Even in Florida

Home again, home again, jiggity jig. Someone new to speak with waits in Illinois. Life continues. It's good to have new prospects. It's good to keep the old.

Someone found me in Florida.

This is the miracle

Of on-line communication.

When I return to Illinois

There is the prospect

Of a new conversation

And maybe more.

Even in Florida

Someone new

Found me.

Even here.

Far from the madding crowd

Last day in Florida.  We leave for home in the morning.  Different families operate at different decibel levels. This one is considerably louder than is my custom.  My beloved's parents keep their home at 78 F.  I am still a Minnesota girl.

Here

It is loud

And very warm.

I have found a spot

Under the fan,

Far from the madding crowd.

I come and go.

I wonder why

It took me so long

To figure out

This place of quiet

And moving air.

Merry Christmas from God

In all the years coming to Boca Raton the week after Christmas we have never been to this church. We have gone Methodist, Lutheran, Episcopal and non-denominational.  This year was an Episcopal church which, by its website, looked much like our current church.

The priest ended his sermon

Merry Christmas from God.

Other than this

We all disagreed on the main point.

We all heard different things.

He said there were three things

He wanted us to know,

Except there were at least

Three sets of three.

We agreed he was a master

At birthday and anniversary blessings.

This will carry him through.

The organ had more pipes

Than we have ever heard,

And someone present must have donated

The zimbelstern.

We will surely return

If only to see if we can agree

On sermon points

Or whether the zimbelstern

Will be used during Lent.

Here in Florida

Every family has its dance.  After over twenty years I am still learning the steps of my beloved's family.  Merry Christmas.  Happy Hanukkah.

Here in Florida

I come and go

Do what I can

Take a break

Then disappear.

Then reappear.

Here in Florida

A party means figuring out

How to fit the same eleven people

Around the same table

As last year

And the year before.

A party means

Appetizers of olives and cream cheese

Figured out

Three hours ahead of time.

It means

Lost Christmas gifts

For those who celebrate

Hanukkah.

Here in Florida

I figure the same things

Every year.

I come and go

Do what I can

Take a break.

Then disappear.

Then reappear.

No snow

Ah, perspective.  The Pier One woman was thrilled last year.  She moved to Illinois for the snow.

It was warm in Illinois

It is warmer here

In Florida.

I close my eyes

Picture snow

On the palm trees,

Remember the sales clerk

At Pier One

On December 24.

She moved from Florida last year

To spend her retirement

In Illinois

So much snow

She said

It smells like snow today

She said

Isn’t it wonderful?

Isn’t it simply

Wonderful?

Simplifying Christmas

When my now 27 year old son was 3, a Siamese cat appeared at the door.  My son wanted to name him Rabbity.  We settled on Barry.  Now we have a tweed reindeer next to the tree.  We have named him Rabbity.  It is too good a name to go unused.

  

We simplified Christmas

Then remembered the cat bed

We saw at TJ Maxx.

At the store

To buy the cat bed

We saw a three and a half foot high

Tweed reindeer.

We have named him

Rabbity.

I received a sloth stuffed animal

For Christmas.

He is sitting

On Rabbity’s back

Next to the Christmas tree.

Cat and tree

Yes, he played with the bells on the bottom branches last night.  Today he is content to sleep in the presence of the tree.

He saw

The attention we gave

To putting up the tree

Last night.

In the absence of sun

He is sound asleep

In the presence

Of the tree:

All the symbols

Of our light and life

On its branches.

Warmth

More than enough.

One more client

Still taking it slow.

One more client

This year

Now on to more

People and things

Notice the sudden sunshine

Remember that Christmas will come

Whether all is done

Or not

The tree

Remains in the basement

I understand we have a Christmas mouse

Who enjoys the recycling bins

Under the sink.

The cat

Is fascinated.

He sits in front of the undersink doors.

He waits.

So do we.

Not pushing it

With all the reports of flu this season, and the prospect of flying to Florida on the 26th, and remembering last year's celebration... we are a mite leery of preparing for the celebration.  Yes, I know in every cell and bone and sinew that Christ will come again, even if somehow the tree stays in the basement.  Still... we are also not pushing it.

