Surfing Frogs

Last summer, my parents' pool became a favorite lounging spot of three frogs. They became known as Archie, Mehitabel and Linda. Sometimes they would sun themselves at the edge of the pool, sometimes they would hide at the bottom and swim up to the surface to check us out, sometimes they would get stuck in the filter. Archie especially enjoyed surfing on the chlorine thingy. Occasionally he would manage to surf on a noodle, though that often required a bit of log rolling and Archie was mostly lazy.

As the summer worn on, I grew increasingly attached to our froggy friends. They developed, or rather I developed on their behalf, complicated backstories and relationship dynamics. Their stories populated my mind and kept me from going insane while working retail and waiting for my life to get back on track.

I'm not sure what brought the frogs to mind tonight, perhaps just a bit of homesickness. The thing about the frogs that inspires me is that they really didn't belong in the pool. There was a frog friendly pond a few feet away, but every morning they made their way from the murky pond into the sparkling waters of the pool and made it a better experience for all of us. I suppose we could have made it inhospitable for them. They really didn't belong in a pool. I worried about how the chemicals would impact them, but when someone is willing to risk everything for the chance to surf, how can you not welcome them into your life? 

I think what Archie, Mehitabel and Linda represent for me is the possibility that comes when you are open to the wacky, to the unexpected, to the stranger, even the green ones that might give you warts. 

Shooting for the moon, and landing on your face

There's a popular saying about shooting for the moon, you know the one, if you don't, Pinterest has you covered. It's supposed to be comforting, a salve for the ego in those moments when you've missed the mark. The truth is, if you aim for the moon and miss, even if you end up amongst the stars (rather than suffocating in the vacuum of space, which is much more probable), it's perfectly natural to feel crappy when you fall short. Setting a goal and not reaching it feels bad, even when it's something that only really matters to you, even when there are perfectly reasonable explanations, even when it wasn't entirely in your control. Missing the moon feels shitty and that's ok.

I had big plans for getting the blog back up and running, for being focused and committed, to taking my writing seriously enough to write something, ANYTHING, every single day. I have not managed that, not even close. There are lots of reasons why, some of them valid, some self-pitying, and some seriously dubious, but there are reasons. Since my last blog post I've had an epic trip to go collect my belongings from the home I shared with my abuser, I've sold the aforementioned house, I've danced in Central Park with the most phenomenal man I have ever known, I've cried a lot, I've been angry and frustrated, I've felt lonesome and loved, but I have not blogged. I said I would, but I haven't and it feels like shit; partly because I feel guilty and partly because I'm pretty certain it probably doesn't matter to anyone but me, which feels worse. 

So what do we do when we look up at the moon and that big cheesy grin looks like a sneer? I think we forgive ourselves and keep trying. Maybe we cut ourselves a little slack and aim a little lower. Maybe we buy a ladder and a copy of Astrophysics for Dummies. I'm going to keep trying to write something everyday for the next few days. Get ready for grocery lists, expletives, and perhaps an incoherent rant on arts funding if I get really focused. 

Here's to failing big and trying again and again.

A Single Day of Spring

It was a warm, almost springlike day today. The energy in the city changed, as though the hope for better, warmer, brighter days ahead went directly to people's brains and messed with the circuitry. Like deer caught up in the passion and promise of spring, people seemed distracted, there was more jostling, more bumping, more touching of strangers as people reached out, accidentally or in spite of themselves. This didn't always end well, as some of the touching led to verbal spats, this is New York, after all, but there was some force that seemed to be driving connection, pushing people together, drawing people out of their commuter catatonia, if only for a moment.

At lunch, my sweetheart met me for lunch and we sat in a park near my workplace and as the sun warmed our faces, I couldn't help but feel hopeful. This has been a grey, dreary, winter. The climate, both meteorological and political, has been gloomy and threatening for months, but today, the sun broke through. It rose and shone and reminded us that it still exists; that warmth is as inevitable as frost, that even winter cannot last forever.

Tomorrow, winter has every intention of reasserting its place in our lives. The weatherfolk are predicting nearly a foot of snow here. If that should come to pass, I fully intend to celebrate the winter, under blankets in comfy clothes, if at all possible. Without winter, we might take spring for granted. 

Stay safe, stay warm, stay hopeful.

💙

Happy Birthday, Nanny...I miss you

Over the past few days, I've been thinking a lot about my grandmother, my Nanny. At the revival this weekend, surrounded, as I was by prayerful, kind people, I couldn't help myself. I felt like she was right beside me. My Nanny was always the person people called when they needed someone to prayer with them, or to pray for them. She answered her phone with a cheery, high-pitched "nyellow" a sound which can never be replicated. People would pour their hearts into the phone line and she would listen and gently pray. She kept a notebook with prayer requests, both her own and those of others. She also had a list of questions she planned to ask God when she met him. I have a feeling she still pesters him with questions daily.

I have never met anyone with as much joy or faith as my Nanny. As certain as she was of kingdom of heaven, she relished this life and filled each day with love and care for the people, plants, and animals around her. She was never happier then when serving others, sharing her gifts of food and stories and laughter. Her laugh was infectious and unlike any other sound I have ever heard a human make, and she found laughter everywhere. Whether it was sewing up her husband's fly in retaliation for his not bothering to let her know he'd invited dinner guests, playing nerf battle royale with her grandchildren, or putting up with her eldest granddaughter's gentle teasing, she gave her laughter freely. It was truly a gift.

