Rust, Ash, Dust, Smash

Today is Ash Wednesday, the day in the liturgical year that reminds us that we are dust, and all too soon, we'll return to dust. Those of us who go to Ash Wednesday services will have a cross smudged on our foreheads, a cross of ash ideally made from burning the palm branches from the previous year's Palm Sunday. We hear some variation of these words: "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."

You can call yourself a creature made out of the ruins of stars (true!), but you're dust all the same.

I'm not always in an Ash Wednesday frame of mind, but this year, I've been sinking into Ash Wednesday for weeks, what with bad health news from colleagues, and just yesterday, the news that my favorite, undergraduate English professor died last week.  I'll write more about her in a later post.

It's the time when I feel my creative self shifting.  Once, I told myself I had plenty of time.  I could write whatever I wanted.  Now, I find myself asking, "If you can only write one book and have it published, what should that book be?"  I'll still work on a variety of projects, but my aging affects what I'm thinking about in terms of pursuing publication.  And of course, technology affects my thoughts of publication too.

Today I was looking at the texts to which I often return during parts of the liturgical year:  Girl Meets God by Lauren F. Winner and Things Seen and Unseen by Nora Gallagher.  Both women have gone on to write books that explore their doubts, their maturing faith, their faith falling away.  I wonder if it's painful for them to see these books, these testimonies to faith communities of which they are no longer part.

I am wrestling with profound sadness this year, a sadness which is both part of the human condition (everything we love will be lost!) and unique to me (colleagues gone, teachers gone, houses and offices gone, writing projects slipped away, lonely, lost, lonely, lonely, lonely).

In his book The Lie That Tells a Truth, John Dufresne says, "But death is the central truth of our existence--the sadness at our core. Everything we love will vanish. We can't hold on to anything. It is this tragedy that accounts as well for the beauty and nobility of our lives because in the face of this knowledge, we go right on loving, trying to hold on to what we cherish, defying death with hubris and with faith" (page 61).

As always, Ash Wednesday provides powerful impetus to poetry.  I've been writing a series of Ash Wednesday poems, many of which I've posted on this blog.  Here's one I haven't posted here, although I have given a link.  It was first published in Hobble Creek Review.


Ash Wednesday in MiamiBury me in a Southern field,
free of coffin, free of clothes.
Let me meld into the mulch,
turning the red clay into rich dirt.

Do not let me rot beside this Southernmost
sea that grows more acidic
by the day.  I do not want
to fertilize the asphalt and the concrete.
I do not want to wait
for rising seas to consume
my final resting place.

No, bury me in the humid
swamp of a sunny, Southern day.
Let me fertilize the corn and squash.
Remember me when you salt
that perfect tomato sandwich,
sweet with Duke’s mayonnaise
and memories of me.

Mardi Gras Meditation on Bread Baking, Past and Present

Today is Mardi Gras.  When I've asked my students about the historical roots of Mardi Gras, they've given me a blank look.  So, good teacher that I am, I explain:  in medieval times, most Christians would give up all sorts of luxury items for Lent, luxury items like milk, eggs, and alcohol.  So just before Lent came the using up of the luxury items because you wouldn't just throw them away.  Hence the special Mardi Gras breads and treats and the drinking.  For more on the history of Mardi Gras, Shrove Tuesday, and Lent, see this blog post on my theology blog.

I've been thinking about how much I don't bake anymore.  Sure, I make a coffee cake once in a while, a batch of cookies when I have an event to attend, but I'm baking just a few times a month.  I used to bake on a daily basis.  I was that person who brought goodies to work, but not because I wanted them out of the house.  No, I brought them because I'd gone a little overboard with the baking and needed to clear out the cookie jars.

In some ways, my lack of baking is a good thing.  Less baking means fewer cookies, cakes, and scones that I'm eating.

But in an essential way, I miss my breadbaking self.  I've written about my history with bread baking many times before in this blog; this post gives a bit of history about how I came to be a bread baker.

I started thinking back to my earlier bread baking days when I read this article by Adam Gopnik.  It begins by Gopnik's discovery of his wife's brief breadbaking days, which catapults him into a breadbaking journey of his own.  It's a hilarious article, but also full of details that make me want to bake. 

And it's full of details that make me think about bread in a different way:  "The tasty bits of your morning toast, I realized, are all the tombs of tiny dead creatures--the Ozymandias phenomenon on a miniature scale.  Look on my works, you mighty, and eat them with apricot jam" (p. 69).

