artist's date: soho walk

I love to walk SoHo streets and soak in the urban artwork: random postings and graffiti that slap themselves irreverently across walls, poles, doors and windows, entertaining me, the slowly passer-by. After some uptown morning business last Saturday I drove downtown and parked...and walked... 

peering into holes in a fence;

gifting my sight with the texture of inconsistent order;

 

 

receiving a reminder for my frequent rumination...

 



on my way to lunch at a cafe I've never been to before.  I paused on the street to read the menu and the server who was standing outside smoking his cigarette told me that this was where I needed to eat.  Not long after speaking my order, the waitress places my garden salad on the chrome-topped table in front of me and as I take a slow, deep breath I can smell the sweet aroma of the cucumber quarters.  They taste like spring that is hoofing at the gate in our atmosphere (sun shining brightly but air too chilly to let it break through).  My coffee mug has a faint lipstick stain on the rim but today I am bold and  unfussy so I just wipe it away and turn the mug around. A Coldplay tune is on the radio overhead and now the waitress is sitting at a table perpendicular to mine with a basket of silverware and a pile of fresh white paper napkins  expertly wrapping the place settings while she awaits the completion of the next brunch order on the line. I bask in the light filtered from the skylight above and look at each object edge illuminated:  frosted plastic water tumbler, stainless steel fork and knife, green glass water bottle, the stainless caps to the salt and pepper shakers.  I turn my head millimeter by millimeter to the left and to the right and invite the refractions to feed my brain with their dimension. A sulky kid from across the room wonders what it is I am seeing and if he can see some too.

It's time to walk again and this I see and my heart screams YES.  I am laughing after I take this shot because a sweaty boy ran so fast right in front of me as I was focusing that he did miss being in the picture but startled me so I flailed on my feet.  Another man on the curb saw me jump and we laughed at how stupid people can be(me or him?) and he stooped to pick up my lens cap when it popped off and clankled on the sidewalk.

I saw him later walking down the sidewalk across another street.
 

And this, the last message of the day.  In my brain, after poked is giggled...and this giggle is what I have been lacking for many months. This word giggle has shown up in a few pieces recently and I know it is my spirit demanding that my mind lighten up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

artist's date: admit one

I took my Artist's date to the floor of the Spare Oom in my house.  It is a smallish room that has continually transitioned over the last 10 years, but mostly ends up as a space for unwanted items or things that need to be packed away.  It's been clear for a few months now;  the floors are painted spicy chocolate brown, the walls giggle in coral buff pink.  The Spare Oom houses one oval  mirror, an almost-full-to-the-edges bookshelf and fabric waiting to be sewn into curtains.  I am in no rush to fill the room or even to name it, but love the space it contains for potential.  There are no bills or chores or obligations in this room and with the window open on this  sunny, chilly spring afternoon I can rest without boredom and escape with my ticket to a new journey.


"A ticket lets you in somewhere.  On one side of some tickets it even says,'Admit one.'  Like a poem, a ticket is small, often colorful and valuable, allowing entrance to a special place." Sarah Goldsmith Woolridge, poemcrazy

like worry that
dragoons me from rest
the spool of tickets taunts
from the floorboards
a marching army spiraling
toward me pressing for
a word adMIT one adMIT one
adMIT one fear adMIT
one hope adMIT one
love adMIT one joy
adMIT one more one more
one more until i submit
and spill it forth in
the light of day


As part of April's National Poetry Month, Tweetspeak (for more info click here)  is hosting a book club experience featuring poemcrazy by Susan G. Woolridge (for more information click here ). 

Good morning!  This is my first attempt at "Five-Minute Fridays" so I have to say that right now I am mostly just pre-occupied with taking the first step.

Rest...something I have learned a lot about this past year when my body just quit on me and I could barely stay awake for a few hours each day

Physical rest and learning how to listen to my body...there is a time to go and a time to stop

Sleeping is rest for the body but may not be rest for the mind or the soul

Resting in Him is the peace that comes before the answer to prayer is heard or the resolution to conflict is in sight...and that thought has stayed with me since a young woman in my high school Bible study spoke that truth as part of her testimony

Resting in Him is grieving in hope and knowing it is okay to feel

Resting in Him is having people around to share those tears and to help carry a burden that only the heart can see

Resting is the experience of knowing how great and good God is when nothing before you (or behind you) feels anything close to great or good.

Linking today with Lisa-Jo and others at:

unhidden

let my heart

be unlocked

and what is hiding

(what is hidden)

set free

 

*inspired by Psalm 139:23

taste and see

Still loving my marigolds!!

Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good;
Blessed is the man who trusts in Him!

Psalm 34:8

 

Linking today with

 

 

marigold

During the last few weeks of this summer I left my house and returned again each day, walking across my front patio with a twinge of regret.  I had worked hard in the early spring to repaint the outdoor furniture, find new cushions for the chairs and sofa, and even splurged on some pots and plants to freshen up the walkway.  After spending one lovely evening enjoying my work, I never sat out there again.  Life just got busy and the warm evenings slipped on by.  Now, the soil edges where the hosta grew (before they were chewed down by deer) were unruly and overgrown with weeds.  Some of the plants stood unfortunately dehydrated in their pots, unrevivable between the rains that kept the rest of the plants, and more weeds, sustained.

September came dutifully and I had happily jumped into the back-to-school routine when it happened.  Instead of plowing across my scraggly concrete garden to get into my car, I glanced up to my neighbor's impeccably landscaped yard.  There they were: perfectly potted mums.  Beautiful autumn colors.  Something inside me crumbled.

I looked back at my weeds and potted sticks and started to debate the expense of planting more seasonal flowers.  I weighed the time spent working and the time spent resting.  I did this quickly, because I pretty much have the same debate every spring and fall.  And then I noticed.

Poking through the midst of the overgrowth were marigolds.  Neon orange and velvety maroon blooms that I had not planted, nor planned for, reached toward the sun while their hidden roots dug deep into soil where the seeds had landed.

Seeing those flowers brought a peace to my heart that had been churning for months.  I have planted hidden seeds of beauty that you will never expect.  Just clear out the junk and give them space to grow.

Instead of tending to the indoor chores on Saturday morning, I spent some time clearing out the junk.  Slowly, deliberately, I made space for new plants and took a step back.  I turned away the urge to replant the flowers with even spaces between them.  No need.

After a few days of merciful hydration from above, my garden is fresher than ever.  Where I let go, life went on to flourish.  And I have a little time to soak it in.

 "I will wait for the Lord,
who is hiding his face from the descendants of Jacob.
I will put my trust in him."  Is 8:17

 

 

Linking today with Sandy and others at: