The Patience of Ordinary Things

The Patience of Ordinary Things Pat Schneider It is a kind of love, is it not? How the cup holds the tea, How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare, How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes Or toes. How soles of feet know Where they're supposed to be. I've been thinking about the patience Of ordinary things, how clothes Wait respectfully in closets And soap dries quietly in the dish, And towels drink the wet From the skin of the back. And the lovely repetition of stairs. And what is more generous than a window? Source: Another River: New and Selected Poems Something to think about on a gray almost-March day! Blessings everyone.

I'm wondering--again

See, I was doing the dishes this morning and listening to Carrie Newcomer sing. She's wonderful. And something came into my head about how "modern" music often has no real ending. Older forms of music, even the ballads of the 20th century, had some sense of structure. There were moments of tenderness, of harshness, of major keys and minor keys. There was often a climax, not always at the end. But there was a sense of conclusion or completion when the music ended. Not unlike making love with someone you truly love and respect, although not always, sometimes just the opposite.

So I wondered: how come contemporary music so often just fades away at the end. And does that say anything about how our culture views beauty, ecstasy, emotions, relationships, commitments?

This is not to say I don't care for any current music or think it somehow basically inferior--although really, folks, some of it truly IS inferior. But there is some good poetry and some good musical writing. I don't have answers. Just wondering, as I often do.

If you aren't familiar with Carrie, check her out at carrienewcomer.com

And now I, the great procrastinator, must get a tax appointment made, forcing me to gather up all the assorted "stuff" and get this darn task over with, yet again. My dilemma this year was do I continue to see the woman who has done our taxes for years and years and pay a bunch to be sure everything is right? Or, do I get free software on line and do it myself, saving a couple hundred bucks? After prayer and consideration, I've chosen to go back to the fine lady who has served us faithfully for many years. She's worth it.

The Power of Friendship

What hasn't already been said about friendship? It is the center of my life: friendship with God, with family, with friends, with animals, with the earth. It seems strange that the Holy Bible says very little "about" friendship; yet models it in countless ways-- David and Jonathan, Ruth and Naomi, Joseph and Benjamin, Mary and Elizabeth, Jesus and John, Paul and Barnabas, to name a few. Of course there are many married couples, too, but no one tells us if they were really friends. :)

I'm thinking about this today because two close friends are going through some very hard times. And another is preoccupied with important work that keeps us a bit apart. Each of these relationships has gone through various phases and almost like the tide, they flow back and forth, sometimes intense, sometimes more distant, but always there to be counted on, to marvel over, to cherish. My best friend ever was Norris, not only because he knew me better than anyone and still loved me (a miracle right there!), but because he was able to ebb and flow and almost always could be relied on when it really counted. Turns out the same was true from me. Me, whose heart could always expand to contain one more person, in the end could also focus in on the one who mattered most--my partner.

The hardest part is maintenance. There really is a limit to how many relationships can be kept rich and nourishing simultaneously. Most people are wise enough to let things fall into place naturally. Me, not so much. OK, so we shared an exquisite time together at a retreat 23 years ago. Does that mean that we must stay actively connected forever? I trust the network of spirits connecting; I know we will always somehow be part of one another. Yet sometimes I grasp at friendships in an addictive manner--never content, never having enough. At the same time, I can count my really close friendships on one hand; well, maybe two hands. No answers here, really. Just gratitude for each and every encounter. And deep prayer for those of you who are suffering more than usual these days. Friendship! You can count on it.

Thinking of Aunt Jean

My favorite aunt died at 75 in February, 1987. Every year I think about her and give thanks. They said it was her heart. Well, it was. Her heart was broken. She had out-lived two husbands and she was so lonely.

Jean was my father's younger sister. All through the years, the two couples remained closely connected. She "took me in" when I came here to teach in 1964, a very green 21 year old, who had never lived on her own. Each of my two sisters also lived with her at various points. She was like that; always enfolding others in her loving arms, literally or figuratively. She was a mother extraordinaire. At the end of that first year, she hosted my wedding party and I moved on to life with Norris.

She always struggled, economically and emotionally. Her older sister died and left two small children whom she helped raise. Then her mother died, when Jean was still a teen. Her father eked out a meager living on a southern Illinois farm. In 1963, the father of her three children died in his early 50's. She trained to take over his investment business, something she knew almost nothing about. Later, she remarried and in those years, having become successful in her work, she could finally spend a little money frivolously. She had "awful" hair, so she bought oodles of hats and wigs and looked great!

The thing I loved most about her was: affection. She never feared to hug or stroke or cuddle or kiss those she loved, especially kids. Her loving touch helped to heal my childhood wounds. Instead of yelling at me to get up in the morning, she would come in, sit on the edge of the bed, scratch my back and talk quietly until I was really awake. She was a good cook. She always fixed hamburgers on Saturday night, chicken for Sunday dinner, and popcorn and RC Cola on Sunday evening. She willingly allowed her kids and me to bring home friends, dates, etc. There was always room for one more at the table.

While her life story doesn't mean much to most of you reading this, her example probably reminds you of someone in your own life--someone who simply lived who they were and touched people far more deeply than they could have imagined. I hope she knew or knows how grateful I am for the crucial part she played in my life. She taught me much, not the least of which is that one CAN go on, even when she is lonely. Her determination and faith in God made it possible. So I know it can be possible for me, as well. Thank you, Aunt Jean! Thank you, God!