SOME VERSE FOR TODAY

 

In a City Apartment

Outside the door the hedgerow grows

By rusty links of chain along the walk.

A lonely chipmunk skitters over litter, lawn and leaves

While honeysuckle vines entwine

Around the fence, white petals overshine,

Tendrils reaching, straining, fragrant, sure.

Not thwarted by old boundaries torn.

I should be so bold amongst the litter of my years. 

 

 

Where Lies My Heart?

Where lay my heart on Bonfire Day? 

Did I forget how I must pray?

Mistake my need to verify?

Or am I freed from all that made me cry? 

 

I shall not now repeat what once I kept.

Those thoughts unbidden nor will I regret

My choice to save the future from the past.

I've sent my sad words into flames at last. 

 

"ALL GOOD THINGS ARE WILD AND FREE," Henry David Thoreau

Autumn is too short a season for me.  We have a couple of August nights with windows open and I'm ready.  The hickory nuts are bouncing onto the deck, mostly jaggedy shells left by voracious squirrels.  Those little demons celebrate the season.  Not enough rain yet so  I water the Hellebores and whatever is left in pots.  Thank goodness for a deep well.  The petunias are long gone, impatiens are leggy and marigolds shriveling.  

Soon I can trade out summer annuals for violas and pansies.  I picture the choices:  apricot, lavender and deep purple?  White, russet and yellow?  Or monochrome?  The creeping rosemary on the back hill is so sculptural it looks like its swimming, and the oregano is still fresh too.  The chives weren't healthy this year, never even bloomed.  I miss their tiny white flowers. 

We're taking a fall trip.  We'll get back mid-September in time for the Autumnal Equinox.  I'm having such fun planning this adventure to Iceland, where we have never been, and to the Inner Hebrides of Scotland where we have also never been.  I have not flown since before the pandemic and the tales of airline woes are cautionary.  In this countdown to take-off I'm masking everywhere.  No way do I want to miss the waterfalls, black sand and geysers; the Scottish brogue, pubs and rugged islands.  

Sometimes on a trip you're in the company of great painters, spending time in museums with Renoir, Van Gogh and Monet, hanging out in another century.  Sometimes at the theatre with Shakespeare or Eugene O'Neill.  Sometimes you're with your whole family sharing meals and stories.  

This time I feel like we'll be with God and the aeons of time.  I'll learn about geothermal pools, see steep cliffs of lava, and stand among rocks on the Isle of Iona that have been there for 200 millions years.  How can that be?  It's 45⁰ F in Reykjavik right now, definitely fall weather.  I'm feeling very very lucky and we haven't even left yet.  Fingers crossed, thankful for this blessing and hoping happiness for all.  

                                                         Nina Naomi 

 

 

 

 

 

A PRAYER FOR US ALL

The season is changing and so am I.

In winter I hibernate,

Tea and blankets and fire and long nights.

In spring I bloom,

Color and rain and hands in the soil.

In summer I run barefoot in my soul,

Climb trees in my mind and hit all the high notes.

And in fall my heart bleeds for losses but loves just the same,

Loves the past (but not all), loves the present (but just some), loves the future.  

Pain drifts out the windows, open and fine.

Lights reach my corners to keep out the webs.

In fall I get ready for whatever will come: 

Dying, living, rocks or sand, dry spells or fertile.  

I am here God for another season.  Take care of me please.  

Amen.

JUST AS I AM THOU WILT RECEIVE

Fused Glass

"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10

Times are still difficult; we've all noticed that.  In response, I've been reading books by Dr. Mary Pipher again (Posts 3/9/19, 3/18/19).  One  I reread is Women Rowing North: Navigating Life's Currents and Flourishing as We Age.  It's not overtly devotional or even necessarily religious.  She writes for a broad audience.. The currents she describes are there to navigate no matter what.  For me, this writer's words create ripples like a small stone tossed into the pool of my own undulating thoughts. 

A psychologist, Dr. Pipher says that with each new stage of life we outgrow the strategies that worked before. I thought of how easy it was to feel exuberant at age twenty, how unbounded the future seemed and how for the young good health is so often taken for granted.  Not so at my age now; I do need new strategies.  She suggests being kinder and gentler with ourselves and others.

Some of the problems we face are luxuries: "I have a vacation, where shall I go?"  Some not: "My friend has cancer.  Will he survive?"  Or more nebulous: "Has my life been worthwhile so far?  Am I loving? Or loved?"  Dr. Pipher realizes that what she wants is for her soul to expand as her body ages. This is important at every decade.  

 

Dr. Pipher says that when she works with trauma victims she asks, "When you look back, what are you able to be proud of?"  Everyone has something:  "I retained my essential nature."  "I've been able to tell my story." "I didn't give up."  "I fought back." "I'm alive."  When we have to confront difficult emotions the most important thing may be that we learn to grant ourselves mercy.  I think of William Blake: 

    For Mercy has a human heart;  Pity, a human face. 

