It*s time

Maybe the trees were doing this yesterday, and I missed it.  The backyard is still pretty much green.  Today it felt like autumn arrived... suddenly.  It was as if the trees finally heard the birds gathering for migration.

Driving to church today

I saw the trees yesterday

Must have

Heard the birds say

It*s time

It*s time

It*s time

Time

To change your clothes;

To think about the fall wardrobe;

To consider oranges, yellows,

Patches of burgundy;

Time to consider

Eventual trim of snow and ice,

Or mimic the oaks:

They wear their brown

Through the snow

Until the sap rises green

Again.

Fall light

I have always been connected to the seasons.  When one part of the natural order seems off schedule (the trees being green when it is the end of September, for example), I often feel out of order as well.  On Iona I understood this connection again.  Fall has always been a favorite season for its coolness and blue skies and bright leaves.  This year it has a sadness to it.  It feels like a lot more change is afoot.  The trees seem to be pretending it is still summer.

The fall light turns.

I have not planted the mums

I meant to plant

In the outdoor planters.

Soon the planters

Will hold pumpkins.

The fall light has begun

Its turn

To winter.

The trees have not caught up

To the light.

They hold on

To summer green.

I want to tell them

To stop pretending.

The birds

Are not fooled.

They know summer

Is on its way out.

They mass into cawing screeching gaggles

In the green trees.

Maybe the trees will hear

The birds.

I watch the light,

Listen to birds.

It is perhaps too late

For mums.

Old/new chair

I sit in midst of family room chaos.  I see different things from the perspective of my new/old writing chair.  The old blue writing chair is in the living room with kitchen things stacked on it.  The tile guy comes on Monday.  After the tile sets, we will move the stove back into the kitchen while we await the cabinets.  Still, the red chair will be my writing chair for the time being.  Time for another cup of coffee.

I am hunkered down

In the old/new red chair.

This is the third writing chair

I have had in as many years.

This morning it faces

A sleeping turtle,

A sleeping cat,

Both peaceful

In family room chaos.

I poured my coffee

In the upstairs bathroom,

Got cream from the refrigerator

In the living room.

My daughter brought a friend home

To spend the night

Two nights ago.

In the morning,

I found the friend curled up

In this very chair,

My daughter on the sofa.

It seems our house

Is more comfortable

Than the friend*s house.

Places thick and thin

I am trying to see the thin-ness here, in the midst of renovation.  I will have at least six to eight weeks of practice.  I returned from Iona knowing I was not done yet... with Quincy, with Fort Worth, with priesthood, with anything, really.  I realize I was yearning for something new, even when I thought I traveled there with few expectations.  No.  For the time being my new writing chair overlooks the turtle tank.  This morning he is sleeping peacefully.  At least it seems he is sleeping.

The pilgrimage leader offered:

When it is said Iona is a thin place,

It does not mean that other places are

Thick.

Home here

In the midst of renovation,

I aim to make a chair

In the family room

My writing chair.

I am surrounded by pots and pans,

Plates next to the door,

Silverware

Next to the sofa.

The cat dishes sit

Under the television.

The turtle tank rests

In its usual place.

He can write,

If he could write

(of course)

V e r y  s l o w l y

From his regular spot.

This place feels particularly thick

To me

Surrounded by everything

At once.

If I squint

I think I see the turtle

Smiling.

He has never had so much company

At once.

It seems this may be

A thin place

For Felix.

Of course

He will never say.

Different as it should be

This is the second full Iona day.  I spent a lot of this day watching and walking the clouded misted brightness.     It turned out the week would provide the wide range of weather opportunities, unlike stories of the week before, when the isle was socked in with grey and wind, and the ferry could not cross for three days.

This is clouded misted brightness,

Different today than yesterday.

I know

Tomorrow will be different still:

Clouded misted brightness

A rainbow perhaps

Maybe some sun and blue

But still

Clouded misted brightness,

Different,

Constantly different,

As it should be.

