Silence is the absence of sound and quiet the stilling of sound. Silence can’t be anything but silent. Quiet chooses to be silent. It holds its breath to listen. It waits and is still.
Frederick Buechner, Whistling in the Dark
The other day I was talking with a friend in the driveway when a flash of blue caught both our eyes. We followed it to the upper branches of a sugar maple.
“It’s not a bluebird,” my friend said.
“No. I know this one,” I told him. “It’s an Indigo Bunting.” I knew this because one had flown into the glass of a window and lay stunned on our deck some years ago. I took this photo to identify it and wrote a less-than-titillating post about it called “Bleh“
Aren’t the blues stunning?
What has this to do with quiet? Well, my favorite time of day has long been early morning. I get up before the sun to sit with a cup of coffee, a book, and a journal. I need the alone time. I need the quiet time.
Of late, I’ve been using Merlin to identify the birds that join me one at a time in my early morning quiet.
The robin is nearly always first — and monopolizes the conversation. I laugh when it’s the first — you know, getting the worm and all. But it’s quickly joined by sparrows and vireos, wrens and woodpeckers.
And indigo buntings.
The other morning, the bunting was outside my window and I snapped this photo:
Years ago, I had held one, stunned, in my hand and later watched it fly away.
Every morning now, I hold my breath in quiet and listen to the birds, remembering the resurrection of one, and marveling at life.
“Most highly creative people can remember ‘a moment, an encounter, a book that they read, a performance they attended, that spoke to them and led them to say, “This is the real me, this is what I would like to do, to devote my life to…”‘ says psychologist Howard Gardner.
That moment of memorable, dramatic contact with an activity of fascination is known as a ‘crystallizing experience.'”
Scott Barry Kaufman and Carolyn Gregoire, Wired to Create
Nothing crystallized for me Instead, I chrysalized Crawling into a pupating state Of home And children And family
While my peers were Making their mark On the world Through education And career And the upward mobility Of recognition, I was making soup On the woodstove And washing yet another load Of laundry.
I folded shirts Matched socks Baked cookies And bemoaned my untidy house
I read books Upon books Upon books Aloud to my children
One by one They left home For higher education
One by one (all eight of them) Graduated Found jobs In their desired field(s) Emerging from their chrysalides To live adult lives
Meanwhile I Am sorting Through boxes of papers They had written: Poetry Stories Notes Academic research
And I cry Not for sadness But for joy
They are beautiful people
Now it’s my turn To crawl out from this protective shell
My youngest daughter is faced with a challenging decision. She and her current roommate are moving into a new apartment. It’s two bedroom, two bath, but one of the bedrooms has a bath attached while the other bedroom would use the common bathroom.
“The one with the private bath is clearly the better one,” she told me. “How do we choose who gets it?”
One of her sisters suggested they each bid on the room. How much more would they be willing to pay for the room with the private bath? Later, though, she said that would kill their friendship. Both girls would feel resentful — one for the privacy, the other for the money.
I asked dilemma-daughter again the other day. “Did you figure it out?”
“No,” she said sadly. “This is so hard!”
And yet I think we both know that if this is the hardest decision she has to make in her life, her life will have been pretty easy.
It’s less about making the right decision, and more about being able to sit with whatever decision is made. She will have another hard decision next week, next month, next year. Another opportunity to move on and not second-guess.
I think that’s called living.
This is my post for Stream of Consciousness Saturday, where the prompt was “Straw.”
It’s been a while since I’ve participated in this weekly prompt, but I’m trying to get those creative juices flowing again.
Write a poem that gives voice to what is usually left unsaid — a buried truth, a silenced voice, a hidden struggle, or the quiet ache of the heart. Let your words speak for what the world tends to overlook: an internal conflict, a marginalized experience, a truth tucked between breaths.
You may write from personal experience, an imagined lens, or even embody the voice of an inanimate object or force of nature. All forms and lengths are welcome — whether you choose free verse, haiku, sonnet, prose poetry, or something entirely your own.
Optional: Weave in metaphors of sound, silence, echoes, or resonance to deepen your imagery.
This prompt invites vulnerability, transformation, and truth-telling. Let your poem be a space where the unspeakable is finally heard.
This is my response to the W3 prompt. No one should look back at their life with shoulds. (See what I did there?)
Life is hard for ev’ryone Stumbling. Deaf. Dumb. Blind Focus NOT on Number-One Be thoughtful. Be kind.
Humans can be inhumane- Ground up by the grind Bearing Christ or Mark of Cain Be thoughtful. Be kind.
Weary, weary, so exhausted Brawn, might — must I find? No! None should feel accosted! Be thoughtful. Be kind.
God, let me be supportive – Let me know Your mind Not strong-armed or extortive Be thoughtful. Be kind.
