursuing me with gusto.

A vibrant marriage takes purposeful intent.

Stimulating conversation needs seeded. 

Passionate physical intimacy needs a new outlook at times. 

It seems demanding to want more than comfortable. 

We remind each other. 

I ask.
We decide. 

Craving more is a compliment to the day we said "I Do". 

We agreed to turn the dial one notch from default. 

It's a new morning. 

Regular tune-ups make engines run forever. 

Maintenance makes marriage more. 

He's revving up his engine, brawny like. 

My motor's purring smooth and steady. 

Ready once again ~ for more. 

Freestyle. 

Invariably, we'll again fall back in another groove.

Need to do it again, again.

And we will, because we like I do's.

Spring and Easter

Craig took me on a tulip field treasure hunt this morning. Rows of tulips in field after field. Red. Pink. Yellow. Purple. Coral. Rainbow fields.

There were clusters of people packed into the farms that charged for parking. Bulging lots with long lines of people trying to 'get in'. We were a bit confused. There were lovely fields all over, bursting with the same color. Free to enjoy. No crowds. Quiet gift.

We needed to stop at the grocery store. Again, there were lines and lines of parents with children crammed in a corner, on the cement parking lot, pretending it was an Easter Egg hunt. I pitied the experience they were having. It was a one dimensional, synthetic caricature of the organic thing. Trading the simple and real, for this commercial, free, industry produced fake. It was chaotic, children were crying. Parents were upset and frustrated.

I felt so sad for them. There might be some of you horrified to think of Easter including pagan symbols of bunnies, eggs, candy, etc. This isn't my point. Loving spring and celebrating resurrection day ~ both are worth taking note of for me. They go together like berry pie and ice cream. :)

We were extremely poor growing up ~ as far as cash flow goes. In the art of living and celebrating though, I'm realizing how rich we were. Mom created a lovely Easter breakfast 'from scratch'. Her best white tablecloth was starched. China and crystal used. Daffodils graced the table. The food offered was a simple, tasty transference of love.

We met to eat together after an early sunrise service. We watched the sunrise, heard a good word, sang a couple songs. Enjoyed nature's crisp new morning in soft whispers of wonder, before gathering around the heavy, crowded table. This table was loud with laughter and lively talk.

The men in the family took great care hiding the eggs we had dyed the night before. Finding them after breakfast made us wriggle in anticipation. They were hidden up in tree branches, down under bushes, and in the grass. Complex spots for the older ones, simpler ones for the younger.

Egg salad sandwiches with colorful veins of accidental color were what we ate most the next week. We only had rainbow sandwiches once a year.

We were never confused about the "Real" meaning of Easter. It didn't detract from the glorious good news. It framed it. Wrapped it with family, memories, play, celebration, and color ~ all in a natural setting.

Relax. Enjoy making a rainbow memory ~ one your children will be able to hold and touch many times over.

What If?

What if we wanted to be with people to know their heart and understand what makes them dance, howl, sing, cry, break, laugh, whistle, hum, pray, and purr?

What if we wanted to listen to their story?

What if we wanted to know what kind of music they liked?

What if we were curious about the books by their bed?

What if we wanted to know the things which left before and after timeline marks on their life?

What if we wanted to know them, instead of their job title?

What if we didn't want to sell them anything or use them?

What if they were a gift for that moment, that day, that time?

What if we enjoyed them and their perspective?

What if we appreciated the value they add to our lives?

What if we wanted to share a meal with them?

What if we needed their advice?

What if we wanted to be with them?

What if we missed them?

What if we told them, or asked?

What if they are waiting for someone to tell their story to?

What if it's me?