The tree is still

In the basement.

The plan is to assemble it

Before Christmas Eve.

At least that’s my plan.

So far

We have jingle bells

On the front door,

A vase filled with greens

And winterberries

On the sideboard.

That’s as far

As we’ve gotten.

No one is sick here.

We are also

Not pushing it.

At the back

Fourth Sunday in Advent... the service of the Word at 10:30 was the Nativity.  This year I saw the whole thing from behind.

I saw everything

From behind: the running

Of the angels,

The wise people,

The star in gold lame’

Keeping Advent

In my parish home, the angels will run to the manger, as they do every year on the fourth Sunday in Advent. I used to be more of an Advent purist. Clearly I am not anymore. Still... I seem to keep Advent despite everything around me. Advent stays in place until Christmas comes. Even with angels running to the manger.

I find myself

Keeping  Advent

Even without the home wreath

This year

Even without purple

Or even blue

Accents.

I keep Advent

Watch the days

Grow short,

The dark comes sooner.

The pageant has inhabited

Advent four

With its final purple candle.

I will wait

On the periphery,

Still keep Advent

As I watch the angels run

To the manger

As they do

Every year

On Advent four.

New lock

The rules for counseling offices are different than for the church world. The church world says "y'all come in" and of course, "everything is sacred."  I straddle at least two worlds, if not more.  The lock may be changed, he says, if it would make you happy.  Yes, I am happier now.

My office is now

More secure than it used to be.

Am I happy now?

Room

With thanks to Liz Meade and her musings today on the Annunciation.  http://meademusings.blogspot.com/

May every space in our life be declared holy space.

I am grateful

For the blue chair

The blanket

My first client who cancelled

Today.

I pray she will heal.

I am grateful 

For time to drink coffee,

Notice the sunshine.

No one else is here.

I am grateful for an empty space

Like Mary’s

Which has room

For God to fill.

First

So.  England now has her first woman bishop.  This slightly cynical priest, a woman from the second wave of women clergy in TEC, began this reflection, then came around to prayer at the end.  May we all arrive there, eventually.

So

The first woman bishop

The first black president

The first of anyone,

The first of anything.

It’s always noted.

And so many

Oh so many

Stop counting there

As if it is over and done with

As if

It never needs to happen again

Because it has happened once

And therefore

Everything has changed

For good.

May the first

Not be the last.

May the line of bishops

And presidents

Be colorful

Even

Gender complete.

Amen.

Separate yet somehow together

I cleared the week of almost everything except clients.  Oh, yes, and my own therapy.  Some people I see monthly, some every other week, some every week.  This week almost everyone has converged. I picture them dancing.

I picture my clients dancing.

This week I see almost

All of them

Separate

Yet somehow

Together.

I dance with them.

With some

The dance is slow

And easy;

With others

The steps

Are more complex.

In between each dance

I take a break

Prepare for the next one.

I picture the dance

Separate

Yet somehow together.

Everyone

Knows different steps

Yet somehow

The dance

Is the same.

If I hadn't asked

I move more slowly these days.  Sometimes this is a bother. Sometimes I think I have it figured out, except I know, really, I have it figured out... for now. Like what my son might like for Christmas. I have a wonderful idea, so I run it by him. I never would have known if I hadn't asked.

I finally figure

The pace I need to go

In order to do

The important things.

I think I finally figure

The important things

Except I know

These will change

Tomorrow.

There is no finality

In this sphere,

Only what I may do

Today

One thing at a time.

I think to ask my son

What I believe he may want

For Christmas.

While that would be nice

He says

I’d rather have

A particular

Something else.

I never would have known

If I hadn’t asked.

Something else it is.

I never would have known

That particular

Something else

If I hadn’t asked.

In Full

Today we heard John the Baptist proclaiming he was not the one the people were waiting for.  I am Not The One.  I remember the dinosaur animation from years ago now, where the father dinosaur is addressed by the baby dinosaur as "Not-the-Mama."  It was the only funny line, I thought.  We do this with each other, define one another by who we are not.  Who did you come out into the desert to see?  John asked.  I am not that One.  He's next.  Who are you waiting for?  Do you really know who you are waiting for?  We are each so much more than what we are not.   As is John the Baptist.  And as is, certainly, the Messiah we await.