Expectations

This was written after our first full day on Iona.  Somehow fittingly, it was a Sunday.  For those not in the Episcopal Church family, Fort Worth is a diocese which is working to re-order its life after a sizeable group split off.  I sat at Sunday breakfast with the Chancellor (read: lawyer) of the re-ordered diocese.  She is facing October court battles over who owns what church property.  This was not what I expected to find on a small, isolated island in Scotland.  

Today is a day

I did not do things

On the list.

After church and lunch,

A long nap was in order.

Now I think

A glass of wine before dinner.

The group

Grown to 40,

Hiked to the North End beach.

I slept instead.

Here I see well

Sea?  I hear well too.

This morning*s breakfast

Brought Fort Worth

To the table,

To the flow of things I imagined

Differently.

I knew it would not be quite

What I expected,

Even when I tried

To expect nothing.

The light

Another in the Iona series.  My accessible room provides a view of the back yard.  Companions note that I could go out in back and turn the upside down kitchen chair right side up (at least).  It seems right to leave it as it is.  The light above my bed provides just the right amount of illumination for writing as the outside light grows dim.  Just the right amount of light.

The light is perfect

To write in bed.

I cannot view the sea

From my window.

Instead I see the workers* quarters,

Construction material,

An upside down kitchen chair

In the yard,

Crags in the distance.

Occasionally a dog

Wanders through.

The light above my bed

Is bright enough

But not too bright.

It provides a Goldilocks effect

In my accessible room.

Iona: a beginning

This was written upon arrival in Iona, before dinner.  We had traveled all day by coach and ferry from Inveraray.  

I came here for space and time,

Came to this rocky small outcrop

Of a place

2 planes

2 coaches

2 ferries away.

No wonder the Romans

Never bothered.

There is little hope

I can help much

With the family kitchen renovation

From here.

My room is the accessible sort:

Handbars and grips,

A seat in the shower.

I will be reminded every morning

I am limited.

Not a bad reminder.

Not a bad thing to see.

Not a bad thing

To wake up to.

Duchess

I met the Duchess in the gift shop, before ordering tea and scones.  It really is another world, one that I was not expecting.  I did not expect interactions with royalty,  Especially in the gift shop.  Now I am home with my Duchess apron, with a demolished kitchen, the refrigerator in the living room, the coffee pot in our bathroom upstairs.  I am waiting to use my apron.

I met the Duchess of Argyle

In the gift shop

Of the Inveraray Castle.

She was wearing a kitchen apron.

It read, simply,

Duchess.

The Duke had gone to fetch the children,

Two boys and a girl,

Lady Charlotte

Age four.

She was a cab driver

Before she married

The Duke.

The Duchess rang up my purchases.

I bought a Duchess apron,

Had her sign it for me.

It appeals to my sense of whimsy.

The whole scene.

I will wear the apron

When the kitchen is complete.

I will pretend

I live in a castle.

Lady in purple

I am re-acclimating to Chicago time.  In the process I will post from the last couple weeks.  I met this woman close to the beginning of my journey.  How many women in purple cassocks have you seen recently... in the airport?  I still have her book.  

I have only seen people

In purple cassocks,

Clerical collars,

In precious spaces.

Usually it signifies

The presence of a bishop.

Yesterday

The Newark airport was graced

With a woman in a purple cassock,

A clerical collar,

Ebony cross.

She told me she was

Mother Clare,

Spiritual and Teaching Master,

Co-founder and Priest

Of the mystical Christian Order

Of Christ Sophia.

She was delighted

I was on my way to Iona.

She was on her way

To Stockholm,

All in purple,

Next gate over.

She gave me her book

And brochure.

I didn*t dare leave it

In Newark.

On Iona: Taking a break from posting

I am on Iona for the next week.  For those I love and cherish, for those I don*t know at all, and for all and everything in between:  Please know I am holding you in prayer.  It is a more than fitting place to pray.  I will return to the blog on September 24.  Continuing blessings.

No coffee in Newark

What an interesting beginning to a pilgrimage.

There is no coffee anywhere here
in the Newark airport.
The water lines are broken.
We sit in the Juan Valdez coffee shop
Without the coffee we came for,
Sit and watch pilots,
Other official people
Ask for coffee.
There are four people behind the counter
Not selling coffee.
They shrug their shoulders,
Laugh a mite apologetically.
We wonder if our pilot will fly
Without his coffee.
There is no coffee anywhere
In Newark.

