Nov 25, 2008 | This Life
Pining for a bed that’s not mine so I don’t have to make it.
It’s probably the fumes emanating from the spray cleaner, but I’m questioning my sanity. Specifically, my sadomasochistic tendency to “deep” clean before company arrives. What possessed me to climb a ladder and scrub the molding on 9’ ceilings? Or vacuum the partition door? Or reorganize the pantry, the larder, and the cupboards—at the same time. I don’t even cook in this kitchen. Why am I scowling at the oven considering which carcinogenic foam I should use next?
It’s probably just the fumes talking, but I’m pining for a hotel room. With room service. And maid service. And views. Someplace warm and cozy and not particularly invested in tradition. Someplace that has never even heard of cranberries, except to mix them with vodka and serve with a swizzle stick.
But try as I might, there isn’t a hotel room in my near future. So I’m cleaning. Deep cleaning. Scrubbing and scouring and working up a mighty fine case of dish-pan hands. I just had go and offer to host Thanksgiving Dinner. I’m not sure what came over me. I’d blame it on the cleaning fumes, but heaven only knows what I was smoking then.
Nov 23, 2008 | Sunday Sermon
A Gift. . .
This morning, I decided that instead of feeding you words, I’d feed you scones. I’m fairly certain, that if Jesus had been born to an English mother he would have declared himself the “Scone of Life” not the “Bread of Life”. He was, after all, born in an Inn’s stable. . . and in first century Palestine, that’s as close to “Bed and Breakfast” as you’re going to get.
Anyhow! Fruitcake gets a bad rap and I’m all about redemption. So, I’m offering you this bit of a gift: a fruitcake you can believe in. A fruitcake that can sooth your soul. And if you eat it with a cup of strong coffee, it might just indeed become The Scone of Life.
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Nov 20, 2008 | In Photos
Often, tea tastes better when prepared by someone else.
Nov 19, 2008 | This Life
Quickly and before I launch into my real topic for this post, I want to say, “Thank you” for all the support. There is no doubt that I’m working through some “stuff”. Typically, as an internal processor, this means I’ll sort through the individual strands, get it all organized, and move forward. The process of writing about it always feels too messy in the midst of it, and old news once past. But, I reserve the right to expose you to my messy process in the future. Should I find that the case, you can bet on a password protected post. Not because my truth shouldn’t be said. But because if last year taught me anything, it is that the entire world isn’t entitled to navel gaze with me. And frankly, neither is my past.
So, as I was saying, the themes of November speak to me. Gratitude, abundance, and reciprocity. The juxtaposition of a stark landscape and limited light with the heart-bursting sensation of gratitude and abundance–it’s this contrast that convinces me the Universe is not stagnant, but moving, breathing. It is from this place of gratitude, I hope to tell you just what I’m learning.
In the midst of all my personal turmoil (code for drama, just sayin’) I’ve been contemplating the subtlety of light. How even with the limited hours of sunlight in a day, even enrobed in endless clouds, even in the midst of latte foam fog–even then, light reaches out and touches me. Reaches out and makes my heart sing. In the midst of lack, I’m appreciating what little light I can find.
And that has me thinking about how the lack of something we crave or need or desire, makes us all the more appreciative of that contact when we get it. Even if it arrives from a completely unexpected place.
It’s not a secret that I come from a Southern family. But the stereo-type of a large, tight, unusually close family couldn’t be further from the truth of my life. And it’s a stereotype, it is figment, a phantom, a broken promise I am no longer claiming. After nearly 40 years on this planet I have woken up and realized that it’s dream I don’t want to pursue any longer. There is FREEDOM in this statement, that I cannot begin to express. I just know that I’m tired of chasing what cannot be and I don’t wish to build a monument to something so unreal. At least, not with components of my past. Instead, I’m am looking to the future, dimly lit that it is, and rejoicing that this bit light has finally dawned for me.
But the Universe, the Universe is gracious. And I hope that in the next few days I can express to you just how gracious. In this lack of light, I am holding onto the shining, glimmering bits. Those small gifts have soothed my broken heart and my only response to such grace is to express my gratitude. I hope you’ll come along with me, even if it is a bit messy.