A few weeks ago, when we had one of our brief cold snaps, I thought about baking bread, but it seemed so time consuming.  I really wanted a Christmas bread, but it seems time to put those recipes away and move towards Spring.  I thought about pumpkin bread or the orange-cranberry bread that's amazing, but even the thought of a quick bread made me tired.

Then I remembered one of my Christmas presents.  My parents had done all their shopping in Colonial Williamsburg, and amongst my wonderful gifts were some packages of mixes that would lead to baked goods.  I quickly whipped up a batch of sweet potato muffins.

Along the way, I thought, this is why people use these mixes.  It was quick; five minutes and muffins were in the oven.  It was easy, and even though I forgot to add the egg, it turned out OK.  I recognized all of the ingredients.  Maybe it's an expensive way to buy flour and leavening, but I see why people do it.

I have a tiny kitchen, so I don't have room to stockpile mixes.  But it's been good to have a window into new possibilities.

In past years, I might have made a special Mardi Gras bread today.  I might have made pancakes, in tribute to the Shrove Tuesday feasts of my childhood churches.  I'd have felt sad, eating pancakes alone on Shrove Tuesday.

I've had a few weeks now, of eating with abandon, especially last week.  We ate massive burgers on Monday, a Chinese food feast on Thursday, with fried foods at both restaurants.  Last week, I ate an orange scone at Panera not once, but twice--and you may shrug, but each scone has over 500 calories.  There were yummy salads from the Publix deli, and I don't mean green, leafy salads.

Yes, last week was a Carnivale week of eating to be sure.  Time for the soberness of Lent.

But if you're not ready for penitence yet, I've discovered an easy yeasted bread.  See this blog post for directions and pictures.

Happy Mardi Gras, everyone.  May you have a nourishing, creative day.

Working in a 12 x 12 Structure

On Thursday night, I went to a reception for the 12 x 12 show at ArtServe.  It's a cool show for artists:  the regulations stipulate that every work must be 12 x 12, but that's the only major limitation.

So, a maker of jewelry could create something and affix it to a canvas or a shadowbox.  Below, in the upper right, you'll see just such an approach:

We saw several interesting pieces carved out of wood:

And there were interesting assemblages made out of all sorts of castaway stuff:

Most of the entries were paintings, along with some photography:

I don't have a picture of the fiber piece that made me say, "Oh good heavens, I could do better than this."  But that response made me think seriously about taking up that challenge.

What would happen if I made a 12 x 12 creation each month?  At the end of a year, I could choose the best and enter the competition.  You get to enter 3 works for $60.  Each work is priced at $200, and the artist keeps $150 of that.  Obviously, the risk is that no one would buy the work.  But you'd only have to sell one piece to pay for the fee and the materials and make some money.

It makes me feel inspired.  It makes me want to break out my art supplies, diminished as they are.  Let me see what emerges in the coming year.

Six Million Dollar Men, Six Million Dollar Cell Phones, and Other Transfigurations

--Today is Transfiguration Sunday in some Protestant churches--Catholics and other Orthodox Christians celebrate the Feast Day on August 6.  In Protestant churches, Transfiguration Sunday is the Sunday before Lent begins on Ash Wednesday.  For more on this Sunday, see this post on my theology blog.  It has a poem for your Transfiguration Sunday.

--I have been thinking about transfigurations and transformations of all sorts.  I loved this post at the Lofty Ambitions blog about the old TV show from the 1970's, The Six Million Dollar Man.  It's a fascinating piece about the ways that show stayed true to NASA.

--I've also been listening to this wonderful Fresh Air interview with Neil DeGrasse Tyson, who is our modern equivalent of Carl Sagan, as he launches a new version of Cosmos.  He talks about the ways that space exploration has transformed our society.

--He says, "And so I've joked about let's go around and remove everything overnight from your home that was brought about or inspired by space exploration and have you wake up in the absence of it. So you'd wake up with poor vision, among other things...and you wouldn't have all your miniaturized electronics, and you can just go on down the list. And it's - even simple things, by the way. Do you know there are grooves in the curved exit ramps of many freeways? And that, of course, improves traction when the road is wet. You say, oh, that's a great idea. That came from NASA. It doesn't have to be high-tech to be a great idea. Why did it come from NASA? Because someone was more interested in the space shuttle landing and maintaining its course because it's not - a spaceship shuttle is not powered when it's landing. It's a glider. And you want that thing to sort of not skid off the runway coming in for a landing. So they came up with this grooved idea, which keeps the tires aligned. It channels out the water. And someone thought it up because they were inspired by NASA, not because they're inspired by cars on exit ramps from freeways. So, high-tech and low-tech creativity are stimulated by this kind of activity."