New Old Things

Today I set off for Iona, with backpack and suitcase and passport.  What new old things will I find today?  It seems everything is both new and old.  One child at a parish I served, reflecting on how we are all part of God*s vine, summed it up with: Even in Antarctica... we*re all connected.  Even in Antarctica, everything is old and new.

Cave paintings were discovered in Lascaux, France, on this date in 1940. Four French teenagers and their dog, Robot, stumbled upon the caves while they were out exploring one day. The main cave is approximately6 feet wide and 16 feet high, and is connected to a number of smaller chambers. Assigning a precise date to the art on the cave walls has been difficult. Scientists used carbon dating to estimate the age of some charcoal found in the caves, and according to that method, the drawings are about 17,000 years old.

There are about 2,000 drawings and engravings, mostly of animals: horses, bison, red deer, stags, cats, and aurochs — large, black cattle-like animals that are now extinct.

Source: The Writer*s Almanac for September 12, 2012  http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/

Is anything new

Under the sun?

Today is the anniversary

Of finding the cave paintings

In France.

Four teenagers and their dog, Robot,

Scouted out the caves

On a hike.

The pictures are thousands of years old.

They only found them in 1940.

They show we have been drawing

Forever.

Is anything new under the sun?

The Russians explore a frozen Antarctic lake.

They drill two miles

For signs of old life

Under the ice.

Even in this world we think we know

There are new things

To find,

New things to conjecture.

New improbable things:

Did the Nazis have

A secret cloning facility

In Antarctica?

Questions I would never think

To ask.

What will be discovered today?

Shorter list

It is always a surprise to me that lists loom larger the longer I put them off.  I remember a client years ago who was avoiding cleaning a white chair in her living room.  She was depressed.  I avoided saying what was going through my mind: Get rid of the white chair!   The chair loomed larger and dirtier the longer she didn*t clean it.  When she finally got it cleaned, she was able to do any number of things.  I often ask people what*s the one thing they*re putting off doing.  Often it*s something small.  We put a lot of energy into avoiding things.  My preparation list is blessedly short right now.  I am grateful.

The list grows shorter.

It had loomed large and larger

As I left it

On the table.

Most everything

Can be done

With the plumber upstairs,

The cat sound asleep

In the shade,

The sun having left

The living room.

Now the laundry is done.

Now the bank and credit card people

Have wished me bon voyage,

Promised no stop payments

While I am gone.

Now the backpack beckons me

To fill it

With airplane essentials.

I have found the exact right book

To journal the adventure.

It was gifted

When I was 25 years

A priest.

There is still a list

But less of one.

The plumber just finished.

The cat has installed himself

Under the new bathroom cabinet.

I consider lunch.

Ablutions

I leave for Iona tomorrow.  I am making my way through the checklist.  More construction decisions to make today.  One client tonight.  The cat is now cleaning between his back toes, having followed the sun to the spot under the rocking chair.

The cat has found

The one long rectangle

Of early autumn-angled sun.

He begins the morning

Ablutions.

Today is a list

To be completed:

More construction decisions.

The details of packing

For tomorrow*s trip.

Still more construction decisions.

The cat reminds me

Of everyday things

I might forget:

Washing.

Sleeping.

Eating.

Drinking water

From a fresh water dish.

Finding a patch

Of warmth and light

In the midst of it all.

Functional

The bathroom paint guy seems competent.  Alleluia.  The contractor is off to pick up our chosen kitchen floor tile from the tile place.  I am happy with the kitchen choices for a house we will put on the market in three years.  It is not my dream kitchen.  My dream kitchen would be a vibrant colorful place in which people would feel like dancing as they made heavenly creative meals.

The paint guy is here today.

The promise is a functional bathroom

By Wednesday.

We have learned about building

Promises.

This is an exercise

In more than construction

Or reconstruction.

Meanwhile

The kitchen

Looms on the horizon.

A small functional kitchen.

A kitchen with drawers

For pots and pans.

