headed to work
prone on my mat
silenced phone buzzing
footsteps in the street
train whistle nearing
seagulls in the distance
Every year, at Christmas, I seek comfort:
listening for angels, looking for bright stars,
harboring gifts under my tree worthy of Magi.
Every year I discover the truth:
when I am barred from entering the inn,
crowded in a stable with animals,
surrounded by shepherds and sheep,
and the Drummer Boy steps forward to play.
It’s that simple.
I wore my bike sweater today. It is the only purchase I’ve ever made after clicking an ad on my screen and I ordered it only because it was cheap and I figured if I didn’t like it or it didn’t fit I would just give it away.
But it fits and it’s pretty cute and every time I wear it, someone says something. Today it was the kindergarten teacher who stopped me in the hall and said, “I love bikes! I ride my big balloon tire bike up and down the street and all the neighbor kids come out to see me.”
I told her I love to bike too – but don’t do it much anymore – but I told about the poem I wrote and offered to send it to her. She told me not to be surprised if she puts it on her wall. Well that would be a real complement. I shared it on my blog a long time ago as part of my entry titled “wing bumps” but here it is again:
I never want to forget
the joy and triumph
I felt as a child
to be a girl in the world
pedaling beyond the lip of my driveway
feeling independent and free
the side streets of life
awakened by a text message
a little headache to get rid of
finished my first book of the summer
received notice about a neighbor’s lost cat
phone calls to deal with health insurance
download photos of twins
what to have for lunch?
a walk in the sunshine
it’s warmer outside than I thought
put on shorts
drive to a meeting
listen to the news
figure out dinner
inspired about an art project
time on the computer
a beer and Longmire
some people like to talk
I spent the better part of today with one of them
sometimes I just had to find a way to leave the room
sometimes I just found a way to occupy my mind and pretend to listen
mumbling “mm” and looking up at appropriate intervals
some people like quiet
I am one of them
writing is quiet
Sometimes when I get stuck in my writing I try to name whatever essential emotion I am feeling in the moment and then track down its source and write about it. Today, the word that popped into my head to describe how I feel right now is “stymied.”
And —- (because I love going on little word hunts thanks to my dad, he was well known to bring dictionaries and encyclopedias to the dinner table while we were growing up….)
And—- (thanks to my techy devices which make it soooooooo easy to traipse down rabbit holes and wander in wordy wonderlands…..)
I looked up the word “stymied.” Humph! I thought for sure it would have something to do with “sty” because when one is stymied, one certainly feels mired in mud, but no! The word stymied (definition “a situation or problem presenting difficulties as to discourage or defeat any attempt to deal with or resolve it”) seems to have originated as a golf term.
(who wouldda thunk?)
from the Scottish word for “person who sees poorly.”
So if I am truly stymied, perhaps there is something I am not seeing.
I’m pissed at Pinterest. It seems they have me pegged and every time I look things up I’m now forever being prodded to peek at someone’s personal Pinterest board.
I pride myself on my ability to plunder the internet and I accept the pitfalls promised by such privileged plunges into cloud space but PLEASE!
Sometimes I just want a teensy peek, not a full on visit to Pinterest Prison.
So pardon me if I usually punt to the bottom of my search page for offerings less often posted on Pinterest.