Diatribe: We Wade in Soup

If you read this you will learn I disagree with you profoundly

Not only in word but in deed

You will discover that I have been listening and rather than

Blindly taking you in I have been taking notes

You have created an armor of self-righteousness about you

But you haven’t been righteous

You trampled past the least of these

Wearing the mantle of Samaritan – good and bedecked in glory

While the wounded lay bleeding smack dab in the middle of the road

You didn’t even notice

You were on a mission

And that gave you permission to disregard

The bodies you left in your wake

To leave people crying

Scarred, scared and confused

You trampled past the earth’s pains

Scoffed at the neediness around you

Calling it want

Finding it weak

You wrapped yourself in superiority and called it authenticity

Donned a suit of narcissism and heralded it mindfulness

You spoke of love

But knew no intimacy

You talked of God

And anointed yourself one

Do I sound angry, defensive even?

You bet I am

There is nothing so self-serving

As a doctrine that shuts out discourse

A Paradise without freewill

God knew this

He created Paradox

Reveled in it even

Cried tears of blood

At the sacrifice he made

For messy creatures

Even came to wade in their soup

And when Lazarus died he was sorry for the loss

Though he knew a better day was coming

He never once turned from his pain

He embraced all that it meant to be human

In a garden, in a stable

In an earth that’s being eaten alive

He never turned his face from it

And, the animals and the dust that you deem less

He knew would cry out his name

Demons aren’t around every corner

They’re in you

And, they disguise themselves as love

Metered out and measured

Given out to some and not to others

On a whim

You are not a person

But a spirit, an idea

That has taken over an age

Of what it means to be good

And right and

Justified

Let me tell you…

It’s not good enough

Healing with Art

A lot of people I know -- some with whom I have close ties -- have been dealing with cancer lately. That's why it was an extra special honor to have two of my photographs -- Man's Best Friend and Girls with Lenore -- chosen to be a part of the Norris Cotton Cancer Center's Healing with Art show. Today was the reception and it was a wonderful event. Patients, artists, staff, doctors and friends and family all mingled together to not only view the artwork and hear us talk about our work, but also to listen to patients read poetry and prose about their experience. Some of it was poignant, some painful, and some humorous and direct. Many participating shared their personal reasons for being there -- friends and family who had survived and suffered from cancer -- everyone expressed their belief in the healing power of art. There was a warm and beautiful spirit to the gathering. I felt particularly supported having not only my parents in attendance, but my photography instructor, Jim Block and his wife Jann. It means a lot to have the support of a teacher especially one that launched you in a direction you never expected to take. I made a number of contacts, connected with another former instructor, Carla Kimball, who also has work in the show, and was especially proud to hear from a fellow artist that a patient had grabbed her hand and led her over, squealing in delight, to view one of my "dog" photos.  It is a small bit of joy to share with people undergoing such pain, but still I am happy to provide it.

Portrait of An Evangelist

Following my poetry class and trip to the vet's today, I had just enough time to grab a bite to eat and make it to Faith Assembly of God in Bethel, Vt. to hear evangelist Nathan Pimentel preach. I snapped this photo of him with my iphone a few minutes into his sermon. He will be at Faith Assembly for one more night.

Proud Parents

As I said, going to the vet's today was a family affair. This was the first time my father met Dr. Jones of Country Animal Hospital. He started to inquire about her past and she decided to answer him by sharing an article about her and the business that I had written for Upper Valley Life Magazine. It was  a framed plaque. Mom and Dad read it while we awaited Waffles' test results. They were very proud parents.

