Quotidian

Today, acedia staring me down, I cleaned the fridge.

"Let us remember that the life in which we ought to be interested is "daily" life." We can, each of us, only call the present time our own... Our Lord tells us to pray for today, and so he prevents us from tormenting ourselves about tomorrow. It is as if God were to say to us: 'It is I who gives you this day and will also give you what you need for this day. It is I who makes the sun to rise. It is I who scatters the darkness of night and reveals to you the rays of the sun." -Gregory of Nyssa

New Year Looming

All's quiet on this western front with the boys wandering Joshua Tree. I enjoyed our Christmas visit but, as always, found myself philosophizing, "Why once a year?" Ah, the complexities of life.

Looking at the glass half full, the jolt of our little annual gathering accentuates time travel, reminds me to value of each moment. This year, the snap shot that stands out is of Will reading the Santa Letter to our collective—three children, two teenagers, and one young adult—my mind sorting through two decades of similar snap shots, all the while David Byrne echoing, "Well, how did we get here?"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I1wg1DNHbNU&feature=related

I watch Hannah and Cloe venture into the realm of tradition, birth of a family sub-culture. I smiled at year two of Christmas shopping leaving our generation behind to catch up on some much needed slumber. And the fact that Taylor was invited into the fold was heartening. I imagine Liam tagging along next year, Søren and Avery in the queue. I am thankful watching this exceptional group of young people who enjoy each other, thankful for the effort that we as parents have invested challenging our children to value individuality. I pray that they will continue to stretch the shrinking boundaries of "family" imposed by our culture.

And in the midst of all of this is that bittersweet thing that I can never quite put my finger on, that melancholy that is part of growing up, part of growing old, the topic of conversations scattered between presents and prime rib.

This year, Hannah's favorite gift was a toy. Woody. I savored the seconds it took her to tear through the Disney Princess Christmas paper, waiting for eye contact. In our family it's all about the eyes. I've settled the snap shot in memory, a vivid moment, a grown up moment. I found it interesting that this moment brought to mind moments gathered with you a day earlier.

I am often contemplating "church" and I am not alone, much of our conversation through the years has swirled around this topic. Don't we all scurry, toil, for church? Don't we, each of us journey to God on our own two feet? If I'm honest, my journey began a tentative, tumultuous searching for meaning to one very specific question: "If Christianity is being redeemed, is being adopted into God's family, what is family?"

Revelations brings an eternal perspective, Colossians reminds me I have peace with God. Galatians reminds me that, in Christ, I have the full rights of inheritance. Corinthians reminds me that I am sealed with God's Holy Spirit. I know I am forgiven, holy in Christ, adopted, embraced. But what does that mean in the here and now? What is family?

When Avery opened Buzz, I saw a theme arising, chuckled knowing that his companion Woody was tucked in a corner beneath my tree a few miles away. What is family?

At the end of our Christmas visit, a few moments before we would be packing up the car, as we began to store snap shots in the archives of our mind, Brian sparked a moment's discussion of Toy Story 3 which prompted me to chatter, "I wrote about that... I'll send you the link."

As another year winds down, I am reminded of my response to Sandy's painting, my strong desire to step back from the picture, to view the larger scene. I begged God for an answer in that moment, think this morning, struggling to get my thoughts on paper to share with you all, I might be experiencing a reply. What is family?

Who knew that Sandy and Will giving Avery Buzz Lightyear scattered conversations with Tracey trying to make sense of children growing up and Brian's well timed comment about Toy Story 3 would remind me of the criticism that plagued the writers of LOST. Here are men that were slammed for never providing enough answers and when they did they were criticized for not providing "right" enough answers. Fact is, the many mysteries that they provided often frustrated viewers who wanted pat answers. Sound familiar? The scowling always reminded me of the age old criticism of our Creator. But in this instant I am seeing clearly that the writers of LOST, those fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pants-follow-a-lead-creators began to shape for me an image of Christian family that I can comprehend, that I can wrap my heart around. The characters in LOST were not born into family, they were scripted to family.

I am grateful to be cast in a scene or two with each of you. Here's to another year, camera's anticipating snap shots to come.

Time Out

While the boys are away...

Hannah and I watched, well, 8 movies, one twice.

(It's a girl thing.)