Many of us feel young until we suffer a major health crisis, or our life partner does.  My father said to me, "I didn't feel old until your mama died."  He was 84 when he said this.  "As we age," Dr. Pipher says, "our bodies, our sexuality, and our minds are devalued."  True, even in 2022, maybe especially for women.  Sometimes ageism seems more trying than aging.  Yet research shows that as the years accumulate many men and women are deeply content, have better mental health, find an ability to manage their own emotions and help others do the same, and excel at intimate conversations.  I think this means that we learn acceptance.  If some fact in our life is unacceptable to us we have no peace until we accept it.  We Christians learn acceptance from our Lord.  I remember singing "Just as I Am" at my Grandma's Methodist funeral, and at many funerals since.  Verse 4 reads:   

 

Just as I am, thou wilt receive,
wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve;
because thy promise I believe,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Eventually, one way or another, we will say goodbye to everyone we love. Our goodbye or theirs.  As we cross each milestone we need better navigational skills, but fortunately we have more experience acquiring them.  We are able to face life as it is and build happiness from there.  Hospice teaches that there are five essential conversations:  "Please forgive me."   "I forgive you."   "I love you."  "Thank you."  "Goodbye."  There is no reason to wait until it's time to say goodbye to speak the other four.  In that way, we help heal ourselves and others and find joy.  At any age and in difficult times.  

                                                                   In peace, Nina Naomi

 

 

LOVING A LISTICLE

2007: the year the word listicle started appearing.  Not that lists haven't been around forever:   Homer lists every captain involved in the Trojan war and a Catalogue of Ships of the Achaean army.  The Beatitudes are promises of blessings for the meek, the poor, the righteous, the merciful, the peacemakers; many of us try to live according to the Ten Commandments; and we (at least I) skip the genealogies listed in the Bible. 

As school children we all learned by lists.  They are finite.  This can be a comfort. But listicles are a bit different.  A nice combination of list and article in what some have called a snackable size.  Befitting something, for the most part, casual.  

The ones I like are inspirational. I was given a workbook of list-prompts.  One is "List the Reasons Why You Should Feel Proud of Yourself."  Isn't that affirming?  I wish I could list, "I've gotten better at keeping promises to myself," but for now that's something to work on.  What I love is the thought behind an interesting listicle, how you can see that the writer felt a sense of accomplishment thinking of each item. Plus how getting to know a writer, even a bit, is always really a way of getting to know yourself. 

So here's my short listicle of things I'm loving as these hot days of August creep along.

. . . the way the Canadian geese sound as they squawk back and forth across the evening sky.  They have no sense of camouflage or survival and yet there is never any shortage of geese.

. . . that all I have to do is listen to my intuition to know what's true.   Our intuition is our friend and to deny it is to take the long way 'round.

. . . when someone compliments me, often a stranger.  Or when I do the same and a conversation starts up, two women finding a transient connection that pauses an ordinary moment.  Women are good at this and it's lovely for children to witness.

. . . when a downpour cools the asphalt and awakens the trees.  The car hoods steam and water pools.  For awhile the humidity shifts, a breeze takes hold and we notice the change in the day.

. . . doing yoga in my 1977 mid-century modern home.  Doing most anything by an open window if the temperature allows:  reading, watching the birds, looking for the chipmunk family, working.

. . . the smell of wild mint and orange lantana.  The fragrance of almond or lavender or vanilla.  The smell of peach camomile tea with honey and how it tastes in a bone china cup.  The feel of fresh sheets, bleached clothes, clean hair, warm skin, shea butter sunscreen, my dog Mr. Wiggles after his shampoo and conditioner, and how good they smell. 

. . . whatever opens our senses: to feel, to taste, to touch, to be enfolded, to snuggle, to envelop, hug, love and then fall asleep. A fine day and night. 

HAPPILY EVER AFTER

Why even think of this phrase?  We all know that "Happily Ever After" is borrowed from fairy tales and means that in the future everything will turn out fine.  In fairy tales the setting is marriage--a prince marries a woman who becomes his princess.  This was supposed to happen to Princess Diana, but her Prince loved another and she died in a car crash.  Maybe right this minute Jennifer Lopez thinks being Mrs. Ben Affleck is her happily-ever-after. People magazine says so. Wouldn't it be nice if it were?  We have an old friend who has been a widower twice and perhaps this third marriage will be happily-ever-after.  Almost 80, they met on Match.com.  

I feel like my marriage is a happily-ever-after marriage with emphasis on the ever-after.  It's a wonderful, strong marriage to my best friend and lover.  But there are tragedies, miscues, arguments, life . . . .  So I'm deciding that our happily-ever-after moments don't have to be big or even romantic.  They're things like the laughter of every day and the closeness of every night.  My happily-ever-after isn't a life without pain.  It's joy and peace and abandonment to love that survives even unspeakable grief.  

Happily-ever-after gets you up in the morning for tea or coffee, taking out the dog or greeting someone who is your heartbeat. It doesn't mean no sadness or struggling.  It means knowing there's much to live for, no reason to despair, good things yet to come even if some are memories.  If you're young it means believing in yourself and in God.  If you're old it means believing in yourself and in God.   