Sick puppy

Poor Puppies...Alfie and Waffles went to the vet this afternoon to be tested for a urinary tract infection. Because of the cold and rain, neither of them have been good about going outside to do their business and yesterday I noticed some blood in the puddle one had left in the kitchen. I couldn't be certain which one had a problem or if Alfie was coming into season, so I made an appointment with the vet to take them both in. Unfortunately, I had to teach, so I arranged to have my parents take the dogs to the vet and for me to meet them there. It was a family affair. It turns out it is Waffles with the problem, although Alfie does have crystals in her urine as well. It seems like this is natural for her as we have had her tested in the past. Waffles, on the other hand, not only has a UTI, but a suspicious x-ray. The doctor was checking to make sure no stones were forming. As far as she can tell, they aren't, but she may have a bit of "sludge" built up already so it's good we brought her in. She is on an antibiotic and I am changing both their diets for a time being to see if that helps.

Neither of them enjoyed the visit. Alfie even nipped at a vet tech while getting her nails done. By the time I arrived, 10 minutes into their appointment, the two were both frantic eyed and panting. They seemed pleased to see me, though Mom and Dad were doing a good job.

Poetry

I taught my first poetry class today to the seniors at Harvest Hill in Lebanon, N.H. If the chatter and happy faces were any indication, the class was a great success. I'm calling it a Poetry Appreciation Workshop as we are exploring what poetry is and why we like it. We talked about how writing poetry can be intimidating, but some of the students noted that poetry is something people cherish, frame, manipulate. The condensed nature of poetry makes it easy to return to ponder, memorize, read again and again, to actually touch and frame. In this way it is different than a novel or a longer literary form. It was fun to hear these perceptions. One student brought in her father's tiny pocket book of Burns poems, its cover worn to a smooth shell. It seems he carried it in his pocket throughout World War I. She told how as a child they would take walks and he would recite Burns poetry from the gate onward. One student became excited reciting childhood nursing rhymes and soon we were all joining in filling in the words. We recalled the joy of first experiencing the rhythm and music of these verses. We shared a common bond. I look forward to the next five weeks but its going to be a challenge. This is a smart, perceptive group.

Question: What makes a Poem a Poem?

I am Strong

"Death and Life are in the tongue..." Proverbs 18:21

Words are important. Proverbs says, “Death and life are in the power of the tongue…” Last week I let loose a small firestorm of sorts in my own life with a blog post written in a weary moment. I had so much to do and I found so many people asking me to do more. My words elicited a variety of advice from well-meaning, kind-hearted people telling me I needed to learn how to say “no” and to take the phone off the hook to others who feared I was co-dependent or being taken advantage of by my family. I understand their reasons. I shared with readers the list of requests that had been made of me, my list of to-dos, and expressed my anger and frustration at my inability to fulfill it all. I was tired and as one insightful friend realized was really in need of a virtual hug. What I didn’t convey with my words and what was equally important as my momentary feelings of tiredness and frustration, was the fact that I had it under control. Well, to be more accurate, as overwhelmed as I might have felt, I was not drowning. I knew how to see the shore. It is, as I wrote, too heavy a burden to eat everyone else’s cake and thus, it was not my intention. As I tried to convey in my two accompanying posts, The Paths Your Feet Take and Golden Thread, I have been pretty good throughout the years in remaining steadfast in my goals, in keeping my own path straight. I know how to say “no,” sometimes I just wish I didn’t need to so often. Many people see that I am single and perceive that without the responsibilities of husband and family I have more freedom and flexibility than I do. I don’t like to be put in the position of having to explain that, but I do so when necessary. We each have our burdens to bear. So here I am a week later and here is where I stand.

I had to turn my Grammy’s invitation to stay with her down, but I met her for a wonderful lunch today and perhaps some day soon we’ll get to that movie. I did take my friend Joan to the doctors and she rode along with me so I could take my nephew to his church meeting, actually a men’s only retreat. But, since the guest speaker is the evangelist I go to Hawaii with each summer, I was fortunate to be awarded for my taxing by being invited to sit in on the evening session, a nice relaxing end to that day. I spoke to a close friend and had to turn her down for a really important favor – something we both realized I could not do. This one was hard, because if anyone needs help she does. But we talked about faith and where it comes from and how it sees you through and she noted how our friendship and the influence of my family on her as a little girl had helped build her faith for what she is facing now.

