28.7.06

Now may you go

Haze gives way to driving rains and peals of thunder -- God laughing, some have said, no doubt at the limp way in which this body of mine flops and complains in the humidity with all the crotchety antics of an octogenarian. And yet these days feel like blessings, mostly because that is exactly what they are. Tests and expectations are set aside for the next few days as I travel a bit south of here, following a boy. I find myself trapped between wanting August to continue interminably and wishing September to be well on its way. See you in a week.

"Life is short, and we do not have too much time to gladden the hearts of those who travel the way with us:
So be swift to love, and make haste to be kind, and may the Divine Mystery, Who is beyond our ability to know but Who made us, and Who loves us, and Who travels with us, bless us and keep us in peace. Amen."

26.7.06

Rhymes with "knicker."

Guess who is back in town and, with any luck, coming soon to an Eastern seaboard near yours truly. Permanently.

This we pray.

Day by day.

By day.

And every day.

By day.

23.7.06

Two Do.


I stumbled across this site today. A compulsive list-maker, I found it good to see how many others enjoy encapsulating life's less pleasant chores -- taxes? and credit cards? and diskettes? and banks? and a wart, just because life wasn't good enough with all of them there taxes? -- into neat, manageable, polite tales of responsibility and procrastination. This one caught my eye for one reason: I've always marveled at those who do not cross, and double-cross, and then neatly scribble out the things they've managed to achieve on one of these babies. What's the good of keeping a list if one doesn't have the satisfaction of erasing errands into oblivion?

In the end, however, I prefer to keep other lists -- the kinds one doesn't have to, want to, or prefer to erase:

Prayers answered.
Sounds coming from the neighbor's house.
Summer loves.
How many days until.
Books to read.
Aid organizations.
Craft ideas.
Names.
Why I love him.
Letters to write.
Five-year goals.
School supplies.
What I don't understand.
Essay ideas.
Conversations to have.
Questions to ask.
Clothes to modify.
Christmas gifts.
Classes to take.

And, of course, Wart.

20.7.06

Let your warm hands break right through

Tonight, my brother and I saw this movie:


so should you.

Forgetting, for a moment, that I'm a sucker for space travel and Salvation Army wardrobes (Lois got that entire outfit for no more than $3.75, I guarantee that), what I loved most about Superman was the company. And here's where I run into a bit of trouble, because people used to tell me that I only talked about my brother, that they never knew I had a sister, and I feel guilty because that's probably true. Both are equally amazing, equally lovely people; it's just that, for the longest time, Patrick was my fellow rabble-rouser, and Jen was the rabble that got roused. Here's one example: Jenny made the mistake of falling asleep early one evening, and Pat and I proceeded to cover her entire body in a bottle of Elmer's glue. We spoke of it as if it were the perfect crime: she didn't wake up, and we had the strange and sickly satisfaction that comes with peeling things off of people. Years later, she calmly informed us that she had been awake the entire time but hadn't moved--she had just been too timid to object. (Oh, but she has the last laugh: this weekend, Pat and I are going to a classical concert. Jen is camping in her backyard. Go figure.)

I could tell you the million little things I loved about this movie, but the truth is that I'm writing this here for one reason, and one reason only. I know that, when she finally crawls out of the jungle, Jen will be able to picture the following scene more vividly than I can paint it: two gangly kids sit near the back of the theater a little bit apart from everyone else, still smitten with the idea of a world where superheroes save days. One still has an affinity for Nice Guys; whether they finish last or first, she won't care so long as they are on time. The other used to actually wear a jerry curl. Both still find it amusing that Superman flies the way the girl plays video games, jerking the controller to change direction, and that screenwriters create such awful dialogue. "I'd forgotten how warm you are"?! Like that's really the first thing you'd say to the Man of Steel. I think she'll agree with me when I say that I've missed those crazy kids. It's nice to see them back finally and true to form.

I should have been in bed an hour ago. Instead I'm sitting here, writing an open letter on the Internt to my sister in South America, listening to Imogen Heap and Snow Patrol courtesy of my brother. (I'm so behind!) I feel a little bit as though my mother's going to come in this room any minute and tell us all to turn the lights off, that it's time for bed. I get the feeling that if I go to sleep right. now. I will wake up in my own past, in my old house, with a bottle of glue in one hand and a feather in the other, just to see if she was lying about that being awake business.

Good night, kids.

for my brother, who knows how to say things

Lift this wing.
Sweet child, lift this wing.
I've gotta know right now,
love--you gonna lift this wing?

Is this the right place for the right time?
You got your marching orders, your shoes shined?
Come on, sweet devil, come on now!
Come on, lift this wing.

Two long years and seven days
spent living hard and fast, loose
cats on dying knees now with their heads
bent low -- they wanna know,
love -- they wanna know, you gonna lift this wing?

Bah, there's no harm in open windows
when you've got eyes to see; and Me,
Well, I've been walking to you
for miles now and singing,

thinking life is grand when you've been
drinking good times down
with blondes and browns --when God Himself
could call from Heaven and it wouldn't knock you --

down past Orleans and across the sea, yeah,
I've been thinking myself straight into the arms of
the right place and the right time
for you to come on, climb on
down the mountain of your life and

Lift this wing.

16.7.06

When it's all said and done,

I'm only beginning to realize how much I'm going to miss my church home here in Connecticut. Having grown up in church, I know full well that not all churches are created equal: one can spend agonizing weeks and months being greeted by too-bright smiles and welcome packets and (insincere?) incessant requests for your "information" before stumbling across a church that even remotely resembles home. I've been so blessed.

I'm so grateful for the give-and-take of my relationships here, for the diversity of our home crowd, for the way new people feel something different (it's love, and yeah, we know that's so rare to find these days). Knowing I'm leaving soon, again and possibly for good, makes me uber-grateful for nights full of ice cream sandwiches and iced coffee, hiking partners and curbside dwellers asking late-night kinds of questions, mutually honest wrangling with Ourselves in the Universe, and moments marked by laughter. I've got it good with these guys and gals. Here's to hoping for a mass exodus of these folks a wee bit north and a wee bit east, where life is good and the chowda is hot.