My heart is aching today, on what would have been her 94th birthday. On her birthday, she liked strawberry shortcake. When my grandfather was alive he often trudged through snow to get to and from the bakery with cake for his beloved bride. After he died, I did my best to spend as many birthdays as I could with her. As we grew older together she became one of my best friends. I told her my secrets and she told me her stories. Together we made jelly and watched antiques roadshow. We could drive each other up a wall, but we loved each other completely. I miss her everyday--she left a big ole hole in my heart when she went home to start asking God her questions--but I am eternally grateful to have loved and been loved by her.

Happy Birthday, Nanny
xoxo

Love: Reflections on a Revival

I had big plans to be a dutiful writer this month, to write daily, to be focused and diligent. It hasn't happened. It probably will going forward, but for the past few days I've been distracted, by love. I didn't plan it. I certainly wasn't expecting it, but somehow this weekend, I was bowled over by love.

Like most love stories, it started with a road trip to Pittsburgh. On Thursday I hit the road in a rented VW Jetta with my boss playing both navigator and DJ. We rested in Jonestown, and after a delicious hotel waffle, we continued our journey to the town of my father's birth.  

I had no idea what to expect of the weekend. I had a basic idea of the itinerary and the plan, and what we were there for, an Episcopal Revival in Pittsburgh. I had double-checked that neither tents nor snake handling would be part of the proceedings, but was really not sure what to expect. I certainly was not prepared for love.

But somehow, love overcame me. Maybe it was the leaders of many of Pittsburgh's denominations coming together to pray and sing together. Maybe it was the tears that flowed as my new friend Carrie prayed for me, the same way my Nanny used to, asking for healing and wisdom. Maybe it was watching as our Presiding Bishop brought tears of laughter to faith leaders from all walks of life, uniting them in joy and shared humanity. For three days, the people of Pittsburgh opened their hearts to us and in so doing, broke mine wide open. I don't know exactly how or when it happened, but suddenly, love is everywhere. It is lighting up the dark corners and I don't quite know what to do with myself. I came to Pittsburgh and left with a heart full of love.

And it's creeping into every experience. On the way home from Pittsburgh, the rental car surprised me with a tire blow out on a winding mountain highway. After securing the vehicle on the side of the road, I began making the typical "Help, I'm stranded" calls, but with a calm that truly passed understanding. A policeman stopped to offer help and kept my car safe until help arrived. The tow truck driver was kind and gentle and got me back on the road. I switched out cars in Altoona, and met a lovely man who owns both the rental car company and the airport restaurant. He carried my bag and told me how glad he was that I was safe and unharmed. Every interaction I've had over that past few days has been infused with kindness and love, I see it everywhere because it is everywhere. 

I've always been someone who tried to love fiercely, unabashedly, fearlessly, but in the last few years it has grown harder, Someone I loved hurt me so deeply, that fear crept in. I still loved, but worry and anxiety were always close at hand. I watched people use the God that I love as a battering ram and I worried that it would change the nature of God, but the nature of God is Love and love is stronger than we give it credit for. 

This weekend I was reminded of the power of love to break down barriers, to trample fear, to heal broken hearts and even to save us from our worst selves--our most human, selfish, brittle, cruel, frightened, frailties. Love has the power to change us and to change the lenses through which we see ourselves and one another. 

I am not a preacher. I am often filled with doubt. I am easily frustrated by hurtful people and I sometimes swear multiple times in a single sentence. I am incredibly, frustratingly human. I have no wisdom to offer, only love, lots and lots of love.

❤

Short Month Challenge: 28 posts in 28 days...

I haven't posted in over two years; which is really sad, considering that in those years a whole lot has happened. However, it's never too late to start over. 

For the month of February, I'm going to try this blogging thing again. With a challenge to write 28 posts in 28 days. If, at the end of the challenge, it seems like it's been worthwhile, you may be stuck with my meanderings. I guess we'll just have to see what the month brings. To start, a poem I wrote this morning. Poetry is not my strong suit. I have never quite understood the rules and usually great poetry, like great jazz, comes from those who know the rules well enough to dismantle them. However, sometimes you just have to be brave. 

If you're coming along on this journey, let me know! Comment, complain, commend--whatever suits your fancy and floats your boat. 

xo
Em



Poem for the first day of February, 2017

The news is dark, day-old burnt coffee bitter
And twitter is no escape
Just debates, about mad kings and old hates
Which emerge perennial and unbidden
From underground and hidden
Like the crocus I search for,
Any sign of spring, any sign that things
Might not be cold forever
That our leaders might get clever
That good too can burst through
That just because it cuts me
Doesn’t mean I have to cut you
If we’re all going to freeze, might as well huddle together
Masses pressed in to one another
Can’t be knocked down
Hold each other, love your brother
Eyes up from your phone, look around we’re not alone
Reach out, speak loud, be bold, love proud
Raise your song with the crowd
Trample hate. Do not be cowed

Ash Wednesday

We are not “but dust”

But “from dust”

From dust

Mixed with red blood

Shaped by stories told around tables and fires

Decorated with laughter

Glazed in the tears of our grandmothers

And forged in experience, pain and love

We connect in breath

And touch

And song

And jokes

And prayer

Our dust mingles

With the that of those we touch

Who touch us

And leave indelible marks

We shall return

To dust

To earth

And water

And air

What we were will be breathed in

And expelled

When our tall tales, our songs, our prayers

Fall from the lips of others

Brought from dust

Into the light for a time