We are so much more

Than what we are not.

I am not

The one you were expecting.

I never have been.

He never will be.

She will come

On tippy toes.

He will come as wind.

She will come as fire.

Do you even know

The one you expect?

Will he have curly hair?

Will she have perhaps

Only one kidney?

Will his heart beat steady

Or miss a beat

Occasionally?

We are each and all

So much more

Than what we are not

But oh that more

Oh that so much more

Waits on the other side

Of the Jordan,

Waits to enter the promised land,

Waits to be known

In Full.

Now is later

Still working on the puzzle.  Last night I dreamed about hopeful things, a rather odd assortment of hopeful things.  I know they fit in the puzzle, somehow.  Some of them seem to touch on being edge pieces.  I figure I'll find out eventually.

I wake up and remember pieces

I placed aside::

Not quite sky

Not quite ground

Not quite edge

Except maybe

One of those barely edge pieces

That only touches

The area outside the puzzle.

I dreamed

Whole conversations

Woke up and saw things

I left out,

Put aside for later.

Apparently now

Is later.

I pour another cup of coffee

A warmer for my daughter

In the other room.

Now is later.

No vertigo

Amazing how grateful I can be to wake up clear-eyed with the world not spinning.  My goldmine for today.

Sometimes the absence

Of something… comes as a gift.

Where's your treasure?

Vertigo

This feels like one more manifestation of seeing the world at a slant.  It does not help that my daughter and I saw Birdman at the Glen Art Theater last night, in Theater #1 which is down a long uneven-floored hallway.  The movie got wonderful reviews, but it played with both our heads and minds, albeit in different ways.  I awakened this morning with vertigo.  I find this more funny than frightening.  

The day started later

Yet

The world still spins

When I turn my head.

I figure this is a new way

To know things.

Today I find it funny

As long as I sit still,

Face forward,

I can see the humor

Lurking

In the corners.

I listen to the organ upstairs

Playing Advent hymns.

I smile.

I hear the children

Playing down the hall.

I smile.

I see the bent tree

Outside the office window.

I smile.

I will see two clients today. 

I will face forward

So the world

Plays the straight person

And I can see things

Out the corners

Of my eye.

Clipping back

More metaphors today.  He reminded me of vineyards, of pruning for growth, building walls to strengthen and protect, allowing for the possibility of better fruit.  Let my yes be yes, and my no be no.  Who knew?  Another prayer.  Amen.

I finally clip back

The clematis.

It will come back strong

Come spring.

That’s the promise.

This Advent

I sift and sort,

Pare and prune,

Tie up branches

That need

To be strengthened.

I put evergreens

With the winterberries

In the black olive vase

To remind me of green,

Lest I lose sight of it.

I clip back,

Sift and sort,

Pare and prune,

Tie up branches

In need of support,

Place green

In indoor spaces

To help me remember.

Edges and sky

Years ago, I remember my beginning therapy sessions, and the therapist likening therapy to dumping the puzzle box, and looking at the pieces.  We have moved on to other metaphors since, but I find myself coming back to the jigsaw puzzle, figuring out which pieces fit, and which belong in someone else's jigsaw puzzle box.  I am trying to keep the edges and the sky, the important parts.  The rest, as always, fills in as it does.

Too many pieces

Of the puzzle.

I sit in the blue chair

Figure which pieces

Can be left

Out of the puzzle

Until January,

Which ones

Will not fit

At all.

I do not want to lose

The edge pieces.

I would like to include

The sky,

The upness and outness

Of things.

There will be other opportunities

To come.

Some opportunities

Will never come again.

I try to keep

The edges and sky.

Much as I would like

Sometimes I wonder if one of the gifts of later onset epilepsy is the realization that the whole list of things I thought I might accomplish in my life is really a much shorter list, a pared-down list that has refined my focus to the people and things God intends for me to focus upon.  Hmm.