Week 30

12.19.10 to 12.20.10

Five months and then some…

Evening

I am looking forward, for the first time in months and months and months, to an all day Sabbath. I am remembering Christmas baking with my grandma—fruitcake like Truman Capote writes about, macadamia banana bread, Madelines, and strawberry teacakes. I am remembering baking when the babies were, well, babies… but the time between then and now is a blur.

Five months have pa

ssed, chasing Sabbath has dulled to a crawl, came to a halt the weekend of July 17^th when I entered Summer’s Spin Out. Three conferences, a speaking engagement, a side business or two, moving my school two weeks before classes were scheduled to begin, and entering the last leg of my MFA journey, well, this mid-week Sabbath is the first time I’ve caught my breath. I am not exactly ready for a chase, but I am not ready to give up either. I am learning. Must be Mercy.

Now, time to mix up a batch of hot fudge with my boys.

Morning

I am so excited for Christian to arrive with her darling babies, Hannah and the boys have been looking forward to the visit as much as me.

There are eight children (well, okay my Hannah is 21, but she is my adult child) and two adults in the house and the calm is loveliness. The kitchen smells of Christmas—Madelines, Christmas sprinkle cookies, almond shortbread, chocolate peppermint drops, and the boys’ favorite, chocolate and vanilla mice cookies!

The time was gloriously slow paced, the conversation distracted by darling chirping children, was rich. The day for me was salve.

Evening

At the end of a merciful day, I take time to listen to the rain, remember something I once read, Shakespeare, I think, “The quality of mercy is not strained… it is a gentle rain,” and am thankful.

Week 28

07.10.10 to 07.11.10

The drive alone to San Luis Obispo was Sabbath… (thankfully) forced upon me once again.

The traffic would not give us a break, then there were the accidents, the ones that looked thankfully minor—two of them—that slowed traffic to a halt so drivers could take a little peek.

We talked about fearing God & what we learned about faith from LOST.

We talked which composers favored texture, which favored rhythm, which favored melody, and which harmony, and then we listened.

We talked about creative goals.

We talked about how much we love our drives.

Morning

The morning goes by in a wink—there is a celebration at hand! Evelyn is graduating...

I watched Sara (and helped where I could) set the stage:

A feast of color, the Impressionists would be proud!

The Girls got ready:

And then Sara made me cry with that yellow pad again:

And we all cheered for Evelyn, in threes of course— Hip Hip Hurrah!

Evening

Tonight I realize it’s taken me years to comprehend, but today was a family gathering.

Week 27

07.03.10 to 07.04.10

Much time off… with a little help from our friends.

Evening

Dinner and a DVD, Film Noir, no less, that was how the weekend of the Fourth.

Morning

Fourth of July morning always begins gathered

round the table with family, friends, pancakes, bacon, and a bowl of fresh fruit. After breakfast the children scattered, enjoyed some playtime while the adults shot off some after breakfast fireworks in the form of a heated political debate. But don’t get me wrong, I love a good respectful thought provoking debate.

Mid-morning the dads scooped up the children minus one and drove off to the local firecracker stand for sparklers and then some. And while they did that I took Taylor to perform his original composition for piano, "Industrial Animation" at an awards ceremony... Taylor won a state wide competition... again!

Evening

Yes, there was the traditional BBQ—chicken, salad, corn-on-the-cob, and garlic bread. Yum. After dinner and before homemade cookies, the boys dug into the firecracker purchases from earlier in the day, and began the annual tradition of unwrapping an entire package of Poppets each and crafted the innards to a monster Poppet.

As soon as they had completed their mission, it was time the group headed over to a secret location where fireworks from several locations in the city can be spied on simultaneously.

After that? Well, that was when the backyard fun began.

More Goodbyes

Hannah took the boys to see Toy Story 3 during my Residency. This was a long anticipated event, I was sorry I could not participate.

“Mom you will LOVE this movie, when can we go?”

Being preoccupied with poems and paperwork, “…ummm, soon.”

“No, you will really LOVE it… I cried mom… so when can we go?”

“Soon, really, I just need to check these responsibilities off my list.”

That was that. I trust my daughter’s judgment. She is a deep thinker with her finger on the pulse of pop culture, knows when something needs this artist’s complete attention. Some of my favorite movies have been at her suggestion, Henry Poole was Here, Lars and the Real Girl. But Toy Story 3, really? You want me to add that one to the list?