--And I also just finished listening to this interview with Bobby McFerrin on NPR's On Being.  He talks about the transformative power of singing. 

--He also talks about trusting his voice and the artistic process:  "There use to be a point where I would be afraid of making mistakes. I'm no longer afraid of making mistakes. I make them every night during a performance. Something happens: I meant for my voice to go right and it went left instead. I meant for my voice to go up and it goes down, you know. Wherever my voice goes, wherever it takes me I just follow it. I just watch it. It leads me to whatever, you know. I trust it."

--I'm expanding on his idea and trusting my creative spirit to take me to where I need to go.   I love the short story I've just written, but some part of me worries about the poems I didn't write this week because I was working on the story.  What would happen if I just did the project that poked me awake in the morning?  If I followed that daily passion, even knowing it would change?

--My fear is that I would never finish any project.  But maybe I would finish more.

--Tomorrow:  more on the project that's been prodding me all week-end.

Highlights from a Creative Friday

Yesterday was a wonderful creative day, in between various work tasks and meetings that were delightful not horrible.

I had trouble sleeping because I had a writing project due.  So, I got up and typed the rough drafts of all the prayers for the month of April for the devotion book Bread for the Day.  I e-mailed them to myself and printed a copy.

I also finished the short story I'd been working on.  I wasn't sure how I was going to get my characters to the end, but it came easily.  Then I wasn't sure how to end the story, but inspiration bubbled up too.

Then I went to work.  Mid-morning, I went to the fiction meet-up with writer friends at work.  My writer friends really got my story.  They offered good suggestions.  I felt bad for my Hindu writer friend; we had trouble with her story and ran out of time.  Were we having trouble because we're not familiar with the Hindu story upon which her story is based?  The characters changed gender, which is an interesting challenge in terms of pronouns--but she handled the physical change with masterful description.  Were we having trouble because our friend has to make revisions based on what her editor wants?  That's unclear.

Then we were off to our delightful lunch meeting.  Instead of meeting in the conference room, our friend who lives nearby suggested that we come to her house.  We had a great selection of food from the Publix deli:  chicken salad, wheat berry salad, sesame noodle salad, fruit salad--plus amazing bread and dessert from Gran Forno bakery.  Yum.  We talked about technology and teaching.

We also talked about a colleague who has been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.  What will happen to her body of artistic work?  Will her husband promote her paintings after she's gone?  And then, thoughts of mortality for us all--what happens to our stuff, artistic and otherwise, when say our final good-byes?

After lunch, it was back to campus to deal with some work-related e-mails and transcript evaluations and strategizing.

In the late afternoon, I returned to my prayer manuscript.  I did final word counts, one last read-aloud, one last proofreading and correcting, and then I sent it off.

This morning, I'm full of gratitude.  I'm aware of the gift of time.  I'm also aware of having an editor who isn't difficult.  I got an e-mail that says that everything looks to be in order with my prayers.  Hurrah!  I have friends who are not so encouraged by their editors.  Of course, they are working on book-length manuscripts, and the editorial feedback should lead to a stronger work--or will it be a work completely different from what they wanted to create?

But more than that, I'm aware of the gift of friends.  It's been a difficult work week, with the bad health news of colleagues sinking in, with strange e-mails and difficult meetings.  But woven throughout the week, with the highpoint being yesterday, I've been aware again and again, that I'm working with good people who have compassionate hearts and bright intellects.

Almost Missed Opportunities: The Prayer Writing Edition

I have been asked to write prayers for Bread for the Day again this year.  In fact, the due date is today, so this week, I've returned to the project multiple times.  Before yesterday's difficult meeting, I did one last revision.  In many ways, it's the perfect way to prepare for a difficult meeting:  work on a different project that reminds me that there are other items that are important to me. 

It's also been the week when many writers head to our big conference in Seattle, the AWP.  That's an opportunity that's often hard for me to make happen. 

This intersection makes me think about how I almost missed the prayer-writing opportunity.

It was a chilly morning on a Saturday in February of 2011.  My spouse had an appointment at a church south of Miami with a Lutheridge staff person who was going to be in the area.  I had thought I would go to spin class and leave my spouse to make his own way down there, but at the last minute, I changed my mind.  We decided to have an adventure together.

Before we went, I checked my e-mail, and I noticed one from an editor for a devotional book.  Would I like to write prayers?  But it seemed the deadline had passed to say yes; I should have responded a few days earlier.  I shut down the computer and tried to console myself by thinking about the small sum of money that had been offered.  Small consolation, as I rarely get offered any money for my writing at all.  I sat in the car and watched the landscape zoom by and tried not to berate myself.