Small kitchen

Yet one more reflection in the renovation series.  Months ago we went through motions to re-do the kitchen.  One contractor thought we should get rid of a kitchen wall.  This plan shrunk our already small dining area.  Contractor number two had good renovation skills but was zilch in the design department.  Months later we have backed into a kitchen with contractor number three, who works with a free-lance designer.  They describe themselves as the Odd Couple and share a showroom.  We were not planning on doing a kitchen so soon, but I guess we are.  I leave on a pilgrimage to Iona Wednesday morning.  Life will continue on after I am gone, and of course, when I return.  I hope for small things:  a drawer for my pots and pans, clear glass in the sliding doors so I can see the birds.  And yes, a workable, functional, pleasant kitchen.

Today we settled on floor tile

For the kitchen.

We even came to semi-agreement

On the backsplash.

The door person yesterday

Was completely unhelpful,

Apologetically unhelpful.

The combination

Made it worse.

Our kitchen is small

As kitchens go these days.

It will stay small.

No gourmet chef

Will ever worry about tired feet

As they stand for hours

On the tile we chose today

Making tiramisu.

No gourmet chef

Will ever buy our house

In the middle of our particular community.

Ours will be a kitchen

With no warming ovens

Or freezer drawers.

There will be a drawer

For pots and pans.

I hope for sliding doors

With clear glass

To see the birds in back.

We heard blue jays yesterday.

I want to see the birds

Fly through

On their way

South or North,

Or perhaps stay with us awhile,

Outside our new kitchen

With clear glass.

No workers in sight

Today we can breathe a bit.  The bathroom is almost done.  No workers are scheduled for the weekend.  We will do the kitchen this fall.  It is a project that has grown and shrunk at least weekly.  We had put it off until next year, then the water came through, killed the stove and made the tile squishy.  So later today we have an appointment to look at cabinets.

The cat follows

The strip of sunlight

Through the living room.

There are no workers here today.

He can relax,

Claim his weekend

Like us.

The upstairs bathroom almost done

We consider the kitchen.

It will be simple

As far as kitchens go

These days.

The old bathroom fixtures wait

On the front porch

To be picked up

For recycling.

First

The weekend:

No workers in sight.

Cat in the sun.

Grout with sand

Today the upstairs bathroom is being grouted with two different kinds of grout.  Who knew there were so many kinds?  I remember my parishioner from years ago who regaled me with stories of all the different kinds of paint and coatings required for bridges.  Why does it surprise me that grout is as varied?  

My love has gone to the tile store.

It seems the tile guy

Needs more grout,

Grout with sand

For the floor.

Gray.

It seems

There are almost

As many kinds and colors

Of grout

As stars in the sky

Pebbles on the beach,

Whichever metaphor

For abundance

We choose.

Yesterday the acupuncture lady

Told me

She is grout too.

She connects people

In different ways

Than I do.

I am grout.

Perhaps even grout with sand.

I have company

Grout

Sometimes I have the fantasy that I will find the spotlight.  Usually that fantasy doesn*t last very long.  I am called to serve on the edges, to caulk pieces together.  I am grout:  truly a noble calling. Grout does not fit a marketing niche.

The tile guy

Is halfway through the project.

His grout

Is immaculate.

Last night I dreamed myself

At a clergy convention.

I watched everything,

Observed the son of a

Loquacious colleague

Pontificate before the masses

Assembled.

My colleague beamed

A father*s pride.

His brother asked question after question.

When I looked out

On the assembly

People were leaving right and left.

They*re not listening

I said

Look, they*re leaving!

I said.

My colleague continued to beam

A father*s pride.

Last night I dreamed

A picture being taken

Of the whole Diocese

On stage.

I was under the risers

With a colleague I knew

Had to be in the picture.

I raised her up on my shoulders

So she would appear in the picture

In the middle

Of the back row.

When I woke up

I realized

I am grout:

The necessary caulking

Between the tiles,

Or perhaps the leading
on a stained glass window.

I am not immaculate

Like the tile guy*s grout

Or even Mary.

Still: I am grout.

I make necessary commentary.

Sometimes I lift people on my shoulders

So they can be in the picture.

