Jimmy Stewart & Robin Hood

Heroes.

I just returned from scotch and Robin Hood on the big screen with Scotty, the second eldest in our long line of Brady Bunch-ness. We shared popcorn and peanut M&M's (hard work when you mix the two...gravity says no M&M's til the end...anyways...)

Now, I'm finishing a Scottsdale Public Library Feature: Mr. Smith Goes to Washington... A classic story starring a classing man living a life built on character and a hearty upbringing in the American woods.

I love them both. These poor men who rob from the rich to feed the poor. Defend the weak.

I should have pictures on this blog, but only you, Pooh, will see. So. Picture the pier under a Mississippi sky, full on Lucky Charms and Come Thou Fount, waiting for super-novas but happy to see one shooting star. Or a cloud.

Thank goodness for the simple things.

Thank goodness for Our Great Ironic God.

Amen.

peace

Simple painting of the Stillwater River. Sigh. Always there's time for Montana nostalgia...

And this great classic:

When peace like a river attendeth my way;
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot thou hast taught me to say
"It is well, it is well with my soul."

It's, thankfully, one of those moments I just want to be quiet and offer up that contrite heart and broken spirit. So dang heavily aware of all of these stupid sins I should grow up and let go of and yet won't. Because I'm still a sheep.

I calculated my running miles today on a beautiful Trek Discovery Channel edition high performance road bike that might be a size too big for me but, as far as Joy's concerned, is PERFECT. Happy heading east and south, I cursed the same experience moments later by heading home, west, then north (two of my FAVORITE directions, mind you).

The blasted wind! I hate the wind. The very wind that humbled me those many years ago on a coconut plantation in Jamaica, the wind that moves through the tall palms on my walks at night, the wind that makes for wonderful weather, that adds sound and motion to an otherwise still day..

That wind I cursed today on my bicycle because it was hard. HARD. Made me feel weak. slow.

Anyways. Just thought those two fit together nicely for a mini-post on an otherwise nondescript Sunday. Except Ryan and I discovered Big Brother's BBQ...

The Day After Yesterday

Because yesterday pretty much sucked.

(Editor's Note: Yes. I can say "sucks" on this blogspot because I haven't told J.L. & Betty Morris there's a place to read their granddaughter's unfurled heart and its secular thoughts. Until then, I can cut loose.. Wooh! Crazy Aunt Joy...)

Great Intro. Too bad I have nothing to deliver except lots of godless chatter on How To fix a flat tire (bike or 4runner... Dad swears by AAA), apply for Commercial Use Authorization permits in our nation's national parks, handle a broken heart, why sunscreen should be considered and Botox avoided, How to get free upgrade at the car wash (sometimes the guys will throw in an overwhelming citrus scent...

What I'm really thinking about this minute: Isaiah 30 (which would totally be Grandparent-approved)

In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.

The LORD wants to be gracious to you, and therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you. For the LORD is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him.

Today was better than yesterday. For one simple reason: I trust you again. Tomorrow, who knows? Dammit I'll try though (sorry, G's).

More to come on that fine line between trusting you, doubting me, the upsetting flipflop that results as the moments unroll...

Meanwhile, thank goodness for sushi, Pandora Radio, UPS and the McDowell Mountains that I lovve (Hmm..I see a theme in those blessings: texture and rhythm...I like that...Read a secret to getting over heartbreak written by Kris Kristofferson the other day: Write a song. something there that has all the potential to be a pop sensation....

That's all this last day of April. I have a GREAT HOPE for May. Maybe it's the cooler weather, my fixed flat, a peaceful conversation with Johnny Jack Junior, scripture...who knows....

(Grandparents: Dad doesn't really swear. He just really believes in AAA. Historically, I've never done anything he thought I should. These days I drool over his wisdom. But, because I am my own person, I held strong to one stupid principle: I rebelled against his financial planning wisdom and opted to not spend the $15 bucks a year to renew my membership. Since then, I've locked my keys in the car once and had a flat tire. The Murphy's Law is that NOTHING happens to the people who actually have Triple A. The sad thing is I still haven't called to renew. And I won't. for the same reason I won't sign up for FREAKING FACEBOOK. Yes. FREAKING. I said it. I should stop writing before things get REALLY crazy and I lose all credibility as a lady...)

