November 29, 2010
I remember as a very young child visiting my grandparents in Idaho. Every morning Grandma would fix breakfast while Grandpa sat in his big swivel armchair just outside the kitchen entry reading his daily devotions. ( I liked it when Grandpa would be out of the house and I would slip into his throne and delight in spinning around.) When the breakfast call went out I would have to pass Grandpa who would reach out and grab me with an arm or snare me with his bamboo cane and, once settled, ask me if I was up for all day.
Grandpa: “Are you up for all day?”
Jon: “Yes.”
Grandpa, chuckling: “ Unless you fall down!”
It was his attempt at humour. This same exact exchange would take place day after day after day.
Grandpa’s daughter, my 89 year old mother, and I have a similar experience these 50 some years later only it occurs in the evening hour before mom retires.
Mom: “What’s going to happen tomorrow?”
Jon: “I’m not sure, mom, we need to make it through this night first.”
Mom, pressing for more information to soothe her anxious mind: “Don’t you know what’s going to happen?”
Jon: “Well, I guess we can be fairly certain the sun is going to come up.”
Mom chuckles, not without a slight degree of frustration, and begins her journey into the night.
This same exact exchange takes place day after day after day.
I have come to savour this exchange. It has taken on the life of a ritual and, as is often the case with rituals, if one chooses to enter into them with reverence and expectation something begins to happen. I’m not sure what is going on with mom but I am aware of some of what is happening with me. I think of the certainty of the sun rising and setting. The certainty of the moon’s measured orbit around the earth and the stars in their courses. The certainty of my mother’s death….and my own. Within the parameters of cosmic certainty and the certainty of my mortality I live out the days granted. They are filled with much uncertainty, which, when I stop for a cup of tea and reflect on the day, usually fills me with gratitude….”unless”, like Grandpa warned, I fall down!”
Monday, November 29, 2010
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
November 24, 2010
We experienced a severe cold spell in December of last year that killed or damaged plants that had been living on this property for many years. A small oak tree that my brother had germinated, nursed along for a year, and then transplanted into my garden was felled by that arctic blast. This was a particularly disappointing loss as he had picked up the acorn during his travels in Portugal/Spain and had brought it back to Oregon. Tragic also was the loss of an olive grove I had planted several years ago. That fall was the first time there were olives to harvest…only a couple of handfuls but enough, nevertheless to preserve. The berry vines were damaged. This latest outbreak of frigid temperatures raises a concern in me for what will be taken or damaged this time around. It is happening earlier this year than last and the trees, shrubs, vines, and grasses are even less dormant than last year. The life has not fully left the veins. There is one difference, which is why I am writing about this now, and that is we are not experiencing the strong penetrating east wind that accompanied last year’s cold. I recall several days of clear sunny skies…and a strong east wind that cut like a knife. Wind chill it is called. The thermometer can read 18 degrees but with a wind the actual experience of cold could be that of a temperature of 5 degrees.
It reminds me of how a number is such a one-dimensional reading of reality. My mother is 89 years old. What does that really say about her? I will be 59 in a few days. What does that tell you about me? Our culture is fascinated and driven by numbers. The Dow-Jones industrial average, unemployment figures, the score of a Trail Blazer game, the dollar figure of our paychecks, insurance premiums, the calendar number of this day; numbers are everywhere and their influence continual, subtle, and powerful in shaping our experience of life. I would prefer to pay more attention to the ‘wind’.
We experienced a severe cold spell in December of last year that killed or damaged plants that had been living on this property for many years. A small oak tree that my brother had germinated, nursed along for a year, and then transplanted into my garden was felled by that arctic blast. This was a particularly disappointing loss as he had picked up the acorn during his travels in Portugal/Spain and had brought it back to Oregon. Tragic also was the loss of an olive grove I had planted several years ago. That fall was the first time there were olives to harvest…only a couple of handfuls but enough, nevertheless to preserve. The berry vines were damaged. This latest outbreak of frigid temperatures raises a concern in me for what will be taken or damaged this time around. It is happening earlier this year than last and the trees, shrubs, vines, and grasses are even less dormant than last year. The life has not fully left the veins. There is one difference, which is why I am writing about this now, and that is we are not experiencing the strong penetrating east wind that accompanied last year’s cold. I recall several days of clear sunny skies…and a strong east wind that cut like a knife. Wind chill it is called. The thermometer can read 18 degrees but with a wind the actual experience of cold could be that of a temperature of 5 degrees.
