Wings

This morning, Liturgy for the feast of Saints Peter & Paul. But as often happens, the words of the festal hymns are not what catch my ear, but the words of the Psalmist. Today it was from Psalm 55 from the Hours:

"Oh, that I had wings like a dove! I would fly away and be at rest."

It feels like a sigh. In the middle of confusion and strife, a deep exhale and desire for calmness. What strikes is the particular bird- the dove. It's not the strong wings of a hunting eagle, the broad wings of a stork or pelican. No, it's the small grey wings of a dove that are wanted. Delicate, quiet, suited for finding a safe hiding place.

I sit for a time, imagining my wings beating, feeling the wind whistle through my hair/feathers. The sounds of my own "raging wind and tempest" drop away until I am flying through a wood, looking for a safe place. And there it is: a quiet branch in a maple tree, very high up. Dappled sunlight comes in through the leaves as I perch, feeling my heart slowing down. And I rest, feeling the maple's slight sway and hearing only its rustle in the breeze.

Chronicles of Exploration

Monday. My weekly day off... which means more urban exploration.

Last week was all about nature- discovering the green spaces in my new habitat.

Today, I went for the exact opposite. The most artificial, self-induglent, ridiculous place:

The Mall of America.

(cue horror film organ music)

I hate shopping. I loathe shopping. (For explanation, see post on May 25). But I want something new to wear to a wedding next week, and had found nothing at my local mall. So, I girded up my emotional loins, ready for the worst.

But you know what? I enjoyed myself. Despite the artificiality, the crowds, and the over-whelming size of the place, I enjoyed myself. And it all comes down to one word: choice.

As a plus-size shopper, most malls can offer very little. There will be the obligatory women's section of a department store, filled with clothes that can only be described as matronly. And there will be Lane Bryant, whose clothes, while trendy/stylish, are typically quite immodest. On a typical shopping day I feel caught between a muumuu and a halter top, and typically leave empty handed and frustrated.

But today- blissful choice. I loved being able to say, "Could you hold this for me? I want to visit a few more stores."

I accomplished my mission, leaving with a new dress meeting all personal standards (modesty, attractiveness, price, suitability for the occasion, and potential for long-term, multi-seasonal use).

I even avoided temptation: I didn't try on the Ralph Laurens calling my name, knowing them to be out of financial reach. I didn't try on a simply heavenly, shimmery dress destined for a New Year's Eve party that seemed made for yours truly- cut, color, style, everything just what I like. Just seeing it hanging there was a treat.

But best of all- for once I wasn't bothered by all those stores that I can't shop at. Their presence didn't matter- they were there for other people's choices- I had my own.

The Billy Graham of the Environment

Saw An Inconvenient Truth last night, Al Gore's flick about global warming. It had two big messages: a) Global warming is a serious threat/problem that needs attention now and b) follow Al Gore.

Inbetween footage of Gore giving his lecture on the topic (which he's presented extensively), is interspersed long segments about Gore himself- what got him fired up about the topic, why he feels so driven. But the basic message is that we should all listen to and follow him. Oh, and the reason things are environmentally so bad is because we elected somebody else president.

The thing is- I like the first message. I agree that human beings ought to be better stewards of the earth. I believe that part of being a Christian is taking care of God's creation; "It's a moral responsibilty," Al says, and I concur.

What's frustrating to me is that environmental issues sit at the opposite end of the political spectrum as human life issues. To me- these things go hand in hand. The reason I don't support abortion, doctor-assisted suicide, embryonic stem-cell research and capital punishment is the same reason I support environmental causes: because I believe in the sanctity of life.

But there's no political place for me- it seems like one or the other at the voting booth. So how do you pick? How do you say which is more important?

Does anybody else feel the same way?

Sometimes

Sometimes, very rarely, cats do what you'd like them to.

Sometimes, when you need them to just lay quietly on your lap, they will.

Sometimes, when you can't stand sleeping alone in that bed one more night, they will keep you company.

They won't knock over the cup of water on your nightstand. They won't play tag on the bed with your shoulders as base. They won't tickle your cheek with their whiskers to see if you're awake.

Sometimes, they'll just lay there right next to you and not crowd you.

And sometimes, just that little tiniest bit of a presence- it is enough.

More silliness

I'm sorry- I couldn't resist. After giggling over the bushtit (see previous post), I have compiled a list of funny bird names- all from here, along with great pictures.