This week I start scheduling interviews for my new assignments. Last week I made steps in a really important direction. I went looking for office space – a place to work and call my own – something a little bit better than a table at the local bookstore. And, I think I found something. I’m working out the details now. I finished the syllabus for my new poetry class which I start teaching tomorrow and put my private class on hold for a month to give us all time to catch up. I still have plans to sit in on my friend’s writing class – it is devoted to e-publishing and in addition to perhaps leading to new job opportunities I hope it will help me in learning material I can apply in publishing my own writing. If it all works out, it will also help her. I attended the local poetry reading and we recording some of our poems for VPR. I dropped off my pictures at Norris Cotton Cancer Center and will be attending the reception this Tuesday. I am excited to see the work of the other artists. I am thrilled to have my photography recognized.

I sought some free business counseling that may help me in launching my pet magazine. I bought some paintbrushes to work on a picture with my brother. I read my blog post to my father and we discussed my feelings. He wants to help me find a source for giclee printing as well. I still struggle to find ways to make money as an artist – it always seems like I am taking on one too many jobs just to make ends meet – but I look forward to starting a new short story this week and finding new creative ways to grow my income. I went to church this morning and this evening and even managed to drive over the mountain to meet Joan and Jane for tea and coffee. The pugs came with me and now we all sit on the sofa – they are snoring away as I write. Life has its challenges and sometimes we all get overwhelmed, but it is just a moment in time. Like the tide, troubles ebb and flow. If the power of death and life is in our words than I want to share this – I may briefly feel as if I am underwater, but I know how to swim. I am more than okay. I am strong.

Golden Thread

"There's a thread that you follow..."

After trying to work through some of my emotions in my blog posts and turning my attention back to my poetry syllabus when I stumbled upon this poem called the Way it Is by William Stafford:

“There’s a thread that you follow. It goes among

things that change. But it doesn’t change.

People wonder about what you are pursing.

You have to explain about the thread.

But it’s hard for others to see.

While you hold it you can’t get lost.

Tragedies happen; people get hurt

Or die: and you suffer and get old.

Nothing you can do can stop time’s unfolding.

You don’t ever let go of the thread.

I realized this poem hit on the sentiments I was trying to get to in my last two blog posts. While in part my last post had to do with finding a way to focus on my goal amidst the pull of other responsibilities it also confirmed something about my personality. I sometimes feel like the tortoise slowly, steadily running the race. I might be slow, but I’ve been steadfast. I haven’t gotten to where I wanted to be, but I haven’t stopped moving forward and while it may not always look to the outside world like I’m getting there I am. It also reminded me that the thread that carries us through can be hard for others to see and that life does happen even while we cling to what matters to us most. I have been carving a creative meaningful life for myself and as challenging as it is, as invisible as I might sometimes feel, I never let go of my thread.

The Paths Your Feet Take

“Give careful thought to the paths of your feet…”

I’ve been thinking of adding a new section to the blog for the new year – a Words to Live By section. As a writer words are important and sometimes they are what help gets me through.

I was working on my poetry syllabus when the texts started flying in from my brother about his art and the calls started coming in from my father about the giclee prints. I wanted  to be able to chat with my brother, I needed to work on the syllabus. I was going to get up early and finish it today, but heard my grandmother was coming down and might want to go out to lunch. She didn’t, but she did want to stop by and open Christmas presents. It took awhile. Then I had to eat, which took longer. I didn’t get around to the syllabus until evening. Then the texts and phone calls started rolling in. I felt overwhelmed enough to write the last post, so many people in my life want so many things and it seems like I’ve spent decades letting my own things get pushed aside.

Suddenly, the words do not look to the left or the right came to me. I wasn’t sure where they were from but pretty sure I’d read them in the Bible somewhere and understood their meaning. Life throws a lot your way, but only you are responsible for the path you take and you need to keep your eyes on the goal. I needed to hold my path. I googled the phrase and found this scripture in Proverbs 4:25-27:

“Give careful thought to the paths for your feet

And be steadfast in all your ways

Do not turn to the right or the left;

Keep your foot from evil.”

