My favorite task at the Big Sur Camping and Crawdad Society is nap duty. I sit outside a sleeping grandchild's tent and look at the trees, the river, my heart and whatever book is in my lap. Occasionally someone wanders by: an intrepid adventurer suiting up for the hike up the gorge, a bottom bumped tubie traveler circling back from a ride down the rapids, or another book and chair ladened wastrel collecting drinks and snacks for the interior journey.
Years ago, at a Toastmasters Conference, I attended a workshop by Robert Middleton. He talked about creating an audio logo, a quick elevator speech that answers the question, "What do you do?" If you respond with a role--I'm a realtor or a doctor or a Christian Bookstore Owner--people's prejudices rise up. Instead of seeing you, they see their own image of your profession.
I'm rather fond of the way the Quakers call each other "friends." It seems so, well...friendly. And I'm reminded of that great title of the Lord: Jesus, Friend of Sinners. Of course the term brother or sister, which is quite common within Christendom, is actually more apt. You can choose your friends, but you are stuck with your siblings.
I walked into the store one fine Tuesday afternoon to see seven boxes of old novels stacked up behind the desk. Arrrgh! After calling Monday's volunteer and bellowing "SMALL Batches" into the phone, I rolled up my sleeves and dug in. Several hours later I emerged with a tidy stack including Pearl Buck, Gene Stratton Porter, and Sons of 100 Kings by Thomas Costain, which I decided to read for the Historical Fiction Literary Party.
The image was of a Visigoth warrior tromping through long empty corridors. Dirty, sweaty; fur hanging off heavy shoulders, leather thongs wrapped around cloth bound legs. Why Visigoth? I had no idea. Had to look it up. What is a Visigoth anyway? What I knew, however, was that this particular warrior, lumbering down the halls with sword and shield dragging behind, was looking for someone to lead him into a small room, loose the bonds and gently cleanse his wounds.
I'm not at Big Sur this weekend. Instead I'm coughing my way around the house, wishing I had a good book to read. The dog is disgusted with me. No beach trips, a few feeble throws of the ball, endless sleeping. Meanwhile, some sixty friends and family are cavorting at the river. Without me. They will undoubtedly return home and tell me what a wonderful time everyone had.
Years ago, I left the Word Shop at 3:00 armed with a stack of flyers. My plan was to post them in local churches. A half-dozen churches later, I realized that late Wednesday afternoon was not a good time for visiting churches. No one was home.
108 Pages into writing a novel, I discover that the spell checker's suggestion for my protagonist's last name is, "Ode naught." This is not encouraging.
I paced the bedroom, practicing a speech, when a red-headed woodpecker lit on the balcony railing. I'd never before seen so clearly the stunning black and white face, topped with a red beret. "Hello, beautiful," I said.
I'm tired of political name-calling, of email and facebook postings from friends on both sides of various fences, which descend into name-calling and pot-shots instead of offering interesting and creative solutions to the complex problems we all face. It's bad enough when 'they' do it, even worse when we do.
"Faith is courage; it is creative while despair is always destructive." ~ David S. Muzzey
Summer has come to a close and there are number of things I didn't do; like sit outside and read a really fine novel. Or lounge at the beach. (No lounging with this dog!)
I did spend several days in Seattle rocking my lovely new Granddaughter, Riverwind. This how Grandmothers are supposed to spend their days. Just sit in a chair all day and snuggle the baby. At home I have a wonderful old rocking chair that my mother remembers her Great-grandmother reading to her in. Bring on the babies!
People talk as if different religions were simply various ways of defining this thing called spirituality--like the difference between measuring a table in inches or centimeters. This makes sense if you are talking about an occasional sense of the numinous, or a moral code, or personal habits and spiritual practices, or even some rituals for coming together.