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.
After so many moves and the annual feeding frenzy that has gone on every Spring since 2009 when renters get chased out of homes in deference to the promise of a ‘hottest ever’ sales season pitch to landlords, I stopped unpacking completely.
The seals are barking and morning is a long ways off. They started about the same time the cover band next door stopped playing Jimi Hendrix ‘Changes” followed by Average White Band’s “Play that Funky Music White Boy”
In the hands of a skilled carpenter/cabinetmaker, the antique dresser was suddenly not a piece of junk. Fortunately I had called to see whether or not the tall boy with the scroll back and tiny old-fashioned wheels could be repaired or just needed to be thrown out.
Saying good-bye to 2013 is such a momentous relief, such an iconic reality of courage and victory, words have seemed simultaneously inadequate and explicitly relevant. Watching it slip away brings no sense of loss. Blech….2013…what an awful year for so many.