1) Shy albatross- poor thing, he can't help being shy.
2) Gnatcatcher- is not living up to her name here in MN
3) Bufflehead- sounds like something from Harry Potter
4) Wandering tattler- must nest in church basements
5) Black-legged kittiwake- hide, kitties, hide... Oh, no, it's the black legged kittiwake!!!
6) Loggerhead shrike- sounds like what surly husbands call their wives over beers at the pub
7) Buff-breasted sandpiper- Well, if it woudn't wear such low-cut clothing, we wouldn't know the color, now would we?
8) Red-eyed Vireo- spends to much time looking at the buff part of #7
9) Prothonotary warbler- show-off
10) Vesper sparrow- very Orthodox. The males are probably bearded, the females wear kerchiefs.

Exploring

With all the laundry done and the apartment clean, I had a rambling morning for my day off yesterday. I woke early, put on my sneakers, slathered on the sunscreen and bug spray. First I headed into the city to visit the Stone Arch Bridge- an old bridge over the Mississippi that is open to non-motor traffic only. It's part of a trail that follows one side of the river, then crosses over the bridge, goes back up the other bank and then crosses over another bridge, giving excellent views of Nicollet Falls and Nicollet Island.

Towards the end of my circuit, with my car in view, I spotted a wooden staircase heading down, and assumed it was leading to some small footbridges and paths river-level I'd seen from above. So I descend, letting the trees and foliage wrap around me. The city drops away- the sounds become muted and then disappear, along with the buildings and factories. At the bottom of the stair, a dirt footpath presents itself. It is narrow, with bushes and trees dipping branches in the way- obviously not used often.

I tumble along, wondering where I'll end up, when suddenly I pop out into open sunshine onto a small bridge and within 10 feet of a heron perched on the railing. I stop short and barely have time to register a second heron nearby before both take off- gliding down to rest on another bridge lower down.

I tramp again- over the bridge and back into the vegetation, which is denser than before. I clamber over rocks, duck beneath branches, stumble down a bit before popping out on the next bridge. The heron is still there- it eyes me for a moment, before flying off, squawking at me angrily (not a very pretty squawk).

My sighting inspired me to try and discover what exactly this bird was, so I've been surfing this morning. A heron is my best guess, though I'm not sure what type. But along the way I got a good chuckle over some of the common names for birds.

Here's my favorite: a bushtit. (Doesn't it give you a naughty little giggle?)

Incidentally, a bushtit looks like this:

Heat Lightning

In honor of Father's Day- I have this memory of my dad to share:

One summer during my girlhood, on a particularly hot and muggy afternoon, Dad came into our house in the country saying excitedly, "Girls! Come outside and look!"

"What, Dad? What? Look at what?" we all clamored- three of us girls then plus Mom.

"Just come out."

So we tumble outside, some of us not bothering with shoes, out onto the graveled driveway to look south. A flash across the sky, then another and another, the haze riddled with lightning. We stood, puzzled- this was not the normal flash between storm clouds or bolt towards the ground.

"It's heat lightning," Dad said. We peppered him with questions until his knowledge ran out, and then stood for a long time, watching the eery display.

I have a lot of memories of Dad like this one. "Look," he'd say, pointing. And you'd see a blue heron, a garter snake, a rabbit's nest, deer tracks in the snow. Even now, just that one word from Dad in a particular tone of voice, and I immediately turn my head to look. And when I make my own small discoveries- a fox, a pheasant, a waterfall- I save them up for the next time I speak to him, so now I can say, "See Dad? See how I can see like you see?"

A clunker

Nothing deep to write of today, and no news either, so bear with me as I bash my latest Netflix viewing: Tristan & Isolde. Blech.


The basic story is classic forbidden love: our title characters are lovers, but she is married to someone else. Now add lots of schmaltz and gag-worthy lines about love and you have this movie.


The real kicker was when, after Tristan tries to break off the affair, Isolde says, "If you don't meet me there [their normal spot] now, I'll die!" (spare me).


So, I make it through this clunker and then do a little research on the filmmakers, and it all begins to make sense- the producer (Ridley Scott) and Director (Kevin Reynolds) both have track records for making period movies that stink: Kingdom of Heaven, Gladiator, Count of Monte Cristo, and Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves. (Not to mention GI Jane, Thelma & Louise, Waterworld, and Black Hawk Down).

The thing is, I really like period movies. I like the fancy costumes, the British accents, girls with long curly hair, and cute boys with swords. But I can't stand movies like the above that want to take old stories or events and rewrite them according to modern sensibilities. Grr.

