Grace

Grace I spread my poncho wide And beckoned my soul take rest In a piercing gaze it held me Uneasy by the queer request Silently we remained in expectation Of that which neither one knew Like a work in patient progress Before its creator is through When slowly, cautiously my heart settled And courage made present its place The tear-stained words I uttered From shame transformed into grace A grace amazing and musical Its melody comforting and known Freely, in love unconditional I knew I’d finally come home

random act of kindness ... conscious act of ignorance

I was driving home after having breakfast with a good friend. It was mid-morning, one of those unusually hot and humid days in Detroit which become less and less unusual with each new season. I stopped at a red light and saw a woman across the street, waiting for a bus. She was seated on the sidewalk, several feet from the bus stop and out of the scorching rays of the sun. I drew a deep breath as I watched her fiddle with something in her hands.

I remember well waiting for buses in the summer sun … arriving at the bus stop sticky from the walk to get me there; searching for some small piece of unoccupied shade where I could plant myself for the wait; hoping that the next bus still had seats available so I could put myself back together before arriving at my final destination. The light turned green, I turned the corner passing the woman, still seated and I hoped enjoying a small bit of comfort from the cool cement.

I was in no hurry and enjoying the cooled-air of my comfortable car. How did I do it all those years without air conditioning? I wondered. I turned at the next corner, and the next, and two more after that until I was stopped directly in front of the woman, still seated on the sidewalk waiting for the bus. I rolled down my window and inquired, Would you like a ride? She could not hear me so she rose to her feet and started toward the car. Would you like a ride? I repeated. She looked at me with puzzled eyes, still grasping the cell phone she’d been playing with in her hands.

No, that’s ok. I’m going to Southfield was her response.
I’m going that way I offered again.
Still looking puzzled, more likely suspicious of my offer, I added It’s ok, really, I’m harmless.
OK, she replied, if you’re sure.

She got in the car and continued the texting correspondence she’d started on her phone while introducing herself to me as Georgia. In the 8 minutes it took to get to her destination, I found out she was the mother of 4, held 3 jobs, and had been called into work on her day off because the till was missing a considerable amount of money. It was her job to figure out who had depleted the till and call him/her to accountability. When we arrived at her place of employment, I wished her luck with her investigation. She thanked me for the ride and headed toward the door, still texting with her phone.

I was so glad I'd stopped and hoped she was, too. I would tell no one and save myself the lectures about picking-up strangers and the like ... Words that would turn my minute and randon act of kindness into an enormous and conscious act of ignorance.

health and happiness ...

One day this past week my good friend gave me a little magazine she picked up at her chiropractor's office. I found one of the articles most intriguing and have returned to read it over and over again. It's entitled Enjoy the Ride and contains a list of 40 things to health and happiness. Here are a few of my favorites:

Smile. It is the ultimate antidepressent.

Live with the 3 E's ~ Energy, Enthusiasm, and Empathy.

Dream while you are awake.

Try to make at least three people smile each day.

What other people think of you is none of your business.

Get rid of anything that isn't useful, beautiful or joyful.

Spend more time with people over the age of 70 and under the age of 6.

So ~

Look who I had dinner with last night ....

Mijo just keeps getting cuter and cuter and cuter!

Speaking of quilts ...

Speaking of quilts … Tipper of Blind Pig and The Acorn recently wrote about her love for the Appalachian quilts she’s been gifted with since childhood. She ended her post with the question “Do you have a favorite quilt?” which tugged at my heartstrings …

My Mamaw (called "Maw" by her northern grandchildren) worked at a shirt factory and brought home bags of scraps that my Great-Mamaw and Great-Aunts made into quilts.

This quilt was made for me by my great Aunt (who was also my Godmother) and was a Christmas present when I was a child. It has been used and washed and remade over the years a million times and is still my favorite. I still use it today, although one that I made now lives atop my bed.

This is a much older one made by my Great-Aunts that I was given after their deaths and it sits on a chair in my livingroom, along with a rag doll that I got when I was 6. She has a wind-up music box that still plays London Bridges. These are the things I would grab as I left the house if there ever was a fire.

Stillpoint

Stillpoint Place

.......at the stillpoint of the turning world,

neither flesh nor fleshless;

neither from nor towards;

at the stillpoint,

there the dance is

but neither arrest nor movement.

and do not call it fixity,

where past and future are gathered. neither movement

from nor towards

neither ascent nor decline.

except for the point, the stillpoint,

there could be no dance, and there is only dance.

i can only say, there we have been

but i cannot say where.

and i cannot say, how long,

for that is to place it in time.......

from T.S. Eliot's Four Quartets

This is how I'm spending my Birthday ...

Thinking outside of the box ...

“My Picture”

I drew myself a picture.
My teacher told me to.
But when I showed it to her,
she said it wouldn’t do!

“Ever seen black squash?” she asked.
“A purple kangaroo?”
Know what I asked my teacher?
“How come your hands are blue?”

She said her pen exploded
When she gave it a little click
“Well,” I said, “my kangaroo
just needs another bic!”