About a week later she cornered me in the bathroom to read a review from Entertainment Weekly that began: “At a screening of Toy Story 3, I was sitting between a couple of colleagues—a pleasant situation that, by the end, turned just a little uncomfortable when I realized how hard I was working to conceal my tears. I’m not just talking about shedding a tear or two, or having that Brian’s Song lump in your throat. I’m talking about that soppy awkward thing where you make sounds.” I laughed tears and listened on. Phrases like, “beautiful transition ending for Andy’s childhood” and “beautiful full-circle ending” make me slightly verklempt. When Hannah read aloud, “The spirit of imagination hasn’t gone out of our world,” I felt my the throat swell, the tears release. I actually cried listening to an article written by a man trying to comprehend his own Toy Story tears.

“Okay, we’ll go the Tuesday after the 4^th of July.”

And we did.

So I’m sitting next to my 20-year-old daughter watching a movie about Andy who is getting ready to go off to college remembering the day we first met him in the theater back when she was 6. The story is touching, but I’m fine… fine until Buzz looks into Cowgirl Jesse’s eyes and reaches for her plastic hand as they head toward flames, then Jesse reaches for Bull’s Eye, then Rex reaches one of his little ineffective arms for Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head, and Slinky is reaching for someone in the mix. When Woody finally reaches to close the circle, well, that's when I too am desperately muffling sounds.

What was that?!!!

After 24 hours to catch my breath I’ve decided it was LOST. Yes, that’s right, LOST. Again, Hannah the muse clipped an article from EW, left it on her mother the poet’s desk, just the right fodder: “LOST passed into the good night of television history on May 23 with an emotional and mystical series capper that divided fans into camps of eye-weepy love and eye-rolling loathe.” I suppose I fell into the first camp and must admit the tears were, well, they were cathartic, the very same cathartic tears that rolled for Woody.

Bottom line, LOST was television that dared me to think deeply, emotionally... spiritually. The Toy Story Trilogy dares me to do the same. I mean, think about it… Jack… Woody… introspection, letting go, sacrifice, redemption...

...best movie of the summer, Sabbath for sure.

Week 23 through 26

06.05.10 to 06.27.10

…the Evenings

and Mornings

and Evenings blur…

…here are bits of what I remember:

06.05.10 to 06.06.10

Consumed with the duties of being a teacher.

06.12.10 to 06.13.10

Preparing for the Salon...

06.05.19 to 06.20.10

in Residency, Saturday my workshop free day, I read, took notes, polished writing, gathered thoughts and on Sunday met with my genre group.

06.26.10 to 06.27.10

There was a bridal shower at 11,

and a funeral in the backyard at 2

where, once upon a time

we draped our bodies

like velvet across giant

cable spools and rolled

merrily through summer:

Spools.

Wish there was time for spools,

time for summer,

but life rolls merrily along

wearily chasing Sabbath.

Week 22

Evening

I pulled out my paints and the canvas in process. Here’s what I learned this round:

1.Spent too much effort correcting lines after I began painting.

2. Color: have a plan while the canvas is bare.

3. I can pull a tight effective composition together.

4. Have “my” technique down pat.

Morning

Made a household plan for the week and charged to the market.

Evening

One.

Taylor performed again today, same place, same time one week later. I have to admit, even making the conscious decision that the concert was a Sabbath event, I went to work.

Here were more than a dozen kids working tirelessly to sharpen their musicianship. Still, this is the third performance this spring where I was squirming in the audience because the mentors will not acknowledge entropy staring them in the face.

I can understand the lack of audience at Hannah’s performance—stubborn leadership. I will never forget the snippet of dialogue I had with the head of the Music Department when we met to inquire about the program:

“So I understand that the university has quite a reputable Film Department, second to USC…”

“Yes.”

“I am wondering if your music composition majors have the opportunity to collaborate with the film makers?”

“Oh heaven’s no.”

At this point I lost my voice. What?!!! I’m sorry, but this seems like a no brainer. I simply could not respond this woman’s indignant response. My heart sank. Why would an entire department at a reputable private university make a conscious decision to miss an opportunity? This is thwarted potential.

So here I was, for the second weekend in a row, in an audience of primarily parents facing the same problem: entropy. Somehow the music world has become elitist, disconnected from an audience at large that desperately needs to be inspired.

When the 8 year old began to play Dr Gradus ad Parnassum I caught a glimpse of the fine line. I thought to myself, "What's the difference between this child performing at this level than the six-year-old who, according to his demanding mother read at a post high school level?"

Musicians need to learn notes. Readers learn phonics. But as mentors, we must walk the fine line to help them know that music is more than notes and reading is more than phonics.

