Lorenzo

I'm the type of person who can watch the same movie over and over and over. Of course not every movie is worthy of such a watching, a casual playing while I do something else, or an intentional burrowing on the couch, blankets and snacks around.

Lorenzo's Oil was one of them. I watched it several times, crying each and every time, awed by the strength of the parents, the dedication and the intensity.

The inspiration for the movie died yesterday at age 30. May he rest in peace.

Hanging

So much hangs in that moment between question and answer.

Truth? Maybe. Comfort? Probably. Laughter? Possibly.

Full-up

I'm all full-up, as my kidlet used to say, from this past week. All brimming with inspiration, of speakers and brushes with fame. I'm satiated with friends and connections, new and old. I'm a bit sloshy with the life, and drunk on conversation and idea.
And now I'm back, drawn again to word and immersed in a sacramental life. I'm asking questions again, of myself, my place, my calling, searching for clarity and synchronicity, trying to answer that which I asked others. I'm looking for that yearning bit and trying to stand apart.
It's not easy, this calling, and it's been good to have a break, to realize that no one else lives an especially easy life, either. That there are always obligations and questions, irritations and frustrations.

Trying to find a word.

The place, the people, the time:
Amazing, sacred, full, intense, delightful, unexpected.
Stunning, gracious, good-natured, laughing.
Divine. Quotidian.

Grand Tour Friday Five

From Songbird over at the RevGals:
One of our original ring members, jo(e), wrote yesterday about a trip she and her sisters are taking overseas with their parents, to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary. Many other RevGals are headed for the Festival of Homiletics in the coming week (click here for information on a RevGals meetup!!).
In honor of these upcoming trips, herewith your Grand Tour Friday Five.

Name five places that fall into the following categories:
1) Favorite Destination -- someplace you've visited once or often and would gladly go again
There are so many!! As someone who loves to travel, there are many places I would gladly go again, so I'll list five in honor of the Friday Five:
Baltimore and Washington DC -- I would gladly go again to explore more than the Inner Harbor, and to simply explore more of the history. (Ok, I know that's two, but I'm considering that it could be done in one visit!)

Hawaii -- I've done the historical and touristy things, but I'd love to go with no other purpose than sitting in the sun and listening to the ocean.

Texas -- for good friends.

Montana -- if for no other reason than to lay on my back and gaze at the stars in Big Sky country.

Grandma's farm -- to lift dirt from the edge of the field and know that there is peace within that heritage of soil.

2) Unfavorite Destination -- someplace you wish you had never been (and why)
Bountiful, Utah -- we drove around there for a very. long. time. before realizing how lost we really were.

3) Fantasy Destination -- someplace to visit if cost and/or time did not matter
New York City, to which I've never been. Of course, I'd also love to visit Greece and have ample time to do both the historical AND the fantasy of a place by the sea and nothing to do but read and enjoy good food.

4) Fictional Destination -- someplace from a book or movie or other art or media form you would love to visit, although it exists only in imagination
I just finished reading The Pajama Girls of Lambert Square by Rosina Lippi, and if for no other reason than to spend a day in the shop Coccoon, I'd love to go there.

5) Funny Destination -- the funniest place name you've ever visited or want to visit
I've got nothin' for this one. Though the name of my hometown is pretty funny, so perhaps I'm sensitive to the funny-named town!

Signs

I've chronicled the Saga of My Unwashed Coffee Cups here before.

I washed the collection this morning, and realized that it's one of the tangible signs that I'm getting ready to go away for a bit. I wash my coffee cups. Some people clean their home. I wash cups.

Next week? I do believe it's called room service.

Better than the crossword puzzle

I never realize how entrenched I am in the little routines of my life until I change them. Obvious, perhaps, and yet.... perhaps I should change more than one of them in any given day.

This morning I had to stop and walk myself through the shampoo/rinse/condition/wash/rinse cycle because I'd moved my shampoo.

And this afternoon? I nearly just threw my chewed gum on the carpet of my office because I moved my garbage can.

Laughing?
Try it.

Words

You remind me of words

I said long ago

Words that I'd forgotten

and scenarios 

I had scrubbed clean away. 

You make me laugh

and somehow sad, 

not knowing what

this is all about. 

I scanned over some

pieces today

that represented 

more than the black and white

on the page, 

and that conjured up places

I'd allowed to gather dust. 

Tile by tile

Piece by piece

Creating a bit of 

wholeness. 

From the dirt

I raked 10 brown yard bags full of old mulch, leaves I'd banked around trees in the fall, crusted bed toppings that hadn't been tended to in years (?). It felt renewing to uncover the ground and see where things that had been left behind had turned the ground deep and rich, dark and cool. I plunked down some new bulbs and a path and some ridiculous cubic footage of fresh mulch, and visioned a little sitting area, if not for me for the birds. We live on a corner that's busy, though I prefer bustling, it seems to have better resale value though I know it's just semantics. And I love how the kids walk by from school and the neighbors honk and stop to tell me that I'm making them look bad with all I'm doing out there. 

It was cold, but after wielding my rake and the clippers and wearing the gardening gloves, I wiped the sweat away, leaving dark brown streaks across my forehead, remember that you are dirt, and to dirt you shall return. There was life among the decay that had happened over the winter, new leaves on things I thought had died, fresh shoots of things I wish had not survived, tendrils peeking through the ground looking bold and tender. I stood and visioned all sorts of foliage, creating the beds into a mishmash of color and bloom, of green, of life, ridding the corners of their barren brown. A frost warning prevented me from rushing out to stimulate the economy with my garden dreams, but last night a woman said to me, come to my yard, wander about to see what I have, there are lots of shoots, bleeding hearts and cup-plants, and .... and my vision took root again, and I want my hands to retain a speck or three of black beneath the nail, a reminder of the dirt from which I come.