Flantilation

I dream big these days.

Sharks and dragons last night, grande hotels and prisons last week, saving Hannah, convincing Jesse to tell the truth.

And then someone told me my problem:

Flantilation, he said, which of course means "severe restlessness."

Of course. So I googled it.

It's not there. Or anywhere.

Friends and family are piping in on the matter, holding strong opinions on the fate of this new word and its' well-timed birth in this Ecclesiastical world where nothing is new under the sun.

Except flantilation.

One can be a flantilate, flantilizing between decisions and those blessed forks in the yellow wood. Flantilates are also prone to wandering while others wonder when and where all of this flantilizing stops. Or will it? Is flantilation chronic?

This has all the marrow of a really great kids book. Some Seussical rhyming and puffy dragons could make bank on a concept about some quizzical little blonde girl running around a big, scary world asking each soul "Are you my mother?" kind of questions, wide-eyed and confident. Red shoes.

Sigh. I'm glad I'm not that girl. I'm glad my life is put together and my biggest conundrum is making sure I don't pick up bicycles from the Four Seasons before the guest is finished using them. Not that I would EVER make a mistake at such a simple job. Never. Ever.

I screwed up today.

Thank goodness for big dreams.

Learning How To

Rain might be moving in tonight. A welcome surprise.



The stately cactus bracing himself for the coming storm is a Saguaro cactus, a Sonoran Desert gem because this is the only desert in the entire world where he survives. The name Saguaro, I learned today, comes from the Spanish term for Sentinel of the Desert. That's cool, huh.

What is it, Joy, dear child, you ask? Why are you listening to sleepy old Baby James and reflecting on rain and dying plants?

Well, what is it ever? It's just that feeling that comes with life. It's stinking hard to persevere. It's easy to read Paul's words about fighting the good fight and forgetting what's behind. It's a whole nother thing to push through these days with gusto, with true zeal, with profound intention to live well.

I'll say it again: I love my job. I love these mountains. I love having my family near. I love snakes, even, and the country radio stations and bicycles and whatever activity is happening at West World (I know - West World?...



Oh yes. It's so much more than a horse arena. This place has rodeos and Harley rally's and classic car shows and rich cowboys and dirty diesel trucks and loud music and I get to bike by here every morning. My favorite snapshot of Scottsdale is held in this one sweeping view overlooking this magnificent pocket, a corner of the globe not very many sociologists have discovered yet: coming around the hill, the early sun behind me and the McDowell Mountains, long shadows following horses loping around the freshly smoothed pens, the trainers patiently flicking a long officially-named rope thing that Johnny Jack Junior probably told me about some time ago...).

It's beautiful.

Maybe that's the feeling today. OVERWHELMED by beauty. Heavily aware that I miss the point of an ordinary day sometimes entirely. And now it's gone. And I have all night to think about how I can redeem Tomorrow.

But The Point: The Bottom Line: I'm tired. So in need of refreshment, even though I know whatever weariness I feel is totally my fault. I'm a sinner, dammit. A modern-day cowgirl wannabe living my own Lonesome Dove sage out in this one-horse town of a million people.




PS. just looked up the name for that fancy horse trainer tool: it's called a Stick. You can buy it with String. Then it's called a Trainer's Stick and String. That's funny, huh.

Conviction

I kayaked this lake today. For work. Because, just like that, I have the World's Sweetest Job.

And I'm heavily aware that there was a time not too long ago when I had nothing but time. I had more than enough time, in fact. Enough time at least to say "yes!" to all opportunities including volunteering with the communications sector of the mega-bible church of Scottsdale, pretty confident that yes, I can edit these 120 devotions for you. No deadline? Perfect. I'll put it off. Last week, I had a goal of doing six a day, deciding by the math that I would be finished by April. Now, I think I just need to sit down one day and DO ALL OF THEM.