When it was time for Taylor to play, I think the audience caught a glimpse of potential, not just his potential, but "potential period" in his original composition. Looking down the right hand side of the program I saw impressive composers: Liszt, Mozart Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Chopin, and Bredberg. Surreal.

After the concert, I was struck how many parents came over to talk with my son. But one father’s comments made my ear perk, “You told a story, it was very visual experience.”

SEE… I was WORKING!!!!

Two.

LOST! I’m still processing all of this, another end to another era. I began watching the Pilot Part 1 (my third time around) after dinner and that led to the Pilot Part 2, but I couldn’t stop there with Tabula Rasa next in the queue.

Massive procrastination?

Intellectual stimulation?

Creative muse?

What if this recent Dharma drop is manna?

Jack: “Three days ago we all died we should all be able to start over.”

I’m always trying to out run something that is slowly gaining. No matter how much tenacity I muster, I eventually loose steam. Terrified the beast will devour me when I collapse I’m surprised when the thing just passes by. Life’s not a race it’s a journey. What if Sabbath is an opportunity to start over?

Week 21

05.22.10 to 05.23.10

Evening

Twenty weeks ago I was sure contemplating Sabbath had everything to do with silence. But the chase is more like sifting for sound in a chasm of noise.

Morning

I spent the morning marketing.

Evening

After a week of bronchitis Taylor performed Prokofiev… I think I heard the smoking piano beg for a moment to breathe.

LOST!

Week 20

05.15.10 to 05.16.10

Twenty weeks? Really?

Evening

I am sick, running a fever, my head aching. I am tired.

… by dinnertime I have five, maybe more like seven hours to go until I was ready to submit the most challenging submission in the MFA process to date… hours and hours until I sleep!

Morning

Slept until noon, I suppose that is Sabbath.

Evening

Lost my voice, cancelled my Monday class, sent assignments via email.

Week 19

05.08.10 to 05.09.10

Friday leading up to Sabbath:

I was exhausted, ‘tis the season. Spending hours upon end in the confines of a booth at a curriculum fair might look like something obvious to the casual glance. Thing is, I am not a salesman. I am a person deeply invested in my philosophy of education.

I was so relieved when Shirean picked me up from the conference. So relieved that I forgot to grab my overnight bag when she scooped me up. We were halfway to San Diego before I realized my absent-minded mistake.

We made the best of it, grabbed dinner at the mall so I could run through The Gap for pj’s and an outfit for the morning.

After dinner I did something I had not done in decades: I went to a club to hear a band. My friend Shirean’s son is a musician. Suffice to say it was inspiring to see this young man doing the work of chasing his dream and to observe an audience being vicariously inspired.

Evening

Aside from holidays and a handful of family gatherings, time spent with my sister-in-law revolves around work. I look forward to show season, when we have rare down time driving to and from conferences. Tonight, exhausted by two days of grueling work, our two-hour discussion was Sabbath refreshment. Exiting the 405, five minutes from home, it dawned on me that our discussion surrounding high school culture resonated with my musings on education and left me chasing questions:

Why are so few students interested in the work of becoming educated?

What happens when we leave no room for the development of the individual?

Is traditional education breeding Acedia whose one purpose is to crush hope?

Morning

In the garden I continue to breathe.

Evening

So tired I don’t remember.

Week 18

05.01.10 to 05.02.10

Evening

After a long day of writing with editor-in-chief Sara, Il Fornaio was refreshing. Being away from the computer helped the brain cells hydrate.

Morning

Sara helped me realize Sabbath potential once again. Shovel in hand, she showed me that it's possible to dig in (literally) and accomplish what needs to be done. Out with the old dirt in with the new... five-year-old dirt was flying! Sara demonstrated the cardinal rules:

Food: 1 part peat, 1 part vermiculite, 1 part compost,

Water: vital in the garden

Companionship: till, tend, cultivate

...very Sabbath if you ask me.

Evening

With MFA deadlines looming, a mass of creative writing and revisions staring me in the face, dinner with dear old friends had that mysterious Sabbath effect of refreshing my creative drive and building more hours into the day.

More Weeds

There simply is not enough time. I panic and move faster through another day, tackling the stacks set before me.