Keeping Busy

Had a conversation with someone the other evening about many things, one of them being loneliness/ the difficulty of living by yourself.

Everyone deals with loneliness, but I think it is a particular cross to bear for the single person. At least, it is for me. Whenever I speak of it, the advice never varies: keep busy, fill up the days (the priests add "with good things").

But I'll tell you a secret: I hate this advice. It makes me want to scream when I get it, because no matter what I'm doing or how full my day is, it can only distract me from me for so long. There is still going to be the car ride home alone, the empty apartment, and the time it takes me to fall asleep. Keeping busy is only a patch to the problem, a scheme for avoidance.

There comes the realization that what I'm really lonely for is God. The companionship, comfort, and consistency of love that I'm longing for from another human being is really my longing to know that God loves me. And I can't come to know that if I am consistently distracting myself, keeping myself busy so that I never have to delve too deep.

One of the spiritual writers, Theophan the Recluse, says 'Most people are like a shaving of wood which is curled around its central emptiness.' If we are really honest, we must admit that this is a very apt description of the state of practically all of us...We look into the abyss of nonentity and we feel that the deeper we go into it the less there will be left of us. This is a dangerous moment, this is the moment when we must hesitate. This is the point at which we can begin to knock at a door which is still closed, but beyond which there is hope.

There is a degree of despair that is linked with total, perfect hope. This is the point at which, having gone inward, we will be able to pray; and then 'Lord have mercy' is quite enough. It is enough simply to shout out of despair 'Help!' and you will be heard.

The day when God is absent, when He is silent--that is the beginning of prayer. Not when we have a lot to say, but when we say to God, 'I can't live without you. Why are you so cruel, so silent?' This knowledge that we must find or die--that makes us break through to the place where we are in the Presence. If we listen to what our hearts know of love and longing and are
never afraid of despair, we find that victory is always there on the other side of it.

- All from Metropolitan Anthony Bloom in Beginning to Pray

Lesson learned

Note to self: never hint in a post anything about being interested in someone, unless you are prepared to be peppered with calls, emails, and comments by friends and family who want to know, "Who?"

Relax, people. There is nothing to report, no new developments, crushes, etc.

The point of the post wasn't the Who, but the self-examination happening in my head that day- the interchange with the Matchmaker was just the catalyst.

Matchmaker

My local matchmaker has surfaced- I knew it wouldn't take long. The convo went like this: blah blah blah talking about mutual interests/ acquaintances blah blah blah then...

Me: Have you met So & So?

MM: Yeah, I know him through _______ (insert church ministry activity). He's a great guy.

Me: Yeah, he really is.

MM: You know, he's single. (Insert eye twinkle.)

Me: Yes, he is. Hey, you probably know Other Guy then, too. (Attempting to steer convo to another track.)

MM: Yeah! He's such a fun personality.

Me: Yup. I've known him and his sister since 199_.

MM: He's single too.

Me: Oh, you! (Insert blush.) (And then insert major introduction of new topic that MM can't ignore.)

And then later, one of those annoying coincidences- received emails from both So & So and Other Guy. Well, not really a coincidence, as both were responding to my mass emails giving new address.

The thing is, I would be interested in So & So. I just don't think he returns the interest. How do I know? Because despite my best efforts to be better friends, our contact has been spotty, and normally consists of random meetings at church conferences and weddings.

But then, I must admit that couched in there are my own insecurities- the idea that there's no way someone like him could be interested in someone like me.

And I wonder- how do I know the difference? How do I discern whether it's genuine non-interest on someone else's part, or just my insecurity talking? Hmmm...

Poem from the New Apt.

Cautious optimism.

Hope that persists despite

experience.

Heart in two parts;

The held-in breath and

The exhale of relief.

New Digs

Well, friends, I have arrived at my new place in Minn. The apartment is charming- lots of light, wood floors, more room. I construct elaborate new decorating schemes daily (we'll see if any come to fruition).

My first experience with movers was okay as well- even including the piano, which they had to heft up the stairs. I stood in the kitchen, not able to watch, but listening to each slow thump! as they moved the dolly up another step. A few times I heard their muttered curses and would hold my breath, waiting for a loud crash, a cacophony of vibrating strings. O me of little faith.

The beasts, who spent the first few days hiding in the bathroom, are delighted to be reunited with their things. Especially their toys- they celebrated by pulling each one out of the box and laying them out on the floor, till it was covered with furry mice, jingly balls, shoelaces and ribbons. They also love all the windows, especially as there is good pigeon watching.

Now for settling in to the new job!