Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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Archives for January 2012

Bird Watching (Small Stone January 5th)

   Sitting in our big east window this Thursday morning, our large macaw on my shoulder, I can’t help but notice the barrier between wild and tame. I can smell his powdery dander, feel his smooth feathers against my face, and hear his gentle mornings clucks and kisses. He mostly focuses on me and only occasionally notices the flurry of activity outdoors. On the other side of the smooth glass pane, cardinals, blue jays, crows, and so many other birds are in swarms today. Zooming through the abundant sunshine, hunting breakfast, swirling patterns of love and freedom in the clean January sky. 
   The smallest birds are like specks compared to our huge blue and yellow baby, but despite his size and despite his massive hook bill and sharp talons, he is the most vulnerable of them all.
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Not two minutes after writing this, 
Pacino had returned to his cage 
and a very small, fat, gray and brown bird 
crashed violently into the picture window. 
Pacino jumped muttered seriously, “Uh-oh. What happened?”

Apparently domesticity breeds some compassion.  

I thanked my lucky bird-Momma stars that he was safe in his gilded cage,
perhaps a little less vulnerable than I a moment ago believed.

The Heart of a Hostess

   On New Year’s Day I visited my parents’ house in Oklahoma City, had a GREAT time all afternoon, and drove back to the farm with my heart full of love. It’s always fun to see everyone in our big ol’ family, and it turns out that I didn’t even leave that early, didn’t even miss that much of the party.
   Or so I thought.
   Later that evening I did some goofing around on Facebook and saw photos of lots of people on my parents’ front porch. People I did not recognize. Sitting in the same deep, reclining wooden bench where I have sat my whole life. Covered up in blankets in which I have been cuddling daughters and nieces for years. I crinkled my face and searched my memory. Not a scrap of a clue as to these crazy weirdo people’s identity. Nothing.
   “WHO THE HECK ARE THESE YAHOOS?!?!” I may or may not have shouted at my laptop. Then I typed a slightly more polite version of my question on Mom’s Facebook page. She never responded, and I can only imagine her shaking her head in disappointment, pursing her sweet mouth and blinking slowly.
   “Tsk. Tsk.”
   The issue has been on the back burner for a couple of days, but the heat has been on. My curiosity, nay, my sense of trespass, has been simmering.

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   So…  Today I went to see my Mom at her office, enjoyed some very sweet chit chat, and was introduced to several of her coworkers. Very nice people. Not strangers at all.
  Then the matter of Strangers on the Front Porch was raised. I took a deep breath because anything was possible in that moment. She could be telling me about siblings I never knew I had. Or that she and Dad had taken up Couch Surfing. Or that I was mistaken in my comment typing and that wasn’t her Facebook page at all, but rather a different Parents’ House Front Porch in an alternate reality or something like that.
   Nothing could be further for the truth.
   It turns out that Mom was just being Mom. I’d love to tell you what happened.
   A work crew installing fencing down the street had hit a high pressure gas line. This is a serious accident, of course, but fortunately nothing exploded and no one was hurt. The worst that happened is the temporary evacuation of all the people on that side of the street. Mom said that among the evacuees was a family that had just bought their house; they hadn’t even finished moving in yet.
   So what happened?
   Mom invited them to her house, where she was still entertaining extended family, may I remind you. They piled onto my childhood her front porch, feeling too cautious or too polite to immediately accept the invitation indoors.
   Mom said they all sat on the front porch for a while, sharing blankets and hot chocolate. Getting to know each other a little bit. And judging from the big smiles on these yahoos‘ Mom and Dad’s new neighbors’ faces, everyone was having a great time. Mom told me that later in the evening (it was an hours-long evacuation) they went inside and even ordered pizzas and played games.
   And that is the story of Strangers on the Front Porch.
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   Wow. And to think I almost ordered my sweet Momma a copy of the Reluctant Entertainer book for Christmas. She doesn’t credit herself in this way, but she is a natural hostess. Her heart is in exactly the condition that hostessing requires: open, warm, and sensitive to the needs of others. Ready to bless, not impress, as Sandy Coughlin teaches.
Reluctant Entertainer, The: Every Woman's Guide to Simple and Gracious Hospitality
   Okay, I am definitely ordering her the book anyway. She needs to know how natural she is. I love you Momma.
Stranger Danger, You Guys!!!!
But seriously, Open Your Hearts Before You Open Your Homes.
xoxoxoxo
   

New Every Morning! (re-inspired by lifeingrace)

   I am, like so many women, more specifically like so many women in my life (which is maybe why they’re in my life to begin with) heavily prone to writing lists and getting delightfully giddy at the beginning of a project or adventure. I tend to foam in my accident-prone mouth at the sight of blank paper, crisp, early sunrises, and January, which is pretty much our cultural embodiment of new beginnings, followed closely by Easter and spring garden planting.
   I have also had divided success with past lists, though, maybe because the lists are so great in number. Thinking the sensible thing to do this year was control my natural urge to change the world (or at least my red dirt covered corner of it), I thought and thought about everything I wanted for 2012. I tried to see through to the core of why these good and worthy goals haven’t been reached already, about why the same  wishes cling tenaciously to my Long List. I managed to boil it all down to the Lowest Common Denominator, into one articulatable “resolution,” though some would argue this is too broad to qualify: 
“Time Management.” 
Yawn.
   Then something wonderful happened to shatter the clay around my mind and loose a myriad of vivid feelings and ideas that were swirling around insistently anyway.
   What happened is that tonight I stumbled on an electrified post by Edie at lifeingrace, her thoughts and encouragement about writing New Year resolutions. The best part is that she (or perhaps a friend of hers) coined them reVolutions. I can’t get over how cool this is, you guys. Please go read her post as well as her very colorful list of personal reVolutions for 2012.

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Are you back? Or did I lose everybody 
because you’re off writing your own electrified lists? 
If so, that’s cool.
xoxoxo
This less photoshoppy list belongs to moi. I couldn’t wait.
And it just so happens that my new not blank anymore planner 
offers one large lined page just for personal notes.
This passionate brainstorming session was kinda meant to be.
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   What I liked about the switch that flipped here is the freedom, the encouragement to be truly wild with my wish making, my list writing and my hope forming. This is passionate, crazy-bones brainstorming, friends, and I groove it in a big way.
   Hopefully, better time management will underscore a lot of my new habits in 2012, sure, but the coming months are bigger than one goal. Life is rich and complex whether I lose 18 pounds or not (though I do hope this is the last year I fiddle around with that). Every day is beautiful and exciting far beyond the exact condition of my baseboards or compost pile and the exact number of times I post on my blog.
   Tonight’s reading and subsequent writing has me thinking BIG, you guys. Big in EVERY direction, and nothing on my hotly scribbled list is outside the bounds of love. None of it will do anything but add to the quality of life both for Handsome and me and for our friends and family.
   Here’s to lifeingrace for her inspired post on reVolutions that got me thinking about the whole list-making tendency on a spiritual plane. Thank you for the very C.S. Lewis-y phrase, “liturgy of life.”
   Here’s to early January in all of her blank-notebook splendor.
   Here’s to the power of Love, to the hidden but ever present designs and patterns in life that we sometimes fail to notice, and to the limitless creativity and renewal available to us through God.
Happy New Year *AGAIN* from the Lazy W
xoxoxo