This is my response to this week’s W3 challenge. The Poet of the Week, Murisopsis (Val — congrats!!) challenged us to write a poem using the theme of our Creed or Spirituality. The poem must include a refrain.
I opted to keep trying Celtic forms. This one is the Cro Cumaisc Etir Casbairdni Ocus Lethrannaigecht.(Try saying that three times fast!) Below are the rules
Quatrain (or four-line) stanzas
Seven syllables in lines one and three; five syllables in lines two and four
Lines one and three end with a three-syllable word
Health — yes, I’m pretty close to 100%. I even went swimming the other day.
Swimming — I think swimming is one of the best exercise out there. The only downside is that you have to get wet.
Birthdays — Am I thankful for birthdays? Really? I struggle with my birthday, not because of the number ticking up, but because it’s too much attention. Okay, so, if no one remembered my birthday that would bother me, too. In the meantime, I have to smile and seem flattered that people remembered. Last year, I was traveling on my birthday. I think I need to plan to do that every year.
Cinnamon rolls — I treated myself to one from Schneider’s Bakery on my birthday. I think they have 3000+ calories, but they are delicious.
Frederick Buechner — Ten years ago, when my brother passed away and we cleaned out his apartment, I found a box full of books by Frederick Buechner. I wrote about it in a post called Vultures. The other day I started reading The Yellow Leaves which is a collection of his essays. I find myself copying bits into my journal, like these words he wrote describing an encounter with FDR — “… even the mightiest amoung us can’t stand on our own. Unless we have someone to hold us, our flimsy legs buckle.”
Brian Doyle — I’m reading a collection of his essays called Reading in Bed. It’s filled with Brian Doyle’s brilliant wit and pithy practical writing advice, like this today: “The first great editor I worked for gave me a gnomic speech about how we do not use the word hopefully to begin a sentence here… then I worked for a genius editor whose driving theme was say something real, write true things, cut to the chase. More advice I have not forgotten (hopefully).”
Sunshine — finally. Glorious. Much appreciated
Pens — I love good pens, so a package of new colored pens was the perfect birthday gift.
Bird/squirrel feeders — cheap entertainment.
Cats — They are interesting creatures who allow us to love them. They deign to permit us to give them attention. Of late, one of my cats follows me into the bathroom in the middle of the night. You may pet me now, she says.
Ten Things of Thankful — for what it’s worth. I’m still not feeling 100%
I am thankful for 1sick time at work. Nobody even questioned my taking Monday, or working shortened days Wednesday through Friday. (I’ll get to Tuesday in a sec.)
“Do what you need to do.” “Take your time.” “It’s important that you give yourself time to recover.” These were all things I heard from my co-workers, along with offers to bring food. It was nice to feel seen and cared for.
On Tuesday, I had jury duty. I thought about calling and telling the court I was sick, but thought that sitting in a courtroom wouldn’t be physically taxing and if I went I wouldn’t have to use another sick day. Here are my jury duty thankfuls:
2The system — Big picture, I think it’s a pretty darn good system. There were ninety random people thrown into the courtroom that day. I recognized several: a physician, two swim-moms from my coaching days, a homeschool mom, and a retired greenhouse director. The randomness, the mix of backgrounds and education levels, all seemed to set a good stage for putting together a good jury.
(Sidenote: when accusations are made about “rigged” juries, I’m not sure how that can happen. The two attorneys can be pretty thorough sifting out people who may have serious biases.)
3The chairs in the jury box — I was called in the first round. The chairs were pretty darn comfortable. They were wide, cushioned, and they swiveled.
4Lunch — I didn’t bring lunch. My appetite has been off. As it turned out, though, we all had to leave the courthouse from noon to one. Fortunately, I knew where I could go in town for an easy lunch. At a little coffee shop, I got a bowl of soup which was perfect.
5I didn’t get selected for the jury. It was a sexual abuse case involving a father and his now-adult daughter. Honestly, I would have done it as a civic duty, but I’m glad that I didn’t have to listen to that testimony.
6The Kingston Trio — I have a friend with a functional CD player. “Got any CDs?” he asked me earlier this week. Actually, yes, I do — shoeboxes full. I brought him an odd mix of Scottish music, the Beatles played by the Boston Pops, and The Kingston Trio. Oh, The Kingston Trio — I LOVE The Kingston Trio. It had been years and years since I had listened, but I still knew every word of every song. For your listening enjoyment, here’s a sweet Kingston Trio song:
I read multiple books at a time. Non-fiction, for the most part, so it’s easy to read a little section and then let it simmer in soup-pot at the back of my brain. Three books/authors that I’m currently reading and am thankful for: 7The Yellow Leaves by Frederick Buechner, 8Reading in Bed by Brian Doyle, and 9Draft No. 4 by John McPhee.