Why am I not a self-disciplined individual with the things that matter? I'll find time to run, you can count on that. But everything else, eh. shrug. yawn. I'll get to it when I get to it. It'll get done. Isn't that all that matters?

There are so many pockets of my daily life right now that are calling for examination. For action. And I'm trying to be brave and courageous with letting God shine that floodlight into those dark dusty corners. Not that procrastination is a demonic force or the greatest thorn in my flesh this moment. It's just the easiest one to post about.

It's just that if my life, my walk, is going to be shaped into Your Likeness, I have to look at it for what it is. And, MANALIVE, do I have a lot to give you to work on.

I just want to break free of the inside stuff that holds me back from answering clearly when asked about what it is exactly I believe that sets my life apart from the lives of all of the sun-happy people I work with. I can't just sit and watch these conversations end without profound punctuation.

I'm practicing AGAPE, I guess, is the best way to put it. Practice seeing the worth that is there in these divine encounters with these created souls, honor them by listening intentionally, and love them by communicating well how much GOD LOVES them. Praying for words only when they're necessary.

I'm scared of screwing up. That's all.

Ahh, GRACE. What a LOVELY thing.

Mothers

Leave it to my mom to give me jewelry that tangles easily.

I'm sitting at my now clean desk in my now clean room (except for the bags of trash that accumulated in the process) trapped in a cleaning frenzy. The jewelry box mom gave me last year full of trinkets she doesn't wear anymore caught my eye. So I opened up the little beaded black container and now, an hour later, I'm manically pulling delicate chains from earring wires from dangling stones from a wrist watch wrapped in a string of pearls. I don't even know how these things happen? I think there is a very tiny community of dancing fairies who's sole job is to create mayhem in places that are neglected.

Clearly the dust I've kicked up has gotten to my head.

All I know is that it was time to remove that uber-cheerful Beth Moore picture. And what a better motivator than mom's crazy jewelry that I'll probably never wear either. Especially since I know those crazy fairies will twist all of this meaningless untangling right back into a useless bejeweled ball of frustration.

But thank goodness for crazy mothers and their crazy jewelry and the messes they've helped create on our own journeys to craziness. I wouldn't trade it for anything, is the truth. So. There you go: A Declaration of Forgiveness.

Three Things

1. Luke 8:40-48

2. Isaiah 53:11 "After the suffering of his soul, he will see the light of life/the result of the suffering of his soul and be satisfied..."

3. The great paradox: that healing can flow from a wound.

My mom called while I was driving to the Beth Moore Bible Study Nancy signed us up for a couple of weeks ago. I haven't really been yet (I say really because the first Monday, I walked in and it was cold. So I got my book and left. I've been doing the weekly homework assignments and knew I should check it out at least one good full-length time.). Mom asked some leading questions about where it was and who I was going with, did I really like the church or am I going because that's where Dad and Nancy go... those fun ones. Then she asked what the study was about. Breaking free, I said. Free of what? she said. I told her I don't think I really know FREEDOM in Christ, that it's a struggle for me. Does she know? I asked. More than anything, she assured me. And then went on for awhile about sanctity and satiating and other sentences that came out flat and sad. Judging? No. Heart broken because I know that when I asked if she was satisfied and she answered about contentment and how she'd be settling if she was ever satisfied with all she could be in this life and how 25 years ago (ahem, what happened circa 25 years ago?...), she let go of the dream of attaining unattainable goals. And now she's realized she's unstoppable.

(Or maybe that's that Rascal Flats song coming to mind because of all the bloody Olympics I've been watching.)

All to say, she used up the 'airtime' as she calls it and then apologizes for taking it (again) when I tell her I have to go. I scoff out loud, probably intentionally. She asks why? I say because it's funny: Every time she calls, she apologizes for taking up the airtime. I'm sorry, she says again. Why don't you text me three things you learn in your Bible Study tonight? Okay, I say. Fine, I say. I love you.

So that's what I texted her. Afraid so much of bitterness and wounds that hurt hurt HURT right now.

honest to goodness blog, huh? sorry for taking up airtime. again.