Much as I would like

To stand and walk,

To drive wherever I wish,

To witness

In bold and eminently visible ways

So no one

Can possibly miss me;

Much as I would like

To be called

Elsewhere,

To be named perhaps

In purple

So everyone might hear;

Much as I would like

Even

To tromp into the wilderness,

Wait for people to come

And find me;

Much as I would like it,

Those roles

Have been filled

And filled

And filled again.

This role is mine,

Even if one hears,

Even if one sees,

This one,

This role

Is mine.

Where's the comfort?

This morning my daughter went downtown to join the witness that Black Lives Matter.  I went to church and added my prayers for all the people.  We sang Comfort, Comfort,Ye My People. The comfort often seems to be hiding in the wilderness.  I pray for inroads in that wilderness.

Where’s the comfort?

My people

Where is it?

All my people

All of us

Every single one

This second blue Sunday

Where’s the comfort?

The voice of one crying:

Where’s the comfort?

The voices of many

Weeping:

Where’s the comfort?

Prepare the way

In the wilderness

Prepare the ways

In the wilderness.

I’m sure

There is more than one.

Where’s the comfort?

This second blue Sunday

I know it is somewhere

Yet to be found.

Whee!

It has taken awhile to get accustomed to the slower pace of things.  Today I have shopped for one member of our Christmas basket family.  The other members have been divvied out to my daughter and my beloved.  

I pace things

More slowly

Than most folk

Around me.

When I manage to do

Two things at once,

Like the snail riding

On the turtle’s back,

I say

Whee!

I catch the backdraft

Of those rushing

Around me,

Admire their speed

And purpose,

Feel the breeze.

It keeps us going

All over the country college students arrive home in these weeks before Christmas.  A wealth of life has happened here and there, for students and the families left behind.  This is titled It keeps us going because of a conversation with my daughter last night.  In response to her question about my beloved and I working out together twice a week with a trainer, I said It keeps us going.  I meant that each of us keeps the other going to work out.  I couldn't figure out why my daughter freaked.  Then I realized there might be other ways to interpret the statement.  No.  We are not, either one of us, at death's door.

Communication

Can be a challenge when

The daughter comes home.

Limits

Didn't realize this was a prayer until the end.

I woke up this morning

Realized once more

I have limits

To the number of people

I can carry,

The number of things

I can do.

Keep me upright today,

I tell our trainer.

Look at the blue sky,

I tell my beloved.

There are limits.

Of course there are limits.

We all have limits.

I drink my coffee,

Revel in three clients today,

Not four.

Limits.

I have limits.

Look at the blue sky.

Keep me upright today.

Amen.

Do you have a minute?

In this season... let us give each other more than a minute or two.

This is the time

The world sidles up to me

Says

Do you have a minute

This week?

Might I have

One or two minutes?

In response I offer

More than a few minutes

Encourage the world

To take more time

Than a couple minutes

To figure things out

To grieve

To notice all might not be

As well

As we think

It should be.

This is the time

I find myself

Asking exactly the same thing

Do you have a minute

This week?

Me and the world

All of us together

Sidling up to,

Sliding into each other

Asking

Do you have a minute?

Ready

Yes, this is one of those days.  New people.  New things.  Some not so new.

Ready or not

The day begins,

Continues

And continues.

No one asks

If I am ready

For such a day

It continues

Along its own track

I follow

And follow

I figure surprise

Will be a part

Of such a day

I am dressed

And ready

Or not

Here it comes.

Tattoo

No.  I will not "out" the person who made the tattoo suggestion.  No.  It is not my beloved.  Yes.  I find it funny... sort of... now.  

He suggested

I get it tattooed

On my forehead

I did not find this funny.

In fact

He is lucky

He still lives,

After the tattoo suggestion

I discovered

Medical ID bracelets

Are now designed

To match every possible outfit.

I ordered one

With multi-colored beads.

I await its arrival

In the mail.

It will go with

Everything.

She who prays

Sometimes the smallest thing is the biggest.  At a Convention where I feel faded in the crowd, I am introduced to someone who says this:

I know Catharine

He says,

She has been praying for me

For years.

