Noon... I promised the editor by noon today. Eleven fifty nine. I’m going to be late. Nepal, Baltimore and a death in the family and I postpone what was going to be printed three days ago and try to figure out how to put very very strong emotions on paper.
My little cubby brings me such happiness. I really love how it’s situated. The light is always perfect. Flowers grow easily when I’m there to water them adequately. I’m surrounded by that which encourages both industry and pleasure.
The day dawns...well I don’t know how the day dawns. It hasn’t happened yet. There is this, however. Today is all about the fulfillment of Promise, so I guess whatever the weather is will be fine by mine.
It’s two hours past my bedtime. The building is quiet and in my little office cubby covered in chatchke of my narrative, the last four edits, teeny tiny minutiae of details having to do with the text, have just been sent to the printer. We are hours away from uploading to the distributor.
Finding out Criss Fournier has ALS put it all in perspective. I want to use this column right now to broadcast the opportunity to contribute to her care costs at her GoFundMe site. If you can, please donate. They are halfway there. Mondi is carrying all this for her Mom.
Arrogance around not getting sick was at an all time high for me. And then I stopped using my secret weapon, hand cream. The winter has been so mild, the rough skin reminder to use it was not constant.
The organ loft at Calvary Baptist Church in Norristown, Pennsylvania is sunk into the floor as if to be it’s own orchestra pit. Garnell would drop himself into the cockpit like console and, for a couple of hours, both of us were free.
He emerged from the finished basement which had become our family’s recreation room looking like he had been threatened with immediate death. His deep brown eyes had a tinge of “wild seeking escape” to them. His usually erect shoulders were even further drawn back.
When people hear what I’m doing, this look of horrified shock melts onto their faces and then simultaneously I see them go for restraint lest their emotions show. The restraint never works. It amuses me a little.
Three times in the last week I have experienced people screwing up and then putting the blame on me. That’s actually kind of a low number of incidences for a week isn’t it? You experience that all the time don’t you? A lot of lies are told during the holidays.
This will not, until the last, seem like a holiday column. Most assuredly it is. It’s true what they say. Don’t give up running when you are two feet from the finish line. Drag that sorry fanny across the line if you have to.
From the per
The caseworker, who had been with us for five years already after our first adoption, sidled up to me as we prepared to take our weekend respite charge home with us and said, “I wouldn’t mind if you fell in love with this one. We don’t have anywhere to place him.”
Got it! “One Monster After Another”! It took several variations of googling “Bubbly Goo”, which produced recipes,“Sue writes a letter”, which produced a passel of legal info,”Mercer Mayer”,”Maurice Sendak”...where was that plot?
It was the last session with a ‘client’. I sat in the chair actively listening, putting to use all that I knew and had learned. The classes were all done: Human Development at each age and stage, Learning Theory, Ed Psych, Deviant Psych, Intro to Counseling.A Family Affair
Inch by inch, piece by piece, I unpacked. That which had been boxed and put in storage in the Spring of 2013 was now, in the summer of 2014 being carefully placed in just the right places. It had been, to quote Eugene Peterson, a huge long obedience in a single direction.
Standing at the counter of the University of Washington Bookstore looking at conducting batons seemed odd and surreal. Standing next to me, instructing the clerk, was the man who had told me a decade before I couldn’t conduct adults or an orchestra or band because, “(He) couldn’t handle the competition”.
The etched glass on the side of the Goat Hill Parking Garage beckoned the third time the car cruised down fifth avenue. The original plan had been to take the bus. It would stop right in front of the courthouse and be easy steps up to the Council chambers.
It was about 9 o’clock Saturday morning when I finally gave up. I was sick of the opposition, sick of being positive in the face of adversity, sick of trying, sick of doing excellent work that was cutting edge and visionary for like no pay
Moving down the line each tree looked satisfyingly prophetic about an abundant and joyful present with more on the way for the future. I love Ordinary Icons. Someday I’m going to write a book about them.