This time every year, I get the itch to plant a garden, “…but there are children to care for, and grades to issue, dishes to wash and clothes to fold, dinner, emails, phone calls…”

Today my friend Sara taught me to dig for sunshine, to be warmed by dirt. Just as my dear country mouse (I am, admittedly jealous, still trying to embrace the city mouse persona) was about to get into her little car, escape this city, she looked at me with that gleam in her eye and said, “Let’s do it…”

The next thing I knew I was in the garden furiously dumping ancient dirt from garden containers.

Topsy turvey.

We moved on to tackle weeds that sprung up around the edges of the fence where we would be moving the containers so afternoon sun will tempt vines to crawl up twine and drip with snap peas. But the problem was, fun as this moment was, as much as I wanted to be in the garden especially with my friend, checklists were flashing in my mind.

I was grabbing at weeds hand over fist when I came to a plant that was flowering—a single yellow flower—I paused. So pretty… I was mesmerized until I remembered it was a weed that would turn to thistle and stick to my socks. I yanked it out and noticed that the checklists disappeared, am staring at oodles of time. My schedule doesn’t actually look so bad.

So what’s up with that?

Week 17

04.24.10 to 04.25.10

(Birthday weekend)

Evening

Halibut dinner and Television.

Morning

Work.

Evening

In the shower, as I turned the faucets off I had an urge to stop and listen to the water drain before opening the glass door and reaching for my towel. I somehow knew this was a Sabbath urge, still I just couldn't wait and chose to jump out and press into the stack of work waiting near my computer. The water was still gurgling when I closed the bathroom door.

Week 16

04.17.10 to 04.18.10

Evening

The day began sitting with my dear friend Shirean at the Farm and enjoying breakfast until we noticed the lunch crowd streaming in.

Morning

Graded papers.

Evening

Another Sunday comes to a close without a trace of Sabbath.

Week 15

04.10.10 to 04.11.10

Evening

Our last night in England.

e ate at the Horse and Groom with the family.

My mother-in-law answered her own question, "What has been most memorable by stealing the words right from my mouth…, “My favorite part of the trip was watching you having fun.”

Morning

Up at the crack of dawn the long trip home began.

Evening

Touch down! LA never looked so good. Familiarity is wonderful. Ran to Trader Joe’s with Hannah. Fell asleep early, woke up at 3am! Jet lag begins…

Week 14

04.03.10 to 04.04.10

Evening

London.

Tonight I am contemplating the exceptional day that began with a walk along the Thames with my oldest son, Taylor. Armed with a steamy latte and a flaky croissant from Pret a Manger we wandered our way to the Tate Modern. We paid twelve pounds to see a mediocre Gorkey exhibit then stumbled upon a treasure trove:

Poetry and Dream: Surrealism and Beyond

72 works "For the poets and artists of the Surrealist movement, dreams stood for all aspects of the world repressed by rationalism and convention."

I might actually head back to the museum tomorrow. I was captivated by a Magritte and a Dali in particular, took copious notes and scratched sketches for later.

http://www.tate.org.uk/modern/explore/room.do?show=1258&code=04&action=4

At the end of the visit, after five hours of exploration, Taylor and I stumbled upon, or more aptly into:

Miroslaw Balka's box of darkness: How It Is

http://www.tate.org.uk/modern/exhibitions/unilevermiroslawbalka/default.shtm

This was a singular experience.

Morning

Easter morning in London, crumpled by jet lagged we slept until noon.

Evening

After a speedy tour of Tower of London, and a walk along the Thames to the walking bridge that leads from St. Paul’s across the river, the Tate was closed for the day. Missed it by that much.

Our diner plan was to find exceptional fish and chips, after walking out of the quintessential (or so we thought) restaurant because they passed our spot to a more hip group we embarked on a wild goose chase that inflamed the soles of our feet and our tempers. We ended up back where we started (well the restaurant right next door) only to be slapped with a half an hour wait. So went our last night in London. Tick tock: another Easter Sunday.

Week 13

03.27.10 to 03.28.10

Another blur a mass of WORK and PACKING—evening, morning, evening!

Week 12

03.20.10 to 03.21.04

It's all a blur. I remember DSW – quick shop for a pair of walking shoes.

More than comfort, I want red:

Prepared to leave town to nurture my prophetic imagination all the while wonder what England has in store. I wish I could feel inspired by the trip, right now I feel overwhelmed.

Sabbath is a Lemon Bar

Taylor made yummy lemon bars... just because.

