Small Talk

We went to a lovely wedding yesterday, where we knew only a few people. This happens sometimes, a friend or coworker invites you to an event that you attend as a courtesy to the inviter, because you love them and want to celebrate with them. You sit at a table shared with strangers, all there for basically the same reason. Hopefully there are people at the table that are skilled in small talk. Otherwise the event can drag on and on, as one slowly winds their way down the buffet line, and solemnly eats the food, waiting for the cake to be cut, watching the dancing,  wondering when would be the proper time to excuse oneself and go home. I consider myself to be skilled at small talk. Maybe it's because of my years in nursing, when I had to greet a patient, a complete stranger, and put them somewhat at ease with me right before I attempted some difficult or ultra personal procedure. I also like to tell stories, and hear other people's stories. Everyone has a little button in their mind that just needs someone to push in order to break the  silence and start a conversation. Yesterday was one of those days, and in the course of the evening I met some very interesting people and had fun. I prefer to live the party, not just watch it.

Caging the Beast

My husband found out last week that he has cancer now, too. A universally loathed screening procedure, recommended for everyone over 50, revealed a tiny monster. The tiny thing, once scrutinized and labeled, casts a long and dark shadow over the soul. It metamorphosizes into fear and panic, despair, doubt and deep sorrow. One by one, I call our friends. Our pastor. Our family. One by one, the prayers and encouraging words begin to rise,  building us an ark that will shelter us and keep us warm and loved. This ark of love and prayers will be the place where we learn to cage the beast. Together we will wrestle down the fear and panic, finding faith and deep joy. There will be difficult days ahead, but there will also be days of rejoicing. We will see the beast caged. We may have to live with it, but we do not have to be overcome by it. We are grateful for those who stand beside us.

Making Lists

I am a list maker and come from a family of list makers. My father always carried a pad of white and blue grid marked paper from the Dupont Company, where he worked. He used it not only to make lists but also to draw pictures and help us with our math homework. There is something about making a list that is comforting and powerful. The line item is neutral, just words on a line. You can manipulate a list to sandwich the noxious task between two more pleasant tasks, giving yourself a treat for finishing the one you don't want to do. Crossing off the items as they are completed is rewarding in it's own right, like getting the right answers on a test. Lists are like scrapbooks, mile markers, roadsigns, book indexes. Making a list gives focus and orders the day, and at the end of it you can find your strength. My daughters are list makers too. They have Grocery shopping and Clean the house on the same list as Finish Master's Degree and Have another baby. The power of a list. Goals are written and followed through on, room is made for the next step. Over time we find ourselves doing the great and the hard things that are set before us, confident that eventually we will finish every one.

Verbs

I am not a grammaticist. I learned this when I started taking Spanish and the grammar lessons were full of words that had to do with participles and gerunds and prepositions. I felt like I had to learn English grammar before I could learn Spanish. One thing I did learn in Spanish was the use of verbs. English speakers are lazy and use relatively few descriptive verbs. In Spanish, descriptive verbs are regularly used, and the tenses used can suggest the emotion and power behind the action. Verbs are powerful, with motion and intention,  both to express and to crush. To love, to hate, to live, to die...to fall, to rise, to lose, to win. We ride our tongue into the greatness of a day, and hope at the end of it that we have remained in the saddle, not dropped in the dust. We grieve what we said, or didn't say, when we remember someone we love who is gone. We replay conversations, our memories filling in the gaps of words, trading one for another until the actual conversation is forgotten and the sting, or the sweet, remains. Knowing the lasting power of words, choose wisely the verbs you use. Choose the ones that build and grow.
To love, to live, to rise, to win.

Honeysuckle

Driving home yesterday, with the windows rolled down, the scent of blooming honeysuckle filled my car. It overpowered the smell of truck exhaust and hot asphalt. The blooms were everywhere, piling over guard rails and berms, roadsigns and trash. The sweet smell brought back memories of summers, pulling the flowers off the bushes, carefully pulling the pistil out to catch the single drop of nectar hidden inside. I know that, at least in Ohio, honeysuckle is considered a nuisance and encroacher, crowding out native plants. But no native plant smells as sweet or blooms so lavishly for so long, with food for bees and cover for rabbits and birds. I find it hard to accept the need to pull it down when it brings it's own gifts to the world's table. I am glad it is a hardy plant, growing back, reclaiming it's place. Honeysuckle brings joy on a warm day and a welcome savor for a long drive home.

Fish Prayers

I don't know if fish pray, but the Bible does talk about God feeding the birds and clothing the flowers of the field, and knowing when a sparrow falls to the ground. It must be possible for the life of God to communicate with the life in a fish as well as with us humans. At any rate, today I was instrumental in saving a little fish's life. I had no normal reason to notice that this sliver of struggling silver was even needing any help, except that my cat wanted to go outside. And since he is now an expensive cat, I had him on a leash. Since he is on a leash, I noticed when he chased after the dandelion weed I threw towards our pond. And as the dandelion fell by the edge of the water, and the cat chased it, and I chased the cat I noticed the little fish, caught in a submerged piece of landscaping netting. Unable to free the barely breathing fish with my fingers, I reached for the scissors I had brought outside to trim the daffodils. One snip and the fish darted away. I thought about the tight little sequence of events that had to happen for the rescue to be completed, and pondered some more when I returned home from brunch to find a small piece of landscape netting mysteriously on my placemat. Fish prayers, my prayers. Heard. Answered.