Dry wall people... gone

I would rather write reflections on birds or the way light changes in the fall, or even the duck lady out back.  Not surprisingly, the dry wall people grab my attention.  They are not here today... yet still I anticipate their return.  The contractor is still apologizing for the flood.  He has offered to lend us his power washer.  His electrical people are here installing kitchen lights for free.  We are glad we decided to do things from the top... down.  The dry wall people are not here today.   They will probably return tomorrow.

Today the dry wall people

Are gone.

For now.

In their place,

The electrical people

Hammer conduit in position

In the stripped bare

Kitchen ceiling.

For last week*s kitchen flood,

We receive free installation

Of kitchen lighting.

The tile person works upstairs.

He seems

Like he knows

What he is doing.

Today the dry wall people

Are gone.

They will most likely return

Tomorrow.

Dry wall people

The contractor is also here, along with the dry wall people.  We like the contractor.  I hadn*t quite realized the anxiety that comes along with such a project.  Now we are going to work out.  I do not know what we will find when we return.  

The dry wall people,

The ones who broke our house

Last week,

Have returned.

Perhaps they are extra good

At dry wall,

Certainly not so good

Around water pipes

Or holes in the ceiling.

The dry wall people

Have returned.

They have returned.

Did I say

They have returned?

We leave to work out

In five minutes.

The dry wall people

Are upstairs.

The ones who broke our house

Last week.

Labor Day

There are things to be done, but nothing which can be ordered or begun today.  Labor Day does not bring with it an obligation of labor or anything religious, despite being a holiday.  Today is an unplanned day... my favorite kind.

This is an unplanned day:

My favorite kind.

The house is quiet.

The cat washes himself in the sun,

Carefully

He cleans between his toes.

My husband is asleep upstairs.

Daughter?

 Summoned

To walk with a friend.

Despite its name,

This is an unplanned day,

My favorite.

I cannot drive.

There is no business

That can be done,

No phone calls

Except perhaps the leisure kind.

A holiday declared

With no

Religious obligation.

They broke our house

Standing in coffee hour after church this morning, we join our chapter to the home remodeling disaster book.  As disasters go, ours is mild in comparison, very mild.  I am reminded of other disasters I have lived through and out the other side.  This is mild in comparison with them as well.  In this I have good company, a wonderful companion, and I still have my colorful stack of potholders, now in the laundry as they were directly under the flood from above.  I*m sure this experience will prove itself to be helpful in the long run.  And probably even funnier.

I remember years ago

I waited for the divorce

To be final,

Walked through it step by step,

Figured years down the road

I might be helpful

To someone else

In similar circumstances.

In those days I made

Stack upon stack

Of colorful potholders,

Each one symbolic

Of an evening alone

With a small child,

Not yet two.

Today I am in a solid marriage,

Shared humor,

The kitchen ceiling

Gone.

Today we hear more stories

Of construction

Gone wrong

Oh so wrong.

We join our chapter

To the book

Of construction stories.

They broke our house,

My daughter says.

Her friend regales her

With her own story

Of construction gone wrong.

It seems we are not the first people

To get the beginnings

Of a new kitchen

From a bathroom remodel

Overhead.

Perhaps in time

It will be even funnier

Renovation

We have never been fond of the white tile which runs from the front door through the kitchen.  It doesn*t stay clean for more than a minute.  Yesterday the men working on the drywall in the upstairs bathroom broke a pipe and the kitchen flooded.  We cleaned up all day.  The kitchen renovation we were planning for next year will likely come sooner.  Now it*s not just a dead dishwasher, but the water means something is wrong with the stove as well.  House of cards?  Jenga?  Pick your metaphor.  

Now there is a squishy spot

Under the white kitchen tile.

We have figured

To replace the white tile

For a long time now.

Now it seems

A fait accompli.

Now the top down

Renovation,

One thing at a time,

Is instead

A house of cards,

A game of Jenga,

Pick your metaphor.

Move one thing

In the pile

Watch everything shift,

Settle to new locations.

Now the lack of kitchen ceiling

Gives us easy access

To the floor above,

The squishy tile

Access

To the basement.

We consider the move

To a future ranch home

On a slab.