It reminds me of how a number is such a one-dimensional reading of reality. My mother is 89 years old. What does that really say about her? I will be 59 in a few days. What does that tell you about me? Our culture is fascinated and driven by numbers. The Dow-Jones industrial average, unemployment figures, the score of a Trail Blazer game, the dollar figure of our paychecks, insurance premiums, the calendar number of this day; numbers are everywhere and their influence continual, subtle, and powerful in shaping our experience of life. I would prefer to pay more attention to the ‘wind’.
Monday, November 22, 2010
November 22, 2010
It has been a long time since I have written like this, pausing mid-day with a cup of tea and listening; trying to put into some kind of word form what comes to me. I’m not sure why I stopped. I suppose it really does not matter. All I know is that over the past few weeks I have experienced a quiet persistent urge to reconnect with this discipline. I wonder how many other quiet persistent urges live within me…subtle stirrings I am unaware of?
We live and move in this world with such certainty. We like our rhythms and routines. Our cars start most of the time, we travel to and fro without accident, we see our friends and kinfolk, people age and die, babies are born, and on and on and on. But there are the inevitable times when this calm surface is broken like something akin to the cold arctic air mass that is descending upon us this late November day. Slowly it appears on the horizon. Unpredictable. We begin to pay attention. Yes, in this day and age it becomes an instantly huge media event, but even if we could set that aside we can feel the first fingers of the cold just by walking outside for a few minutes.
I am reminded of Esau. He is going about being Esau day after day when suddenly there appears on his horizon a few people bearing gifts and messages of goodwill.
A few people soon turns into a multitude including herds of sheep, cattle, horses, and oxen. There must have been a great accompanying cloud of dust. Esau gathers 400 warriors around him and waits for the unpredictable that is coming his way. He receives the homage intended for him, knowing that at some point soon he will confront his brother who has tricked and betrayed him. Years earlier he wanted to kill his brother. His heart changes over time. When Isaac finally arrives, trembling in his own right and limping after the previous night’s wrestling match, Esau throws his arms around him and welcomes him back.
I go about my day to day and suddenly there is the hint of something happening on the horizon, like Isaac limping forward, I cannot escape its inevitability. I can embrace or kill. Today I choose to embrace the muse of the T@3... she has been walking towards me for quite a while now. I wonder if she is limping?
It has been a long time since I have written like this, pausing mid-day with a cup of tea and listening; trying to put into some kind of word form what comes to me. I’m not sure why I stopped. I suppose it really does not matter. All I know is that over the past few weeks I have experienced a quiet persistent urge to reconnect with this discipline. I wonder how many other quiet persistent urges live within me…subtle stirrings I am unaware of?
We live and move in this world with such certainty. We like our rhythms and routines. Our cars start most of the time, we travel to and fro without accident, we see our friends and kinfolk, people age and die, babies are born, and on and on and on. But there are the inevitable times when this calm surface is broken like something akin to the cold arctic air mass that is descending upon us this late November day. Slowly it appears on the horizon. Unpredictable. We begin to pay attention. Yes, in this day and age it becomes an instantly huge media event, but even if we could set that aside we can feel the first fingers of the cold just by walking outside for a few minutes.
I am reminded of Esau. He is going about being Esau day after day when suddenly there appears on his horizon a few people bearing gifts and messages of goodwill.
A few people soon turns into a multitude including herds of sheep, cattle, horses, and oxen. There must have been a great accompanying cloud of dust. Esau gathers 400 warriors around him and waits for the unpredictable that is coming his way. He receives the homage intended for him, knowing that at some point soon he will confront his brother who has tricked and betrayed him. Years earlier he wanted to kill his brother. His heart changes over time. When Isaac finally arrives, trembling in his own right and limping after the previous night’s wrestling match, Esau throws his arms around him and welcomes him back.
I go about my day to day and suddenly there is the hint of something happening on the horizon, like Isaac limping forward, I cannot escape its inevitability. I can embrace or kill. Today I choose to embrace the muse of the T@3... she has been walking towards me for quite a while now. I wonder if she is limping?
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