Nov 17, 2008 | This Life
November is a month of possibilities. I will admit, the themes appeal to me. Gratitude. Abundance. Reciprocity. I meant all last week to start writing on the autumnal jumble in my head. I meant to.
I wasn’t prepared for Montecito to burn. No one is ever ready, prepared for disaster. Wild fires, in particular, are unpredictable even if expected. Ask any Californian what they really fear and they will tell you that the fear of earthquakes pale in the presence of fire. And as predictable as it might be considering the dry conditions and the mighty Santa Ana’s, it still came as a sudden bolt of panic to discover early Friday morning that my heartland was on fire. Instead of writing, I found myself sleepless, nauseated, and instinctively refreshing 6 pages of news feeds desperately searching for information.
It is not just Southern California in flames. My past has also been set ablaze and I am watching it burn down with spectacular speed. Not nearly the arsonist I could be, I’m witnessing my world be consumed. I’m not fanning flames, but I’m not throwing water either. I am resigned to this burning. It’s a mourning process that’s long over-due. And I have faith that this grief which burns so intensely will not consume me completely.
In the midst of the flames, I am finding that I have a lot to say. Words are coming; words that will not be swallowed. Words that have me stepping into a future that refuses to be bogged down by an insurmountable grief. Into a future that has no place for the horror I have known in the past. No place for the past at all.
In the midst of the flames, I am finding I have a lot to say. In the embers of my past I am discovering that what remains is the voice I’ve been seeking. I am finding that I cannot be silenced.
Words are coming, words that cannot be swallowed. And I’m going to speak them until I get it right.
Nov 15, 2008 | This Life
Banyan at Val Verde
We woke to the news that our beloved Montecito was under siege from a wall of wind whipped fires. We are thankful to know that our friends are safe and that, for the moment, the winds have died down. I don’t have words to express our concern for those who have seen their worlds burn. Please know, we are praying for you.
Nov 10, 2008 | This Life
I love Autumn’s palette. Perhaps more than any other season. It has only been recently that I’ve become Summer’s deepest acolyte. Up until this expanse of grey, I would have told you that I loved the fall most. For its color. For its textures. Even for its light. Best. With complete loyalty.
Clearly, I am fickle.
Where once the misty quality of Autumn’s light would have enchanted me, I am now finding it my undoing. Product shots, pictures for this blog, the random snap-shot of my life beg for natural light. Natural light is not to be found, unless filtered through layer upon layer of grey. The sun, which never really took up residence here, has packed her bags and headed for climes most southern. And in her wake, is this impenetrable grey.
But I refuse to be undone by the lack of light. Today, I broke out a new lens to tackle the issue directly. It has numbers and buttons and can do more than I can imagine. It will, of course, mean deciphering the user manual. However, you know and I know that I am unlikely to read the manual. Instead, I will just shoot. Pick up the camera. Click. Click. Click.
A terribly violent word, shoot, for such a gentle craft. But shooting I am. Shooting to pierce through layer upon layer of grey. Shooting to find some remaining trace of the sunlight I remember. Shooting to capture what was once my favorite. Redemption, conversion, returning to an old love. A deep love. Autumn in all her glory, in all her color, in all her texture. Shooting to be enraptured once again.
I am fickle at heart. But I will not be undone by a lack of light.
Nov 9, 2008 | Sunday Sermon
We cling to our own point of view, as though everything depended on it. Yet our opinions have no permanence; like autumn and winter, they gradually pass away. ~~Chuang Tzu
Nov 7, 2008 | This Life
Apparently, IZ had the conversation with our 11 year old about female reproduction today. We decided years ago that the parent who “matches” the kid gets to have that particular discussion.
Yeah, so IZ explained PMS and Boy Wonder concluded,
“Oh, so that’s why Mom gets crabby with you and yells at you sometimes.”
“Yes, but sometimes I deserve it.” IZ replied.
Yeah buddy, sometimes YOU do deserve it.
Nov 6, 2008 | In Photos
I’m completely enchanted by this color.
