Winter Hush

Winter has found her way back to the Northland--and I, for one, am happy.  Something inside me rebels when Spring comes so early.   I admit to enjoying the 50 degree temps while we had them, but inside I wanted just a little more Winter, because I'm just not ready.

Spring brings the frenzy of new beginnings, awakenings to new birth, the riot of colors as plants and trees blossom and retake the fields and branches.  But part of me, at least right now, longs for the bare charcoal branches against and washed-slate sky.  I want to feel the cool of the earth beneath my feet and the icy wind stinging my face and burning my fingertips.  I'm not ready for all that energy, I'm not ready yet to be reborn this year.

Summer is fine I suppose, but it is bright and explosive and transient. Get the good weather before it is gone! we say.  Enjoy it while it lasts!  But Winter is the constant in these parts. I wonder if I could ever stand to live somewhere that didn't have Winter--real Winter.   Sometimes boisterous, but mostly slow, steady and frankly beautiful.

Tonight after a bit of snow, I shoveled off the front steps in the dark.  It was a wonderful night, dark and quiet.  All sound was muffled, light glowed through the haze of fine snow, and even the moon seemed to shine from behind a white veil.  I sat for a while on the steps and enjoyed the silence and icy beauty.  Thank you Winter, for your lovely embrace, your slow steady hand and the space to balm my heart and soul.

Thoughts on Lent, as it Looms

I am Catholic, have always been. Your family might be Italian, Polish,German--mine is Catholic. Very Catholic. I'm not that level of Catholic any longer, though I do still consider myself Catholic.   If you had asked Pope Benedict or my mother, I am not a very good Catholic. If you ask me and (I like to think and hope) God, I’m doing okay.

So Lent. I get asked every year why I give up things, and why I am punishing myself, etc. But that isn't the point of Lent, at least not in my world. Lent is about feeling--keenly, your humanity, your physicality, your vulnerability. Yes, I do "give up" something each year, but I don't do this to suffer for my faith, quite the contrary.

Will there be a sense of denial, undoubtedly. But...that isn't always a bad thing. Denial doesn't have to be a hairshirt, self-flaggelation exercise in martyrdom. By denying myself these things I desire and crave, I'm reminding myself quite vividly that they are things. They are not what is important. They are objects of desire, which frankly kind of hold me back sometimes.

I think that we are given these amazing bodies, and this amazing place we call the universe in trust. We are to do the best we can, take the best care we can of them, then when our time comes, we give them back. Taking care of myself--although it will mean denying myself some things I love very much is a small way of saying thank you. Thank you for giving me this body, and the tools and abilities to keep it healthy and safe. Thank you for giving me this amazing world to live in, and all these creatures, and the responsibility of stewardship.

It is also about getting to a closer relationship with What Is--call it God or Jehovah, or Allah, or just plain Love, or Frank if you like--subjugating my desires to focus on the plan for me, the path I'm to take can show me things I never would have known, wrapped up cozily in my blanket of luxuries.

I don't believe in a God who would give us such lovely wonderful bodies, capable of pleasure, giving, love and caring and then tell us we are forbidden from doing so. I do believe in a God that loves us all simply because we are. And that is something I learn a little bit every day--it is enough just to be me, and try to be the best me I can.  I also must love others, ALL others simply because they are too.  It is enough for them to just be, too.

I don't believe in a God that guides our every movement, and smites us when we step out of their complicated and not-so-clear lines. I so believe in a God that ever-so-gently coughs behind their hand *ahem* at appropriate moments to give us a nudge. That gentle whisper in our ear that guides us toward the right thing, that lets us know we are here and loved and doing okay.

And that my friends, is my prayer for you and yours this Lent, that you can always know that wee tiny whisper--you are here, you are loved, and you are doing okay.

Hope Horizon

A believe-it-or-no unretouched image of the gorgeous sunset.  Reminds me that hope and light are always on the horizon and always beautiful.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the speed of life these days—my own life specifically, and all of our modern lives in general.  Everything is immediate, change is lightning-fast and I wonder how much of the world and our own lives we actually see in its detail.  Anyway.  All this got me thinking about a piece I wrote about “Field of Corn” an art installation in Dublin, OH.  It is one of my very favorite pieces of public art, and long ago I wrote about it for a long deceased web publication. 

Sam Frantz was an agricultural engineer who invented the first hybrid corn. This art installation is on the site of his former farm on...Frantz Road, of course. An interesting way to honor both his memory, and Dublin's (recent) history as an farming community.

I've looked around the internet for a little more information about this, and have discovered that there are apparently quite a few people who Hate The Corn. They truly hate it. A just a few samples of the corn hate (unattributed, of course)

"that atrocity is only a coupla miles from my house i specifically don't go that way as often as i can just to avoid it."

"I'm embarassed to say I live very near this monstrosity. It's like a big crop of man parts attacking!!! Quite scary up close!"

"The corn is a huge embarassment and a complete pisser of wasted tax dolllars."

Now. Please. As the photo attests, we've been rather close up to the corn, and I wasn't scared. And honey, if you are mistaking corn for a field of giant "man parts" I don't want to know about your dating life. In fact, if you refer to them as "man parts" I think you might need to take remedial Sex Ed. But... if the good folks of Dublin are running around thinking that this is a giant field of penii, that explains why they are so "embarassed." And while we're talking about wastes of the taxpayer's money...I could think of a quite few that cost considerably more than the Giant Corn. But we won't get started on that. (note: the Corn was not funded by tax revenue per se, partially from a grant from the city--taken from the hotel bed tax revenue--and partially from private sources. There was no Corn Tax, in case you were wondering)

Far from being scared by my close-up view of the corn, I was intrigued. Each ear is, like real corn, subtly different, but taken in the wide view seem identical. It takes enlarging something as simple and common as corn for us to see it as something more than a collective noun: corn. Perhaps that is the point here. What else are we missing, in our blurry sped-up world of driving past and skimming over? What else are we reducing to a collective noun--lives, joys, people?

To quote William Blake:

"To see a world in a grain of sand and a heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour." (from Auguries of Innocence)

Sadly, for those who are Corn Haters, not even 109, eight foot tall ears of corn can show them the infinities in their hands.