I think I may need to find a way to live by these words.

Everybody's Cake

I am tired.. My grandmother wants me to keep her company while my uncle is away – I’ll take you out for Chinese and to the movies she entices. She is 93, how many more times will this offer be offered? My friend Joan needs someone to take her to the eye doctors for shots in her eyes – her eyes will be dilated, but we can go out to dinner and maybe to a movie, she suggests. Another friend thinks we should get together to exercise. Another needs me to help her out as a favor. My mother has to have knee surgery, but she is not sure when so I wonder how my schedule will change. I received my assignments through July for one publication and have yet to hear from others. I need to meet with the head of a local writers’ space to see about offering new classes there, I am scheduled to start teaching a poetry class next Monday (no syllabus yet) and a new Memoir class at the college in March (twice a week). I have to figure out when to schedule this month’s private class, and I owe a student in it a drawing for his book. On the 18^th of January I sit in on a friend’s writing class to see if it is something I can help with in the future. These will be on alternating Saturdays for the next few months. I have taken the initial steps to start a pet magazine, but there is so much more to research to find out how to do it and I’m not sure where to turn. I’d like to write a few more short stories see if I could connect those together into a book, then there’s the book on the pugs I’d like to write. I have a poetry class on Wednesday I need to gather my poems together for – we are reading them for VPR. I want to get my hair done on Saturday but it is my niece’s birthday party. My  nephew needs a ride to a church meeting. Tuesday I drop pictures off at Norris Cotton Cancer Center, I got two accepted there. I thought about seeing if I could learn more about doing Kindle covers, wish I knew more about fonts and text. Asked my brother, felt inadequate. My other brother has painted his first painting. He listed it on Facebook and has 10 buyers. Another guy contacted him and said he could sell as many as he could produce. My father calls me up to ask me about making giclee prints of them. I’ve been hoping to make prints of my work for some time, haven’t yet figured out how to yet. My brother thinks I should help paint some to sell, too, which is cool, but where to find time. My father asks why you can’t just figure out how long it takes to make them and charge accordingly. I say you can’t price yourself out of the market. He asks what’s the point if you can’t make a living off of it. I’ve been trying my whole life. What’s the point always lingers in the background. You decided not to build a house on your land, my uncle says. I’ve decided nothing. There is no money, what’s the point. My life is lived in the shadows, a thick fog blocking what I do from others' eyes. “I thought you might be willing to earn a little money,” a friend says. “I thought you might be willing to keep me company.” “You better go write your articles so we can go…” “We should get together on Tuesdays.” “Your mom is lucky to have you.” “Why haven’t you written a book yet?” “This is what you should be doing.?” “What are you doing today?” – as if the whole day is free and obviously work is not on the plate. What extra time can I carve out? “You need to focus on yourself. You need to prioritize.” How? Time slips by and suddenly a year or two has become 10 or 20 and look my life is full but where am I in it? I’m too busy with the mop and the broom and the glue and the gun – cleaning up and fixing to reap any reward. I have a syllabus to create and soon it will be March and then July and then September and a life is lived only I wonder where was I when it was happening? I’m sure somebody else knows. They are always happy to decide what I am doing.

I am tired and I guess I am angry. I want to do everything – help the friends, spend time with my grandmother, get my work done, set out in new directions, create a purposeful life with a measure of security – I just don’t know how to do it all. And, I know I’m not the only one that feels overwhelmed, but something about the nature of my life seems to make others feel there’s more room for debate. I must have lots of options when it comes to juggling. I can be flexible. And, probably I’ve helped give them that idea, by bending over backwards one too many times to get the job done. But perhaps I’m too old, perhaps I’ve reached a breaking point, perhaps there’s just no more room to bend. I just don’t know how. I can’t eat everyone else’s cake and have mine too. It’s too heavy a weight.