And yet God still woos us to a spacious place. That's Beth speaking under all that hair and leopard print.

Press in. Don't stop trying to get wherever it is I'm aching to reach. CROSS THE BORDER, was her revival cry tonight.

Amen, girlfriend?

Temptation

How To Make a Bad Decision in Less Than One Commercial Break:

Do I watch super [cute] hero athletes break records?



Or torture myself?



Avoid all extremes, says the Book of Proverbs. So I watched Bode Miller take the gold in slalom and Noah take Allie on a boat tour of the white duck swamp.

Now, I feel a little like the director when he realized the night before the shoot he ordered 1200 black geese... And a little like the Swiss man who blew it by .0008 of a second.

Why WHY did I turn on the television tonight?

I hate technology.

(Except Krissy's blog - www.littledidtheyknow.wordpress.com... Redemption through suffering post-Industrial Revolution. Sniff.)

10th of February. Wednesday.

The McDowell Mountains...
Proud and craggy, like the old cowboys who used to run cattle in these here parts.
Today, it's preserved for recreational enthusiasts and passing-through executives from other corners and pockets of the States.
Now, we're the ones who graze in the deep of the washes, working awkwardly through sandy gravel,
Taking care to stay on the trails to avoid the stockings of scattered skeletons of cholla,
Sage dotted on the raised valley floor like cupcake decorations
Puts you closer to the sky, seems like you should duck
So you don't collide with a hawk or a cloud
Rain forms a wide ring, the center filled with Arizona Sun.
And in the distance
More Mountains
That bring a question to mind:

How much time do you have to hear about this?

8th Feb. Days Like This. Monday.

When you don't need an answer, There'll be days like this...

I just have to remember, There'll be days like this.

So says good o' Van Morrison. He's from Dublin, or Belfast. Either way, he's Irish, bless him.

My head feels fuzzy.

So says a lovely Kathleen Kelly upon receiving a gift of daisies, a happy dose of flowers to treat her most terrible cold. A cold that came upon right after a break-up.

But I don't call it a break-up. I call it "letting go." It's an active passivity kind of decision. I don't think temporary pain can be weighed against long-term benefits. Umm, reap what you sow concept? It's been planted, now it's undergoing some storms, some droughts, some seed scattering. Just wait till that Harvest.

Right?

I'm trusting. Decisions like this are the one's that determine the kind of person I'll be tomorrow.

Not that the decisions made in conference rooms on the 23rd floor of the Downtown Phoenix Headquarters of Wells Fargo don't hold as much weight in the Joy of 2020.

{I just have to comment on my group interview for the Bank Teller Position at one of the local branches.
I won't say much. Just a little about the girl to my left with the carefully styled black boofy hair, the caked on orange makeup and black mascara, the black dress outfit (it was an Outfit, probably found in the 'Business Professional/Clubbing on Girls Night Out' section at one of the two hundred malls in the greater metropolitan Phoenix area. It was completed with closed-toe black platform shoes, which are what I would soon learn considered an Add-On, i.e., an accessory...), and the super pumped 'tude. She was prepared with answers for each of the five key questions the Wells Fargo recruiter asked our group of nine. My favorites, though:

Question: Name a significant professional accomplishment. What were some of the challenges you overcame? Was there a particular recognition you received?
Pixie's Answer: Okay. So I, like, haven't had any real challenges yet but I finally got accepted to beauty school and it starts in May and I, like, know it's going to be super hard but I'm, like, ready because I know that it'll be totally worth it.

Question: Why do you want to work for Wells Fargo?
Answer: Well, I want to be a hairstylist and I know that, like, I'll learn how to interact with the same kind of people I'd, like, encounter at the salon.

Question: Have you ever met a sales goal? If so, what was the reward?
Answer: Yes! OMG, like, every Christmas I work at Fashion Square, and we have this thing where you, like, have to sell so much and when people buy stuff we try to get them to buy Add-Ons, like, accessories and stuff. And when you sell it you, like, can win the denim! And I totally won the denim this year! (Squeezed-face smile!)

