One deadline at a time

On Iona I made a spectacular find: The Little Book of Calm by Paul Wilson.  Since then I have found the book in numerous places, and purchased copies for many friends.  In this season of quiet, I am finding this book to be quite helpful.  One page recommends taking one deadline at a time.  Only one.  It (of course) is reminiscent of the AA focus of One Day at a Time.  As with many things, sometimes it only takes a simple re-working of a common principle to hear it again.  Buried treasure.

My little book of calm

Suggests only one deadline

At a time.

This is my favorite page.

I call home to find out

What*s new.

Now that I am not dependent

On someone dropping me off

Or picking me up

From work,

I find there are six deadlines

Imposed on the system,

Today alone.

My next client

Is at 8 PM.

She is a regular.

She is my next deadline.

One at a time.                           

I will weigh in

On kitchen paint color

Before bed,

Something else

In the morning.

Buried treasure

I prepare for a new client, and the quiet day on Saturday.  Both are unknowns.  Both are buried treasure.  Advent seems a good time to look for buried treasure.

I search

For buried treasure

In the coming of the Christ child,

The Second Coming

Is buried

Just around

The corner.

The Mayans

May be onto something:

Let one calendar run out

Before creating

Something new.

This buried treasure

May be found

Only when the field

Looks empty.

This buried treasure

May require

Less light

To be found,

A quiet hopeful waiting

In the dark

More wise counsel

Okay.  I will stay home today.  Not that I want to (mind you) but I will stay home, drink hot things, gallons of water.  maybe leave the house tomorrow.

I remember praying

For just enough snow

So a friend

Would have to stay home

Not make an unwise decision.

I recruited friends

To pray with me.

They did.

There was enough snow

To stop traffic

Everywhere,

Just enough snow

For my friend

To stay home.

Today every time I consider

Leaving the house,

My right nostril

Opens like a spigot.

I get it.

Just because the calendar says

I can drive,

There is more wise counsel.

It suggests:

A nap,

Gallons of water,

Microwaved

Chicken soup.

Maybe driving

Tomorrow.

It does not feel like Advent

It does not feel like Advent.  Too warm.  Even the plants are confused.  I understand it*s been ten below zero not too many miles north, in the land of my birth.  Even snow.  I wonder whether this blog will be captured somewhere in the future as a weather chronicle.  Today it does not feel like Advent.  Today I will focus on today*s things:  Do I go to work at the Clinic with a dripping nose?  Stay home and sleep in?  Work on the Advent Quiet Day I lead next week?  It does not feel like Advent... but it is.
Today I choose to follow the Star.  www.d365.org/followingthestar/   

It does not feel

Like Advent.

The weather is warm.

A friend notes

A confused forsythia

In bloom

On the way home from church.

Another friend notes

This is good weather

For compost.

I note this is a full week.

I have a completely unseasonable

Head cold.

My husband pats my shoulder

On his way to work.

So this is the way it begins,

I think.

I*m sure there must some connection

Between forsythia and compost

Head colds and shoulder pats

And Advent.

Some connection somewhere.

New license to drive

Today I can drive.  I will most likely make the grocery store run this afternoon, drive to my volunteer job tomorrow morning.  By myself.  No radio.  Today, maybe all week, maybe all month, I will consider myself a new driver.  Learn again the privilege.  I hope I may not have to do this again.  This time around, I know there is the possibility that things might change... any minute. I hope not.

With this new year

Comes driving.

Today it*s not about

Speed,

But rather

A week or two

With new rules.

This week

When I drive

I will be the only one

In the car.

A week or two, perhaps three,

With different rules,

A new license

To drive.

New year.

New beginning.

This Sunday in church

We light the hope candle

On the Advent wreath.

Perhaps the new rules

Will last an entire season.

Perhaps

This time around

Things will be different.

I certainly hope so.

I consider Advent

 There is no point in unearthing the Advent wreath.  There is no place to put it. We will have to mark Advent in a different way this year.  

I consider Advent

With four juncos

On the back patio.

They sit

On the leftover kitchen tile.

No snow.

I consider Advent:

No place to put a wreath

This year,

The newly arrived kitchen sink

In a box

In the hallway.

No room in the inn

For decorations.

Today we will remove the pumpkins

From the planters

Out front,

Put them next to the creek

For squirrel food.

Today I consider Advent

Mary jostling along

Pregnant

On a donkey,

Wondering what on earth

Comes next.

Please tell me (she whispers)

No more angels

Announcing strange and stranger things.

No more cries in the wilderness

Prepare

Prepare

Prepare.

I consider Advent

No room in the inn

For decorations;

Pumpkins for the squirrels

Out back;

Juncos waiting for snow;

Kitchen sink

In the hallway.

Please tell me

No more angels

For now.

Crow

It*s not so bad.  It may not be bad...at all.  I am, after all, not the cook, merely the diner.  Crow is not like revenge: best served cold.  Crow has nutrients found only in humility.  Most often it seems it is only ordered when the rest of the menu has been cleared away.

Crow

Has nutrients

Found nowhere else.

Crow

Takes practice,

Lots of practice,

To figure out

How to eat it

Fully feathered

Not plucked

Not baked

In a pie.

I have cleared away

The other menu options.

Crow

Is on the specials list.

In fact

Crow

Is the only thing

That remains:

Fully feathered

No crust.

Crow.

Yum.