Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Little Bits of This and That

It feels so late tonight, though it is not so late. My heart was racing today, again. But I can’t resist a little more coffee than is good for me. Simple pleasures. Tomorrow, a half day, and then done, that is, until Friday.

No one is showing for their appointments. Everything is off, it’s vacation time, not “keep your appointment and show up on time” time. And so I spit out paperwork.

Today the woman who sorted our donations was fired. It seems that for years she has been pilfering among items and taking the best for herself. Well, actually, been taking the best and creating gift baskets of items and selling them. She must have quite the boutique in her home. But no more. She denies everything. Bit by bit, different folk reveal small pieces of witnessed indiscretions. The puzzle image is not a pretty one. But she will no longer be there. I wonder how abundant donations will seem in her absence? Ah, corruption. How it sneaks up upon us! (I thought you were a friend. But goodbye feels like hope.)

The air outside smells of fresh dirt and springtime. It is warm. Tonight I walked with a friend. I wore no jacket, only a scarf--hands nestled in pockets. The trees were lantern lit and Orion was clear in the sky. We heard shouts and felt threatened, but they were far away; not intended for us. We walked and the air was tangy and made me want to dance.

Sometimes I act as if my mood is some kind of moral indicator, but more often than not, it’s most pronounced influence is the weather.

It will be warm again tomorrow. (Cold front after that.)

Friday, December 19, 2008

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Journey of A Thousand Miles

Maybe it is love of mystery, or maybe memories of the overbearing glare of the Texas sun make me prefer the night sky to daytime. Driving at night is somehow nicer, the darkness is a thick comforter and the small glows of the other headlights are warm beacons; the street lights point the way of the road. All else is cool and darkness.

Community radio DJ brings out the most trance-like, obscure music at night, and the soundtrack takes me down distant highways, road trips into strange lands.

I think of fragrance, and it’s ability to transport. Soft floral shampoo and bath wash of warm oranges and soapy vanilla, an everyday aroma from when I first lived on my own. All of life was possibility and unknown. There were no more filters to protect me, now it was up to me to make choices and feel my way into the wide world. It was terrifying and beautiful at the same time. Always I remember it with a strange intensity: the sensory cues from that time are evocative of so much fear and hope all blended together in an intoxicating brew.

I arrive home to a dark place and instantly there's a cat at the ankles, demanding attention. I drop my bags and remember the damp laundry, leftover from morning. One more trek up and down stairs, one more trip to the basement dryer. Soon, I’ll shed the day like a molting lizard, one size too small, and now I've outgrown it.

I fold away the last fragment of today's responsibility, and place it in the laundry basket: testimony to accomplishment, once dirty, now clean.

What is adulthood without second mortgages and shuttling kids to practice? What is adulthood without screaming babies and first mortgages? I’ll find the answers to the questions between full time work and sending off the rent check to the landlord. I’ll find the answers over warm dinners shared with friends and meetings at deserted coffee shops, on long walks and solitary runs. I’ll find the answers in my church family, broader and wider than any nuclear-type.

Day-by-day I build upon what is, to what will be. Not having answers in hand, I do what I must: I walk by faith. When I falter, (and I do) grace carries me. I'm never alone on this strange trip.