I'm sorry. I know it's awful but she was so stuck in that packaging you buy Barbie's in. Totally. After the interview she looked at me as we were getting on the elevator: OMG that was AWFUL! I'm so nervous!}

Me, too, Trixie. Me too.

But even she deserves this job over me. She was nervous at least. Me, I didn't really care. I have a cold, for one. And I have a job I love (my professional challenge? getting individuals up a 13,000 foot volcano. The reward? standing on the summit with people who just did something they doubted they could accomplish. anyways.). Why did I go then? To have more characters to write about, for one. And to cross it off the list. I might have always wondered if Bank Teller could've been my calling.

Not today.

So thank goodness there are remedies for days like this. I went to the Nature Preserve and took notes on the desert.

And then of course there are the people that You use on days like this.

All the same, days like this don't end until the worst part is confronted and wrestled with. And night is here. Dang it. I hoped all day it wouldn't come and yet here it is staring at me all big and black and more intimidating than the thoughts I had while standing patiently on the elevator as it shot up to the 23rd floor this morning. I felt my ears pop and could only think about what it would be like plummeting to the basement. Funny that I came out a 100% Optimist on my latest spiritual gifts assessment.

Anyways, I'm going to face it. Me and Van, who's now singing Tupelo Honey, which I've actually tasted. And it is sweet. Even on days like this, I imagine it would still be sweet. Thank goodness for consistency.

5th February. Waste Nothing Friday.

Long Distance Relationships...

Twelve Other Things I'd Rather Think About:

1. Switzerland
2. The base line in "Mother and Child Reunion" by Paul Simon
3. Spinatto's Spinach Pizza
4. Sidewalks
5. Tea Tree Triple Treat Invigorating Shampoo by Giovanni
6. Life before Cell Phones
7. Bicycles
8. My 'Wow' Factor for Tomorrow's Hike (Orange Slices, Silver Platters, and Mesquite Flour are already taken. Sigh.)
9. The Group Interview I was summoned for by Wells Fargo 9 AM Monday Morning
10. Spiritual Gifts Assessment Tests
11. The starry starry complexion of this desert sky
12. 12 more things I could come up with that would so be better than dwelling on something so not present

(Mostly I think one day is enough for Colin Powell to be featured on the Front Page of my blogspot. Already people are questioning if I've gone crazy; we don't need more fodder. He can go to the archives now. You should've seen him though. Amazing. I bet he doesn't keep a sorry blog.)

Speaking of sorry, did you know there's a "missyourmate.com"? I found it accidentally. I typed in LONG DISTANCE on dictionary.com so I can find out who invented this lousy 'relationship' concept (you know I'm heading to Wikipedia as soon as this is posted) and there was Robert Frost! "Two roads diverged..." The poem was featured on "missyourmate". Why? I wondered for two seconds before I quickly navigated away.. FAR FAR away from there.

It doesn't help, technology. The point of today's post, besides all of those other things that I was really excited about five hours ago: I really really really don't like LONG DISTANCE. I'm going to change the phrase to CARPE DIEM OR DIE DISTANCE. Because if you're not pouring your heart and soul into whatever it is you're up to, you'll find yourself analyzing the lyrics of The Eagles' songs and wanting to hurt the people behind the Industrial Revolution for allowing The Leisure of Choice, opening the door to options beyond working the farm.. I'd much rather swoon. and pine. and whatever else it was girls used to do over their loves (besides waste away in a brothel). How am I supposed to be a Proverbs 31 Lady nowadays when the US Highway System is so thorough, so litter-free, so accessible?

So. Do something. Don't cry. You're wasting your time. Pain is for Sissy's.

That's all.

4th de Fevrier: Motivational Thursday.

Colin Powell?! Try Colin WOW-ell. Man alive - there's an ALIVE MAN. Chockobock FULL of Purpose and Passion and Direction and Focus. Inspirational sounds too cloud nine. This is a man who uses weighty words, heavy with potential and promise and onward soldier motion in steady stride towards the future.

The man drank tea with Gorbechov. And now he shares morning coffee with his "beloved wife."