Nurturing the Prophetic Imagination

“If we are lucky, we can give in and rest without feeling guilty. We can stop doing and concentrate on being.”
-Kathleen Norris

On Wednesday I gave in, rested at a conference. I did not feel guilty. This was the first time in a long time, perhaps all year, that I concentrated on being. This was the first time that I felt connected to a body of living like minded artists. Sabbath.

Acedia

“Life is easier than you'd think—all that is necessary is to accept the impossible, do without the indispensable, and bear the intolerable.”









I read Acedia & me: A Marriage, Monks, and a Writer's Life, the first time about a year ago. I’ve read it twice. Bouts of "helplessness, self-pity and terror" began to torment the author in high school in Honolulu, infiltrated her college years and continued into her marriage. You mean I’m not alone…?

Remember:

St. Gregory of Nyssa believes that The Lord’s Prayer is "a way to remember that the life in which we ought to be interested is daily life. … Our Lord tells us to pray for today, and so he prevents us from tormenting ourselves about tomorrow."

What also helps according to Kathleen Norris, "is a great dose of humility. Who the hell do I think I am to be so bored?"


In terms of my craft, Kathleen Norris reminds me,

"The only way to do this book," she realized, "was to bring all sides of me to it." Oh my… Of course… Still, this is easier said than done. It is downright painful. Still, when I engage with art, when beauty speaks, it speaks because the artist had the courage to pint out some truth. Isn’t this the cardinal rule of the work of creativity?

and

“Before you begin a thing, remind yourself that difficulties and delays quite impossible to foresee are ahead. If you could see them clearly, naturally you could do a great deal to get rid of them but you can't. You can only see one thing clearly and that is your goal. Form a mental vision of that and cling to it through thick and thin.”

Week 11

03.13.10 to 03.14.10

Evening

(…met with the folks to talk about the upcoming trip to England… once home, tried to muster the focus to work on the MFA packet due Monday)

and

Morning

(wrote and wrote and wrote)

and

Evening

is all a blur.

(…by nightfall, I crashed)

Week 10

03.06.10 to 03.07.10

Evening

Despite nagging piles, Hannah, Søren, and I managed sneak into the kitchen to conjure rotini with peas, asparagus, fresh basil and parmesan reggiano. Hannah made (the oh so wise) executive decision to pick up a roasted chicken from Bristol Farms, to bypass my plan to roast one from scratch.

Morning

Last week I focused: “Can’t do it all.”

It is so challenging to keep that in mind when responsibility is so LOUD (or at perceived as loud). Admittedly, I secretly anticipated Week 10 would bring some revelatory breakthrough—to what exactly, I’m not sure.

Looking back, I can’t name all we did, but I know it consumed the day.

Evening

By nightfall, I was ready to slow to a halt. We ate leftover past and chicken and watched the first in a series of lectures on England. I smiled at the cover of Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day before my eyes slipped shut, imagined the scent of loaves baking in my oven. Maybe next weekend.

Small Town, Big History

This morning Søren and I drove to Glendora to visit my friend. We got in the car at 7:30am. On the onramp to the 405, I took a breath—first one, it seems, in a long time. This begged the question, “What was that all about?”

For three days I battled with anxious thoughts about taking time off for the visit. Even though an hour or so was being carved out to meet with a mutual client, I wanted to visit my friend. Still that taskmaster was contentedly annoying my mind, conflicting my heart: “There’s the packet due on the 15th and I have to deliver materials to SLO for the conference and what about the stack of Romeo and Juliet essays to grade and the emails to return and what about the LAUNDRY?”

Funny thing, Friday morning, the instant I merged onto the 405, the nagging thoughts vanished. I enjoyed listening to music while my youngest son drew pictures during our hour-long drive to Glendora.


When we arrived half an hour early, spontaneity tickled my mind, “Let’s explore this cute little town.”

I turned left and Søren made an observation, “Castle top trees.”

I looked out the window. Sure enough the street was lined with castle top trees. Søren’s imagination made me smile, “Shall we find a café for hot cocoa?”

“Sure.”

So, at 8:30am two city mice walked hand in hand down a wonderfully sleepy main street an arms length from frenetic Los Angeles.

Being the youngest of four, you would think my smallest son would get special attention, but this is not the reality for my quiet, contemplative Søren. My attention, I’m beginning to recognize through this Sabbath experiment, is consumed by an illusive and voracious taskmaster gulping my time hand over fist! And this second trip to my friend Christian’s reinforced this discouraging truth.

