Another morning and I wake with thirst

for the goodness I do not have. I walk

out to the pond and all the way God has

given us such beautiful lessons. Oh Lord,

I was never a quick scholar but sulked

and hunched over my books past the

hour and the bell; grant me, in your

mercy, a little more time. Love for the

earth and love for you are having such a

long conversation in my heart. Who

knows what will finally happen or

where I will be sent, yet already I have

given a great many things away, expect-

ing to be told to pack nothing, except the

prayers which, with this thirst, I am

slowly learning.

thank you, a,  for giving me this book of poems. as i continue to read this one poem over and over, i realize how lost in my own self i have become. then i realize maybe i’ve always really been that way. i, too, have this unexplained thirst for something i cannot define but maybe it’s because that thing is so incredibly simple that it hurts to even admit it. why do i search so hard for the “beautiful lessons” that are right there in front of me? is it impossible to make progress without clearing the most obvious of obstacles or can i set those aside to focus on focusing? if i am choking it is only because the hands around my neck are my very own.

Not often you look out your window and see a port-a-potty flying through the air, right? Proof that we’re in DC, see long-standing theater Arena Stage (now under construction) and the Washington Monument in the background.

As if my day could not get any weirder, a gentleman entered our apartment building today and was nice  enough to hold the elevator for us. We both pushed the button for the floor we needed, and then he asked,

“Hey, do I smell like shrimp?”

Am I being punked here? I mean, what the hell? But did I look him like he was a freak? Oh no, I said,

“Believe me, I can smell just about anything and you don’t smell like shrimp at all!”

“Ok, good, thanks,” he said.

No, sir. Thank you.

“O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.”

this beautiful hymn is the one with which i most identify. here you have someone who, fully aware of a gift, turns away and chooses the opposite direction. a person who tries to make it on her own, toughen up, maybe even cries from time to time, but never, not ever, surrenders long enough to accept this gift. to tell the truth, she forgets about the gift and is only occasionally reminded of it, though remotely, and through the eyes of those around her. then she remembers that the gift is hers for the taking. she need only accept it. so why does she not feel worthy enough to take it? in truth, her self worth probably has nothing to do with it. rather, she is lazy and focuses only on what will be owed and expected of her in return. and eventually she comes full circle and considers once again the fact that remained there from the beginning: that the gift is freely given. she is overcome with emotion and relieved and hopeful and excited. but here is where she splits from the person who wrote this 18th century hymn. she does not ask to be shackled to His goodness. she does not outwardly admit to having left the God she loves. she does not accept the gift. instead she lets the memory of it fade once again, down a path that disappears at the horizon. and it is gone.

where will you go when you die? me, i’m not rooted or connected to a place enough to want to be buried there. maybe that comes with age, loving a place enough to want to be connected to it forever. right now the only place that exists like that to me is in he tiny heart of my baby girl. i imagine it would be warm and comfortable inside. cozy even.

plus, the idea of an expensive coffin lined with silk or whatever is ridiculous to me. i’m cool with just being put directly in the ground as is. or maybe cremated. but what to do with the ashes?

some members of my family have expressed an interest in being cremated and having their ashes spread (sprinkled?) in a specific spot. when it is time i will have been the one who has already researched the “how” of spreading ashes onto land. here are two helpful tips i’ve found:

“Wherever you choose to scatter over land, you should spread the ashes in such a manner that you achieve complete dispersal so that no obvious amounts or piles of the cremated remains are evident.”

“Be mindful of the wind. As cremated ashes will adhere to clothing when dispersed, it is recommended that you keep the wind at your back and perform the dispersal downwind of any observers.”

i’m so glad that this second point was covered. because i think about these things.  still, even if  we (the spreaders of ashes) remained upwind, who’s to say that the wind won’t suddenly change direction and the remains of the deceased won’t cover us or fly into our mouths because they are wide open as part of our incredulous expressions? wouldn’t it be disrespectful to have to spit out bits of a family member onto the sand?

it’s this cold weather that makes me all creepy and somber like this. still, something to think about.

Make friends with a person who is fatter than you. How many of us have done this? No, you didn’t set out to, because something in that person was something you genuinely dug already. But since she’s bigger than you it’s like you already have a one up, something to fall back on, something that makes you better. This is not something you would ever admit to someone, of course. So hug her, love her, tell her she looks good in that dress. It makes you feel more confident than the times you look in the mirror and see your infinite list of imperfections. Now go make friends with someone skinnier than you.

1. Exceeding what is necessary or natural; superfluous.

2. Needlessly wordy or repetitive in expression

3. Chiefly British. Dismissed or laid off from work, as for being no longer needed.

[Latin redundāns, redundant-, present participle of redundāre, to overflow : re-, red-, re- + undāre, to surge (from unda, wave).]

redundantly re·dun‘dant·ly adv

finished my other post.

it started out cloudy and now it’s raining outside.

a car swerves on the road below me.

the sprinklers on our condominium grounds are watering the plants

and

the hoses are filling up the fountains.

i spill my water.

she wakes up for real this time. crying.

the air conditioning is on but i don’t believe it so i leave the fans running.

i’m guilty, too.

what is this world coming to?

what if
our love were like a sunflower
that started its morning hunched over and groggy
unable to motivate itself without the sun
but as the day warmed
it gained its confidence and with each passing hour of sunlight
it became stronger and more deeply
rooted
and totally sure of itself and its plan and its potential
but then as the sun
began to tuck itself to bed in the horizon
the sunflower, our love, lost its train of thought
and its lofty ambition and grandiose plans for
renewal and freshness and dinner together
and stories of other sunflowers and how they did
something funny or embarrassing while the sun was out
and it began to hunch over and head to bed
without even brushing its teeth because
without the sun it lacked motivation.
our love needs sun.

it was tiny, a
tasting
a trip
a thought
a talk, then
a tackle.
a temptation
teaspoon of
touch
a talk
a tear
trepidation
a tiptoe
a tattered time.
tears
still never a taper.
a telephone, a voice so
tender.
something tense and terrible
but terrific.
several thrashes,
tomahawks
topsy turvy tension.
all the while a template
tinkered with, not just a
topcoat;
a team.
tough, torn, but tender and
true.