I'm, like, totally his biggest fan today.

January 30th, a Super Sunny Saturday.

I put an Olympic medal on someone today.

I'd always pictured a somber, disciplined athlete standing straight, bowing slightly to receive the Prize of all Prizes, misty-eyed as the national anthem played in the background, the medal falling proudly on his strong chest representing years and years of pain and grit and early morning swim practices.

It was kind of like that. Only the man I honored was jumping up and down, out of his mind excited, forgetting the beer in his hand for a few glorious moments. He had a goatee and a fisherman's hat on so the ribbon didn't fit over the brim. The medal just kind of dangled a few inches from his face like those pine-tree fresheners in a taxi cab rearview mirror. I don't think he noticed, too busy hanging high fives with his co-workers and newfound pharmaceutical conference best friends 2010, baby! yeah!!! He recovered eventually from that childlike state of rapture one gets lost in when one wins something AWESOME and ceremoniously took the remains of his beer in a victorious chug.

Meanwhile, the lady who borrowed my [new] shoes told me to pretend like we were sisters because one of her co-workers thought I was cute, and she was playing a joke on him. Would I play along? She slurred the words out and put an arm around my shoulder. Really I just wanted to give her back the shiny leopard Dansko's she'd traded me for my Merrels. Instead I stood there and smiled and asked how Mom was. And the girls? Do they still have the dogs? How's Don's job? And on and on. I stood there pretending to be Carrie's sister amidst the madness and revelry of The Olympics at Camelback Inn, the crescendo of a week chockobock full of "meetings" (which I learned no one attends sober) for these hardworking, mostly married, nose-to-the-grindstoners who were milking the cutting loose part of the "business" trip to the last lime wedge the resort would squeeze out. Even after the event was over I saw a guy hurry over to the booze table and ask for just one more beer.

Beer. That's what the other Joy I met today offered to buy me if I wanted a ride home. She had a little Toyota pickup so I threw my bike in the back and we headed to Four Peaks Brewery, reminiscent of any ski town happy hour bar, a well-scripted scene the West over. SO TYPICAL. Also typical, Joy locked her keys in the car. So we waited while her soon-to-be ex-husband as of tomorrow (she moves across town in the morning) brought the extra set. He also had a goatee but didn't wear a fisherman's hat; just a very long, sad face.

Divorce stinks. Leopard clogs stink. Beer helps, but stinks in the end, too. Not much remains except a redemptive word of encouragement that God longs to pull us out of the stink. Come to think of it, do I receive That Gift respectably? I'd be that guy jumping up and down: unabashed excitement, a leisurely kind of joy that comes as a result of undeserved merit. Then I hope I'd turn my life into the stoic athlete, beat my body like Paul and run with commitment for The Prize.

Barley wine, in case you were wondering, is what I discovered tonight. Excellent.

January 29th, a Full Moon Friday.

It started with a shower. A quick prayer as I pull out of the driveway in Old Reliable, my trusty Four-Runner turned gray overnight. The axle is bent, so heading West on the 101 was a bit unnerving. No coffee. Just an apple, keeping in mind that one should NEVER skip breakfast.

Destination: Thunderbird School of Global Management (Campus Tour 9:45 am - 1:30 pm)

I don't want a masters in business today. I don't want to live abroad. I don't want to take the GRE. And I definitely do not want $50,000 of debt piled on top of the chip on my shoulder. The chip, that is, of growing up.

So I left at the lunch break part of the campus tour. Thanked the Three Guides: the Asian, the Italian-to-be, and the Redhead; that's how I'll remember them at least. I left, and I drove on my broken axle to the end of 40th Street. I tied the laces of my super slick new kicks: my First Ever Nikes. Elite. Light. Blue AND pink. Love, that's what this is. I set out for one of the peaks of Phoenix Mountain Reserve, a very big park in the middle of this metropolis.

I spoke with a recruiter from Wells Fargo, the third step in my application process to become a Teller. Sure wish it was the third step in my application process to become a Story Teller.