From my window, I’ve been watching a flock of 10wild turkeys gathering daily near the river. They strut around. Some roost in the trees. Occasionally one will spread his wings wide in a gesture of big-ness. I am terrible at estimating distances, but I’d say that it’s more than a football field away. Turkeys are pretty unmistakable, though, even from that distance. Anyway, I finally dug out my father’s binoculars so I could really observe them — and I set the binoculars by the window. Of course, I haven’t seen the turkeys since then. Still, I’m thankful. And I’m ready.
Quick search of the internet using the words “having the flu is like”. Here are five things:
Having the flu is like having a really bad cold. Um, no, it really isn’t. That’s like saying that apple pie and Boston cream pie are the same because they’re both pies and have a crust. If you’ve had both, you know the difference.
Having the flu is like heartbreak. No one loves you. No one wants to be around you. You’re shunned. (Mai Abdo, Washington Post) Actually, I have felt very loved through this. People call and text. They bring me soup. They check in.
Having the flu is like going through the same day over and over. “I have a terrible night’s sleep. I am exhausted in the morning. I take an afternoon nap. I wake up in the evening to just exist, dreading my impending night of terrible sleep. At 2am I check my temperature. Fever. I take two ibuprofen and put a cool rag on my head. I toss and turn in bed. I move up the couch. I wake up at 4am. I go back to my bed. Somehow I sleep through the rest of the night. I wake up the next day to do it all over again.” Yup, this. (found on Reddit)
Having the flu is like having a license to kill, or at least a license to incapacitate. Find your worst enemy — hell, anybody — and ask to borrow a pencil, use his phone or to become blood brothers. It’s all good, just remember: transmission of fluids is best. Use your imagination. Or a needle if you’ve got one. (from The Daily Free Press: The Good, the Bad and the Snotty of Getting the Flu)
This is my submission for One-Liner Wednesday. Okay, I know, it’s more than one line. If you’re a hard core One Liner Wednesday person, stop after the first one.
I emailed in sick to work. Despite sleeping all morning, I continued to feel worse and worse so I went to a walk-in clinic. I am 110% thankful for 1walk-in clinics. Yes, they are largely staffed by PAs and NPs — but, seriously, you don’t need four years of college followed by four years of medical school followed by four or more years of residency to be able to do a throat swab or a nasal swab (I had both) to diagnose common illnesses. Anyway, as it turns out, I have Influenza A. Joy, joy. (And, no, I did not get my flu shot.)
I hate being sick. I don’t have time for this nonsense.
Here are my sick thankfuls:
2Nadene and Marissa — who finished up my work at the church for me. They stapled and folded all the bulletins, which I had no energy to do.
3Shetland Season 9 — I binge-watched, sort of. I could listen to Scottish accents all day. I may need to go back and watch the show again, though. I kept falling asleep. There were a LOT of twists and turns — and my flu-infected brain struggled to follow the story line. Still — Scottish accents, beautiful scenery. I’m thankful.
4Songberd’s Grove — I’ll have to look back to see who recommended this book, but it has been delightful! Published in 1957, written by Anne Barrett, set in London, it’s a wonderful children’s book that is just what the doctor ordered.
5Friends and family who check on me. People have been so kind. My brother checks in twice a day — “Do you need anything?” A friend offered homemade soup. Another dropped off some food. I am grateful for them all.
6Sleep — I have slept SO MUCH over the past few days. It’s kind of an amazing thing that our body uses to heal. I rarely give myself enough time for it.
7Tea with honey. I am a coffee drinker through and through, but coffee hasn’t really tasted good. Tea, on the other hand, is soothing and I’m glad that I have some here.
I learned what a 8pilchard is. If I had guessed, I wouldn’t have even been close. It turns out they are FISH, like sardines. I can still picture my mother opening a can of sardines with that little key. She would lay those little fish neatly on a piece of bread and squeeze a little lemon on them. They were way too fishy for me. I love learning new words, but I’m not sure how often I will use the word “pilchard.”
I also love learning new phrases and came across 9“Not by a long chalk.” I had only ever heard “not by a long shot” — probably a military term. I looked up the chalk version and it turns that it’s a pub term. I found this on the web:
…the expression almost certainly comes from the habit of using chalk in such establishments to mark the score in a game, a habit which now survives in British pubs mainly in the game of darts. A chalk was the name given a single mark or score, so that a person might explain that somebody or other had lost a game of skittles by four chalks or you needed 31 chalks to finish. If your opponent had a long chalk, a big score, he was doing well.
The expression indicates a determined intention to continue, though the game is going against you. Your opponent may have a long chalk, but you’re not done for yet.
I’m also grateful for this poem: 10“Small Kindnesses” by Danusha Laméris. Please check it out. It’s full of the small kindnesses we experience every day, and half the time we don’t even notice. I read it for the first time this week and I keep going back to it. I want to remember them. I want to see them.
Hot Dogs and Marmalade 