"Ever after" can begin anytime.  So it is past, present and future.  It means finding small joys amidst great ordeals.  Like having the whole family around the table when one of you is weak from chemo.  Or finding your creative self after a change you never wanted. Or maintaining sobriety.  Or having another child after losing one.  Or being buoyed by love. 

Looked at this way it doesn't just belong in fairy tales.  It belongs to us.   

WHY WE PRAY (OR WHY WE DON'T)

Lately I haven't been praying as often.  Usually my mind is flooded with prayer.  The least thing.  I don't understand my daughter:  "Help me God."  I'm standing at the waters' edge at sunset, heels sinking with the tide's gentle outflow:  "Thank you Lord."  The Ukrainians are dying:  "Save them Lord."  "The test came back normal:  "Thank you God."  

 

But lately not so much.  So, it seems, instead of actually praying, I've been thinking about prayer.  I don't know if others do this. 

The first thought is, why do we pray? To be closer to God surely.  To claim God as our center.  To admit that we are not alone and don't want to be.  To lay our very selves before the one who made us and whom we know will be there no matter how deep we sink.  To prostrate ourselves and be lifted.  To seek respite.  To give our burdens away.  To say, "Help me please."  That's on a bad day. 

On a good day we pray to give thanks.  On those days we worship with joy and sing God's praise.  We pray because we are grateful for every season, every blossom and seed, every lizard and spider and chipmunk.  We are grateful that our children are better, our lives have been spared, the floods have receded.  We give thanks for our best self, the self that cares for others, that loves with abandon, that lies on our back and feels the rain. 

We can pray to feel better, or we can pray to live better with how we're feeling.  Doing the latter often results in the former. We learned as children not to set an agenda for God.  After all, the words of the Lord's Prayer are "Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done," not ours.  Hopefully we use prayer to be more open, receptive and present to God and not to tangle with our emotional life, our history, and the thoughts in our mind. 

Prayer is not a clever way to be happier, that we know.  Although turning over the unsolvable on earth to God--really letting it go--does help our stress and anxiety and maybe even depression.  

 

It's been said that a lack of prayer means a lack of faith and a lack of trust in God's word.  I actually read that.  Written by someone highly judgmental, no doubt.  That mind-set is easy to run into.  The same writer said that we pray to demonstrate our faith in God.  Demonstrate to whom would be my question.  I can't say that ever in my life have I prayed to "demonstrate" anything.  I pray out of need, gratitude and thanksgiving, knowing that not everything can be fixed, not world events and certainly not every private unpleasant experience.

I also read that prayers un-prayed will be prayers unanswered, but that too is not true.  God answers many prayers that I am too absent (or tired or unknowledgeable or devastated . . .) to pray.  I bet for each of us.

 

I'm sure that prayer will come easily again.  Sometimes something happens that destabilizes us for some reason and we need a re-set.  I bet God will answer a prayer that I don't even know how to phrase.  Sometimes that is my prayer:  You ask and You answer; I will accept.  Thank you Lord.  AMEN

HIGH SUMMER

August is here.  Where we live the days are hot and mostly parched, with sometimes late night heat lightening and no rain.  Maybe where you are too.  The Midwest, though, is flooding and our family in St. Louis is glad to be on high ground.  Earlier this summer a driving trip to New Mexico was cancelled due to forests on fire, horses evacuated.  I saw the orthopedist last week for my unsturdy back. Yikes!  Definitely needing to cope.  What about you?  

So I went outside in the heat, barefoot and in shorts, and took pictures.  To me they are so lovely they belie the scraggly yard.  Some of my hanging garden, bits of colored glass to jangle over the brown forest floor.  Some of the heart-shaped leaves that remain after the wild violets fade. They measure 4 inches across this late in the year.  

Heart-shape

I'm loving the way a little walk outdoors lifts your spirits.  Over the weekend I had the same sluggish problem.  Plus--full disclosure--the day started with an argument, one I didn't know was coming.  Nothing more destabilizing.  I know, if we're feeling down there's no reason not to let ourselves be.  And often we do.  We settle in with our feelings and give them their due.  We befriend each mood and accept it as is.  That's a fine way to be.  Why ever fight with ourselves?  

But this time the outdoors called.  So I went to the local Farmer's Market.  It's a wonderful place with food trucks, crafts, fruits and veggies.  Just your normal community spot. I met a man who raises ostriches for meat.  Hard to know what to think of that.  He made a good case for a tasty ostrich meal, but I didn't buy any.  I just couldn't picture slaughtering this gangly bird. 

At the Durham Market even the crosswalks are works of art. 

Crosswalk

Then I stopped at a library where I wrote in my Journal.  The morning had been so dispiriting that I had carried it with me.  After that an an old warehouse that houses artist's studios and last a museum.  What an enjoyable day it turned out to be. 

August is actually starting out just right.  High summer has it's own charm, the last lazy days, scorching or not; once in a while a cloud burst.  Hair pulled up off the neck, swimming and bike riding and tomatoes that don't come off a truck, juicy with flavor and sunshine.  Eggplant and peppers and overhead fans.  Getting off work early and cooking for friends.  Something to savor . . . .