The day ended at a hole-in-the-wall Italian place with Dad and Nancy and Diane (Nancy's sister) over pasta and wine, under a T-shirt reading "I have the biggest [meat] balls in town." Classic.

Learned how to play Rummikub. Left after one round. Talked to Johnny. Took a spiritual gifts test online that told me I should be a pastor. And now I'm pretending to write.

All of this under a full moon.

It's What You Bring To The World

Gifts. We all have them. Find yours and pursue it with all your might and there you go: your life's purpose. God gave "it" to you. Don't neglect it. Don't waste your time on anything that isn't going to build on nurturing this Gift. 

But what if...

(You know what the question is)

I don't know my Gift. I know that I really really want to know what "it" is so I can start living already. I mean, look at this mess and mosaic of experiences and seasons and characters and stories I've collected; the strange diet I've picked up; the clothes I've worn basically through all of it, that is the post-college years... the years when I should know but am excused, thank goodness, because no one really knows; they're just good fakers. But I can't buy clothes when I don't know what climate or hemisphere I'll be living in, can I?

And here I am, blistered feet from rocky ground run over one too many days and a tired pair of tennis shoes that should have been re-tired this time last year. Bloody. Sore. Older. Back at home, or in a home (the one in Arizona this time. I've never lived here so I don't know if it counts as 'home' but it's where Dad is. and my new family, bless them. It's home. I know it. You just know it, right? Or is that place supposed to be the compass' foot? Lake Forest Ranch, for instance. Or is it the person you wish was with you because they need you? Hannah, for instance. Or (and this is where I'm stuck) is it where you're heading? Johnny, for instance. Katy, Texas, for zip code.  

I just don't know. I do know perseverance through suffering, if you could call this "suffering" in light of something as tragic as two earthquakes in Haiti. 

So this is my post of gratitude. My "Hallelujah!" and "May It Be" of all the things I store up and ponder in my heart. Maybe I should keep them there. But Anne of Green Gables profoundly offered up a philosophy that sank into my dreams last night (yes, I've been watching The Collection. It was a Christmas present..): "..it's what you bring to the world." Not what the world has to give you. Not the Taj Mahal, which I've never seen, or Macchu Piccu, or Antarctica, which I didn't even think I cared if I ever saw, but now I don't know. Dang Geography. Dang you, Globe, for being so round and wonderful and non-linear. 

All to say, today, it is my duty, my deed, to shout out to The Void that if you, dear void, know what you should be doing and aren't doing it, you're sinning. Show me your faith without deeds...

I'm feeling a little worthless.  Probably why I dreamed also last night that Aunt Linda and Uncle Steve were asking Dad if they could hire me to make them happy.  Dad let me in on a deal that Uncle Jon had stumbled across: you can make money by making people happy! Brilliant! Sign me up! 

Sigh. I miss the Hundred Acre Wood. Even a half acre in the Hundred Acre would do. 

What Would Jesus Eat? and other questions

I spent some time in a used bookstore today.  Found a book about Questions, specifically questions to ask "before the ring". Yep. The Ring. not the one Frodo finds; those days are long gone. This would be in relation to what some would count as 'the proposal' I might have received over the phone this morning. Good thing I don't count it. 

(Funny. Said Person just sent me a text about True Friendship: 

1. When you are sad, I will jump on the person who made you sad like a spider monkey jacked up on Mountain Dew

2. When you are blue, I will try to dislodge whatever is choking you

3. When you smile, I will know you are plotting something that I must be involved in

4. When you are scared, we will high tail it out of here

5. When you are worried, I will tell you horrible stories about how much worse it could be until you quit whining

6. When you are confused, I will use little words

7. When you are sick, stay away from me until you are well again. I don't want whatever you have

8. When you fall, I'll pick you up and dust you off - after I laugh my butt off

sigh. true love? leave a comment. )

Anyways, back to what matters. Right now, it's the weather, which I check like an old man who can't talk about anything else because he knows it's the one thing that might bring surprise. 

http://www.weather.com/weather/alerts/localalerts/USAZ0207?phenomena=TSL&significance=S&areaid=AZZ023&office=KPSR&etn=d7e99214c1fd9d04adc21d8be41352273cff6def

Pessimistic that that'll show up as a link in my post, but it's basically a doomsday alert for the desert: predicted rain for Monday is threatening the desert-ness of the region. I hope for once they're right. 