We drove through the foggy damp which sometimes turned to rain and drizzle.  We got to the church a bit early, and no one was there.  Stranger yet, the person who was cleaning up the grounds didn't know of any gathering that was planned, the one the Lutheridge staffer was coming to be part of.

Still, we waited.  When the Lutheridge staffer arrived, the groundskeeper unlocked the building.  How good to get out of the damp!

We had thought the Lutheridge staffer would want to talk to us about planned giving, but she had an even more interesting proposal for my spouse.  Would he be willing to serve on the Board?  If so, more information would be forthcoming from the Board.  He said yes, he'd be interested.

We left so that the Lutheridge staffer could set up for her presentation to the group, the group that had forgotten that they invited her.  If we had known, we might have kept her company. 

It was such a quick meeting, such a long car trip for a 10 minute meeting.  So although it was chilly and damp, we decided to explore the botanical garden that we'd seen on our way in.  We walked along the pathways and enjoyed the trees and flowers.  I kept thinking about that e-mail and my missed opportunity to write prayers.  A part of my brain wondered if it really was too late.

On our way home, we stopped at an Irish pub to warm up.  I had the best French onion soup.  We watched the drizzle turned to soaking rain while we enjoyed being inside.  It was a perfect morning and afternoon.

Later that evening, I decided to write to the devotion book editor on the off chance he still needed someone.  He might say no based on the fact that I missed the deadline and thus, seemed unreliable.  But he might still need writers and be relieved to hear from me.

So, I wrote an e-mail, explaining that I'd been offline while at the AWP conference and would he still be in need of writers?  He wrote back immediately sounding thrilled that I could do it.  And the project became one of my favorites of that year, and the years since.

I am so glad that I took the chance and responded, even though I'd missed the deadline.  I'm so glad that the editor said yes.  I'm so glad I've had the chance to write prayers, year after year.

Happy Birthday to My Sister

My sister's birthday is today.  I'm an English major, so I'm always thinking of favorite quotes to celebrate various days.  Here's one of my favorite quotes about sisters:

 

“For there is no friend like a sister

In calm or stormy weather;

To cheer one on the tedious way,

To fetch one if one goes astray,

To lift one if one totters down,

To strengthen whilst one stands.”

 

from Christina Rossetti's wonderful poem, "Goblin Market"

 

I didn't always feel this way about my sister.  When she was born, I had chicken pox, so not only could I not go stay with the family of my friend (her brother hadn't had chicken pox and back then, there was no vaccine), I couldn't go home right away either.  I was 4 months away from turning 5, so I sort of understood, although I couldn't have fully understood the complexities of immune systems.  After all, I hadn't asked for chicken pox.

Here's a picture of us, with my cousins and my grandmother, at my grandparents' house in South  Carolina.  With those 70's hair cuts and clothes, you might not be able to tell who is who.  I'm the one hamming it up in the back.  My sister is the one on my grandma's lap.

 

 

 

 

 

Later, during our teen years, we had the typical, albeit minor, fights.  I wanted all my cosmetics on the counter, while she preferred clean countertops.  We didn't approve of the way we each dressed.  I'm glad we moved beyond those disagreement years fairly quickly.

 

We were close through her college years.  She went to the University of South Carolina as an     undergrad, while I was there as a grad student.  Those were great years; we saw each other frequently, but had our own social circles.  We even went backpacking once.  I have not yet uploaded any of those photos to the computer, so I'll go with this one, where we're in a tent that we've set up in the living room--no, not for us, but for my nephew:

 

 

 

We've remained fast friends through the years.  She's the one I can always call, the one who knows everything about me and loves me anyway.  Here we are on her sailboat last summer:

 

 

 

Here's my favorite Barbara Kingsolver quote about sisters:

 

"We had exactly one sister apiece.  We grew up knowing the simple arithmetic of scarcity:  A sister is more precious than an eye"  (p. 46 of Animal Dreams).

 

Maybe I should reread that book.  Of course, that book holds my every terror:  a father descending into Alzheimer's, people fleeing evil dictators, corporations with no regard for human life, the heartrending loss of a sister.  But it offers hope too.

 

I love a work of art that offers hope.  I love that Kingsolver's works show how we can be family, even if we're not related.

 

My wish for us all:  that we have the fierce love of sisters (regardless of blood relation or gender) in our lives.

 

And my wish for my sister:  the happiest of birthdays, now and through the years, so that we can grow old together.