This trip, like our last was reminiscent of kinder, gentler times in SLO when my children were toddlers, babies. Sitting with Christian, conversing about marriage, motherhood, and faith took me to a once upon a time place. I know I am in a stage of life, my youngest child, after all is 10 (double digits) and my eldest a sophomore in college. I know that I am a career minded girl in the midst of two entrepreneurial endeavors. And then there is that very small thing of creativity, and the MFA I’m chasing.

Even still, I have a huge need for what I experienced visiting with my friend in that small town—Sabbath. I need to make soup for lunch during the middle of the week, need to sip tea. I even need to do dishes. I simply need to walk away from the encumbrance of pesky stacks—essays to edit, curriculum and lesson plans to prepare, conferencing with clients (though I must admit there was a bit of this during my visit), and yes, LAUNDRY.

The icing on the cake was that my son got to hang out with his friends who are younger instead of being the youngest in the crowd. Ironically, I think this allowed him to bask in his true development ability, emotionally speaking that is. I saw hints of peace on his face and in his countenance this trip and the last. My son got to slow down. We all needed to step down from our tiptoes now and then.

I teach my students they can learn from history. Today I made history. I spent a few glorious hours in that small town enjoying friendship. Looking back, being released from routine was Sabbath and in my world, this is big history.

Week 9

02.27.10 to 02.28.10

Evening

Tried to take my friend to Sprinkles again. The good news is that they were open for business. The bad news was the line stretched 40-minutes from the door. We walked down the block to Crumb. Dessert before dinner, that was the idea.

As we drove across town to our dinner destination I remembered my Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day arrived from Amazon this afternoon. I am desperate to be a baker. Five minutes a day seems a realistic goal.

Il Fornaio roughly translated means “the baker”... I wonder how many minutes per day they spend baking bread?

It felt tremendously luxurious eating rustic bread dipped in balsamic and olive oil, felt even better to enjoy the company of Sara and Evelyn and Taylor and Hannah away from nagging piles.


Morning

“Can’t do it all.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Began the day with potatoes—a piano competition and a haircut on the horizon.

I forced myself to NOT take the dish of starchy goodness and multitask by the computer, forced myself to leave the TV off and sit at the table with my husband in the quiet moments before the contents of the house began to stir. Force myself? That should give me something to think on today.


Evening

We had gone flying in all directions, conquered the piano competition, the haircut, a few errands, and made a rough plan for Monday. When Willie slid a dinner plate across my desk, I mustered the strength to walk away from my work and join my family at the table, “Can’t do it all, but I can do what matters.”

what it is

This week was spent mostly in PJ's. The "walking" whatever bug that has been taunting me for weeks, knocked me down at last with a fever and a cough. Thanks (I think) to my cell phone, email, and a laptop my work responsibilities were met. By Thursday I was discouraged and more tired than ever after two days "off" and weekend events looming.

At an incredibly disorganized awards event on Saturday afternoon I was overwhelmed by thoughts circulating from the better-use-of-my-time folder. But wandering eyes caught sight of an image whispering, "...what it is."

The image prompted me to start circulating thoughts from a new folder, "...where you are ...when you are ... as you are ...in the moment. Life is what it is. Sabbath is a choice.

Week 8

02.20.10 to 02.21.10

Evening

After being inspired last week at the Wiltern, I re-read Rob Bell’s coffee table art book, Drops like Stars, in thirty minutes flat while sweating on the treadmill taking “art in the agony” to new heights.

Let’s talk about where Bell begins: The Art of Disruption, the pinpoint upon which all best laid plans are disillusioned. Hmmm…. and, “Ah yes.”

But, then again, “No.”

Q: When is The Art of Disruption a good thing?

A: (hesitantly) Always. I think...

Tough theology surrounded by a holy host of white space: Drops Like Stars.

Sabbath fodder.

So I embraced the Art of Disruption, delighted in the fall of Plan A. I whipped up a pot of chicken soup, turned on the Winter Olympics, and enjoyed my family.

Morning

A mild cough is circulating the household, so we slept in this morning. But the rest of the day is a blur of errands—searching for the best deals on art supplies, Trader Joe’s, photocopies, bookstores, and fighting traffic. The city is lonely.

At the gym I dove into Leonard Cohen’s psalm-like Book of Mercy hoping for insight into the madness. “Blessed are you who has given each man a shield of loneliness so that he cannot forget you,” that’ll do.

Evening

Soup and the Olympics with my husband, my daughter, and my three sons: Sabbath.