.

All of a sudden I am she who prays.  This is more than enough.

Shop small

On Thanksgiving a guest said he understood the color of our guest bathroom when he saw the mirror frame made from potato chip bags.  The orange came first.  We looked a long time for that mirror. Then... there it was.  We continue to shop small.  We never know what we'll discover.

Today I will shop small,

Engage the artisans

From around the world:

The one 

Who crafted the frame

Of our bathroom mirror

From potato chip bags,

It perfectly matches

The high-gloss orange

On the walls;

The one

Who made

The orange peel angel,

It hangs from the lamp switch

On my office desk;

All the ones,

All those ones

Who see the world

Through different eyes,

Know that orange peel,

Potato chip bags,

Hold even the wealth of possibility

To match

Our bathroom walls.

Cornucopia

The day after Thanksgiving.  The house is very clean and ordered, many thanks due to the daughter home from college.  The refrigerator is full of leftovers.  I wonder now if the crowd listening to Jesus somehow didn't need as much to eat because of the cornucopia of Jesus himself.  A new thought while the turkey is being made into soup.

We used every dish and plate,

Every piece of silverware

We own.

Somehow,

With all that food

We ate less

Than we usually do.

We talked more.

The turkey was almost forgotten

In the oven.

It collapsed in on itself

A crispy brown mass,

barely recognizable

As a baked bird.

We laughed

And ate more sweet potatoes.

I woke this morning

Wondering about the plural

Of the word cornucopia

How does a person

Pluralize abundance?

Horns (or baskets)

Full of bread and fish?

A refrigerator full of leftovers?

The beginning of turkey soup

On the stove?

Thanksgiving and coffee

Fun fact for today:  Ethiopia has a temperate climate, and it is the place coffee originated.  Happy Thanksgiving!

Turkey in the oven

We rearrange the house

For guests.

We each

Have our own pace.

It will all happen

Before 4:30.

Over coffee

We read the history

Of Ethiopia.

Coffee began there.

We raise our mugs

In honor

Of Ethiopia.

We hope the turkey

Will be done in time.

The gift

I actually had to write this before I could get to the end of it.  It's amazing to me what putting words on a page will do.

The gift of Thanksgiving this year

Will be making sure

The vegan

Possibly fasting

Ethiopian woman

Will know herself

Utterly and completely included.

But

No.

The gift of Thanksgiving this year

Will be the presence

Of every single person

Around the table

No matter what

Each one of us

Can eat.

The whole of it

Feeling philosophical this morning.  Sun shining.  Clouds stunning.  Whether I am conscious or lose consciousness, there's still a lot of life yet to be lived.

So much life

Left to be lived:

Conscious

Yet somehow still

Unconscious.

We never know

The whole of it

Even when we think,

Even when we act,

As if we do.

So much life

Even though

We never know

The whole of it.

Yes and no and maybe

I am home offering slower things.

With the lively one home

The pace quickens

Around me.

I practice doing

What I can do,

Saying no and maybe

And occasionally

Yes.

Let your yes be yes.

Let your no be no.

If it is maybe

Make sure

It is a possible yes.

The pace quickens.

I still practice doing

What I can do

And offering

Slower things.

Room at the table

Convention was different this year.

And so

Lunch in hand

I stumbled upon

The retired clergy

Gathered at a round table

In a quiet corner

Of Convention.

I knew them all.

Come sit with us

They said

There’s room at the table

They said.

So I sat

And ate.

Honor

Figuring out new ways to engage Diocesan Convention.

Last night

I honored who I am

Not who I used to be.

I ordered room service,

Simple spaghetti and meatballs

Delivered on a tray

By a smiling woman.

I honor who I am

Now.

I will join the throng

When I am ready

To join the throng,

Not one moment

Sooner.

Now is to sit in the sun

I have many things to do today.  Now is to sit and soak up the sun.  Maybe the cat is onto something.