The Roundness of Life

I picked up a new book: WHEN THE LEGENDS DIE by Hal Borland. It's about "man, nature and courage" reads the back cover. It's a tattered copy, given to me by Bill, the manager of Triple Creek.  

Happy memories of his hard-thinking, lightness of wit, and sometimes pressing questions (such as "Why are you taking a writing workshop or reading a book about writing if you aren't going to write?"), insights and classic intellectual banter like our own mini-college course think tank around the big marble counter/stage of that five-star kitchen that guests always exclaimed "you could eat off this floor!" about. always. because you could probably. especially after Sierra mopped it. She was in the Navy for awhile...

Anyways, these flood my mind. 

Bill gave me two other gifts, actually both poems. And I'm putting here, to redeem my poetic efforts (in my defense birthed in the barren throat of western Texas, a hairball or tumbleweed of an attempt. I'll work on it.).

The first: ole' "Bobby" Burns To a Mouse, but this was indirect; Bill would just quote one stanza while putting up dishes and smiling while telling me about boyhood days in English class at boarding school.

              

              "The best-laid schemes o' mice an 'men

                Gang aft a-gley,

                An' lea'e us nought but grief and pain,

        For promis'd joy."

He thought of it often because it has my name in it.

The second poem was more forward, even critical, a challenge to The Nexts of my ever-changing life.  It took me a bit to get the meaning, and if there was question in my mind, he cleared it up the last time we talked; he wanted to make sure I knew that I should be not what the poem describes. This one also by a Robert.  Robert W. Service taken from Best Tales of the Yukon.

The Men That Don't Fit In

There's a race of men that don't fit in,

A race that can't stay still;

So they break the hearts of kith and kin,

And they roam the world at will. 

They range the field and they rove the flood,

And they climb the mountain's crest.

Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,

And they don't know how to rest. 

If they just went straight, they might go far;

They are strong and brave and true;

But they're always tired of teh things that are,

And they want the strange and new!

They say, "Could I find my proper groove,

What a deep mark I would make!"

So they chop and change, and each fresh move

Is only a fresh mistake. 

And each forgets, as he strips and runs 

With a brilliant, fitful pace,

It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones

Who wine in the lifelong race.

And each forgets that his youth has fled,

Forgets that his prime is past,

Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,

In the glare of the truth at last.

He has failed, he has failed;

he has missed his chance;

He has just done things by half.

Life's been a jolly good joke on him,

And now is the time to laugh.

Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;

He was never meant to win.

He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;

He's a man who won't fit in.  

                

                 

the caverns of sonora

The Caverns of Sonora

Just as the road turned boring,

I remembered I was touring...

down dusty highways of Middle America

Thinking of supper..pizza or lasagna?

Lonesome dove in a lonestar state...

it's no surprise the number of ex's had George Strait.

A land far from anything I'd ever known...

makes me so thankful I'm not alone.

that someday soon, I'll turn around,

and the road behind can be counted as covered ground.

My checklist of travels now complete:

passing the sign for the Caverns of Sonora is no small feat.

For Texas is Big! and Brown! and Bold!

and it's obvious I'm getting very very very old...

but time on the road can still be used wisely:

for instance, coming up with words that rhyme, like "sizely"...

It takes imagination (yes, it's true!)

to find the Beauty in such a view...

I've done my best (yes, it's sad!)

but creating these lines has made me glad.

A hundred miles to Stockton...I can't wait to see!

I'll stop sooner though because, of course, I have to pee.

I've changed my mind from pizza and lasagna...

(I just had the strangest memory come to mind of Rich singing "from Pascagoulaaaa!")

It's clear the desert is starting to get to me,

but not to fret! no one in my family's crazy...

This must be the last line otherwise we'll both die...

though hear my last request: in the Caverns of Sonora my bones will lie...