Familiar

Five minutes now, then out the door.

And so this morning

In exactly fifteen minutes

I will leave to drive

To my familiar Wednesday place

On familiar Wednesday roads.

The light is not too much

Nor is it

Too little.

I must pay attention

To such things

These days.

And so

In eleven minutes now

I will leave to drive

My familiar car

On familiar Wednesday roads.

This is what it is

I am grateful for this beginning return

In nine minutes now.

Today is for sifting

Today is a day I reclaimed for myself.  I could have attended Clergy Conference.  It would have been the first time in three or four years.  I have always enjoyed reconnecting with colleagues.  Clergy Conference was always at a very familiar place.  Now it's not.  Nothing wrong with that, just too much new for now.  Maybe next year.  Today is for sifting.

I am not adding

Any more information

To this day.

I am not meeting

Anyone new

Or old,

Unless I count

As old yet new.

Today requires nothing new.

Today is for sifting.

Today is for reclaiming

An order to things.

Today is for finding out

Whether this particular puzzle piece

Is part of the sky,

Part of the landscape,

Or perhaps a piece

Of the edge.

Convention

This will be my twenty-ninth diocesan convention as a priest.  I find myself grateful for a number of things: the convention has been in this location for the last four years (at least). I know where things are, so I don't need to spend energy on things like finding the bathroom.  Instead I can spend energy connecting with people new and old, just for the sake of connecting.  I am not running for any office.  I am not volunteering for anything. I may wear a collar, then again, maybe not.  I can be present, free and clear.  So I will.

This morning I thank God

For breakfast on my own,

For no small and smaller conversation

With ten people

In a restaurant,

People I enjoy at 2:30 in the afternoon

But 8:00 AM?

Almost everyone pales

At 8:00 AM.

Especially me.

This morning I thank God

For familiar spaces.

I know already

Where I will register

Where we will meet

Where the bathrooms are.

There is comfort

In familiar spaces.

I will not have to reorganize

The synapses

Of my brain

To find my way around.

I will not need the equivalent

Of a therapy dog,

Though a dog is always

A nice option.

This morning I thank God

For the choices I am blessed

To be able

To make

And the choices

I no longer need to make.

I thank God this morning

For the people I will meet,

The nametags we all

Will wear.

I can spend the synapses

Of my brain

On more important things:

Being present one to one

Then again

Being present

One to one.

Something in the air

I am still thrown off by the time change, the light change, the air change.  The only resolution is to wait until things clear.  I used to be able to push through such things.  No longer.  So I sit and get back in touch with the familiar around me.

There must be something

In the water

In the air

In the light

Today.

I am home from church

Under a blanket

In the blue chair.

My beloved is sound asleep

With the cat

On his chest.

The bush does not burn

In front.

I touch the familiar

Around me.

I wait.

There is something

In the water

In the air

In the light

Today.

I sit and wait

For something

To settle:

Sediment in the water;

Dust particles cleared

Out of the air;

The sun to set

More than an hour earlier

Than it did

Last week.

I sit and wait for that something

To clear,

Make way

For something else.

Familiar order

There is comfort to be found in familiar things.  Like a regular plain old summer thunderstorm coming on gradually and moving on gradually.  Best of all, my weather brain moves with it.  It seems from here I can move on to more adventurous things, with my toes anchored in the familiar.

Now this

This

Is like summer thunderstorms

The way I remember them.

Distant rumble,

Sky gradually darker,

The patter

Of gentle rain.

This is the progression

Of things

In familiar order.

I am at home

In my chair.

I will go to the Clinic

In an hour,

Like every Monday.

The storm

Will have moved on.

The rumble

At a different distance

Already grows fainter.

The sky becomes

Lighter and lighter.

Eventually the sun

Will appear.

This is the way

I remember.

We will stay where we have always stayed

I grew up in Minneapolis.  I have not lived there since high school.  When Mom moved into assisted living years ago and left the family home, my family always stayed at a particular motel in Golden Valley.  Truth be told, it is not an easy place to get to or from, but now, years later, the paths are well-worn.  We know the pool, the continental breakfast. No, it is not particularly close to my son, but it is familiar.  The paths are well-worn.  We can get anywhere from there and back.

We will stay

Where we always stayed

When Mom lived

In assisted living,

My sister lived

In St. Louis Park,

My brother lived

In St. Paul.

Now Mom lives

Nowhere visit-able

Or perhaps everywhere

Visit-able;

My sister lives

In Santa Fe;

My son now lives

In Northeast Minneapolis;

My brother lives

In the same house on Laurel

In St. Paul.

We will stay

Where we have always stayed,

Even though my son

Will be the only one home.

We will stay

Where we have always stayed.

There is a small comfort

In knowing exactly

Where we will be.