Now is to sit

In the sun

Full on my face

So full and bright

I can barely do anything

But drink my morning coffee

Marvel at this light

Come into this morning world

Remind me that now

Merely

Maybe stunningly

Is to soak in the sun

Leave the rest

For later.

Today begins again

It seems I have mastered the art of going back to bed for that extra sleep.  My beloved is winging his way to Denver to pick up our daughter, most of her worldly possessions, and a van.  I love them both. I am home, beginning the day again.

Today begins again

With sun

No gold leaves

But full sun the cat has found

On the bed upstairs.

I went back to bed

After the taxi came,

Fifteen minutes early

In the dark,

Early

A cardinal sin

For your 5 a.m. challenged soul

Especially when you stayed up

Rather later

Than you might.

Today begins again.

You are in the air

Sound asleep.

I am home.

I pay attention

To the cat

The turtle

One client this afternoon.

Today begins again.

There is sun.

Reclamation

Driving or not driving... a decision made day by day, sometimes hour by hour.  I am still getting used to this part of my identity.  Some days it comes easier than others.

I drive home

Alone.

My music plays.

I sing along

Loudly.

For these moments

I remember who I am,

Even if tomorrow

I ask for a ride.

This is also part

Of who I am

These days:

She who asks for rides;

She who drives when it is safe

For her to drive,

Plays her music

Loud

And sings along.

Commentary

In 2007 I left parish ministry, stopped paying into the Church Pension Fund, after 27 years.  Every year I get a statement saying:  if I will only retire, if I will only begin receiving the money I have earned, I will be removed from this limbo, back into the land of the living, albeit... retired.  There is more than one way to live life on the edge of things.  I seem to have discovered more ways than many.

I dropped off the face

When I stopped paying into

The Church Pension Fund.

Compromise

My beloved, the political scientist, sees compromise as a good thing.  He teaches students the importance of compromise, to see that all good political decisions involve some level of compromise. So often we see compromise as something we need to settle for.  I did not choose this, we say.  This is unfair, we say.  My beloved, the political scientist, offers the idea that compromise just might be a good thing.

Again I think

I am compromised.

To move

Just slowly enough,

More and more

To stand on the edges,

To watch the cat

Sleep in the sun.

Again I remember

Not to rush

And

In my half-full brain

Perhaps

Not to think of this

As compromise;

Not to think of this

As my lot in life;

Not to think of this

As forced retirement;

But instead to see

The possible gift.

Healing prayer

This morning reminded me of Quaker meeting, particularly the silent space in the middle meant to provide room for healing prayer.  Even though no one went forward.  Still... there was healing there.

No one went forward

For healing prayer today.

We all knelt in place

Listened to the cello.

Three priests stood at the altar rail

With oil for anointing.

They were ready.

The lessons were about waiting

For Jesus to return.

Something about

The absence of words

The cello

The waiting

In the middle of the service;

Something about the silence space

In the middle

Spoke to me of healing

Even though no one went forward

But instead

Knelt in place.

No words

Were necessary.

Focus

Sometimes I find it odd what gains, then loses, our attention.

The normally bland face

Of Uranus

Is now extremely stormy.

The camera on the comet

Has shut down

In the dark.

Eyes trained on the heavens

The melting ice cap,

Ebola

Have lost

Their audience.

Wars and rumors of wars

The man or woman

On the streets

The person in the pew

Beside us,

They join

The periphery.

We wait for the comet

To streak closer

To the sun.

We hope more light

Will start the data stream

Again.

Meanwhile Uranus

Is stormy.

No one knows why.

What I saw and heard yesterday

Some days there is so much to remember, so much to be appreciated.  If I had known it was ginkgo day, I would made a ginkgo tour.  The alphabet en espanol brought back memories of junior high. Then there was the orange peel angel.  I will have to figure out where she will live in my office.

The ginkgo did

Its all-at-once shimmy of gold. 

The sea of yellow fans dropped,

Always

A one-day pleasure.

Inside

The Spanish class

Learned the alphabet

Twenty minutes at least

Of ABC

All the way to end

Over and over.

I saw.

I heard.

In between

I was gifted with clients

Words and presence and even

An angel

Made of orange peel.