Lazy W Marie

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

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Fractals

   Fractal:  To my memory this is not a word I had ever heard, for SURE not a word I had ever used, before reading William Young’s Christian fiction novel The Shack.  You can read this disturbed girl’s review of the book here.
   For now I’d love to concentrate on this mentioned concept that is both mathematical and artistic and delve a bit into what the author might have been getting at by comparing our human spirit to a wild garden, which itself is a fractal.
Webster’s definition: 
frac-tal   \’frac-tel\  (noun) 
“any of various extremely irregular curves or shapes
for which any suitably chosen part is similar in shape
to a given larger or smaller part
when magnified or reduced to the same size.”
   Still with me?  We’re basically groovin’ on patterns here.  Complex but rhythmic, easily analyzed patterns.  Self-repeating patterns that sort of defy traditional geometry.
Fractal Art Wallpaper
  
   William Young spent the better part of a chapter trying to relay the image, sans illustrations, of a garden that at first glance seemed wildly unkempt, messy, even failed.  But as his characters conversed, it became increasingly apparent that the garden was right on track, growing at just the exact rate and with just the perfect amount of craziness that the gardener intended.  The gardener delighted in the messiness and refused to label it as imperfect or flawed, just beautiful.
  
Wild Garden - October, 2009

   Photocredit:  http://www.ourhappyacres.com/
     Being personally and unashamedly obsessed with gardens of every variety, this naturally caught my attention.  This type of metaphor serves well in many settings, and to think of my soul, my non- physical self, being understood as a wild but beautiful place is, well, it is really enticing.
   In the book, it was only when viewed from above (heaven?) that the boundless chaos of that garden fell into a recognizable system of shapes and images, of texture and color.
  
   The whole picture could be taken in view and seen as beautiful, and then the patterned components could be enjoyed as well.

   Revolutionary.

   Like my own Oklahoma gardens, which even on their best days are a bit on the wild side, my spirit is probably less orderly than most.  Even at 37 I mean 25 I am still brimming with confusion and questions, still wandering a bit more than I would like some days.

   About a thousand years ago when I was a retail banker, I had a customer who was an artist.  We became acquainted enough for me to hear one day her theory that everything in nature mimics something else in nature.  For example, examine the shapes in a spray of ocean coral.  it is so similar to the patterns in our own blood capillaries!  And these, together with the dead trees of winter, are so reminiscent of nerve endings.  The comparisons go on and on.  It is dizzying to think of how much rhythm and repetition, combined with riotous, endless creativity, is abounding in nature.  And it is humbling to see how much can be traced back to the human form.

 
   Whatever your proclaimed faith, I would bet my morning coffee you can sit in awe of the beauty of nature.

   Have you ever seen Mandala art?  It is sometimes used as a form of meditation in the Hindu and Buddhist cultures.  Not worship, just a physical activity, guided enough to be focused but certainly freeing enough to allow for all manner of expression and intepretation. 

   I used to have a Mandala coloring book when my girls were very small, then knowing nothing about the religious implications, just intuitively relishing in the circles, the repetition, the blankness that begged for filling.

   In reading more about fractals I remembered the mandala and cannot help but sense the common ground here.  Maybe there is a cosmic message to be found regarding circular motion, patterns, and following that inarticulate voice.

   And how interesting that a Christian writer used this global mainstay to help his readers visualize the human spirit.  I think it is a beautiful use of imagination.

   We are all some combination of rigid and loose; we all have the capacity for both discipline and creativity.  In fact, I believe these two rely upon the other to really thrive.  Give some thought to the state of your spirit, your soul, your garden.  Acknowledge the Gardener and find beauty where before you loathed your perceived shortcomings.
   You are complex and amazing. 
You are loved more than you know. 
You have a ways to go.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

  

Instant Gratification

   I am totally in favor of maintaining and chipping away at a list of long-term goals.  These are generally the accomplishments in life that are closest to the heart and therefore most deeply satisfying .  Keeping LTG lists, it’s just the grown up thing to do.  I personally have multiples.  I have multiples of these in every room of my house and every pocket of all my worn out jeans. 

   Which means that I also have a chronic and nasty case of dissatisfaction with how much I am accomplishing at any given time.  On days when I feel like going to bed in utter despair just one more time might be enough to push me over the edge, I try to regroup and spend some energy on short term goals.  You know, the things that when finished (quickly) give you that sublime sense of Instant Gratification.

   Here are some things I know will scratch the urgency itch for me.  What I find particularly miraculous about this stuff is that every single item here on the STG list corresponds to something on one of my LTG lists.  Even these baby steps, satisfying in and of themselves, all build toward a larger, more beautiful end product.  That is just how AWESOME life can be sometimes.

  • Stop everything and go get an incredible work out!  Sweat and burn for twice as long as you normally do, then stretch until you want to fall asleep.  You will feel better instantly, and it will be worth every minute.

  • Mow the front lawn, weed JUST the flower bed, sweep the sidewalk (for me this includes scooping horse poop), and then water everything.  It takes less time than you think, and it makes the whole front of the house look pretty incredible.

  • Paint something.  Anything.  Preferably with either red or turquoise paint.  Or chalkboard paint.  

  • Make exactly one phone call that you have been dreading.

  • Empty and scrub every single trash can in the house then cut one fresh flower bouquet for every floor of the house.  Light candles in every bathroom.

  • Skip one meal and instead make yourself a fruit-yogurt-honey smoothie and follow it with some ice cold water with lemons.  Let the inside of your body rest for a few hours.  Use the time you would have spent cooking and cleaning up doing something you’ve been really, really, really wanting to do.

  • Groom exactly one of the animals moseying around the farm.  Groom him or her from head to toe.  Pour your tender lovin’ care all over that beloved pet as if it is both the first and last day you have together. 

  • Choose exactly one project on Pinterest that is within reach today.  Do that thing.

  • Good grief, take a remodeling shower already and give yourself an at-home mani-pedi.  Lotion up.  Fix your hair.  Wear some perfume.  WHEW that’s better, and check it out…  You can still work and be productive!

  • Gloss up the house, make something wonderful to sip, and sit down to write an inventory of both your blessings and your answered prayers.  Allow your focus to shift from problems to comforts.

  • Clean the floors mercilessly.  Like a shining clean sink, clean floors are contagious.  So are dirty floors.

  • Make contact with the people who are always on your mind.  Show some love.

  • Bake something incredible for Handsome, even though he INSISTS he doesn’t want any more sweets, because when you DON’T bake he might think you don’t love him so much anymore.

  • Lay in the sun and read about fifty pages of something that loosens up your mind.

  • Repot a living plant or reframe a beautiful photograph or some artwork.

  • Choose and prepare fabrics for one sewing project.  Cut the pieces and package them together with the pattern.  If you have time to sew it, go ahead!  But if not, that’s cool.  You are half way there for next time.

  • While doing laundry in the garage or starting a meal in the kitchen, STAY PUT.  Stop multi-tasking and just stay in the room where the big action is.  See what you can accomplish there during the waiting times.  Pretend there is a force field at the doorway.  Resist every urge to wander off and layer in other activities.  Organize, clean, or decorate exactly one room at a time.  Seriously, girl, focus.  F-O-C-U-S.

  • Do a good deed that you are pretty sure cannot be found out.  Help someone in secret then walk like an Egyptian.

   One final note, I see a common thread amongst all of these actionable ideas:  NONE of them requires a list to be written or a plan to be made.  They just invite me to get really Nike about it and soak up the sense of accomplishment in a short amount of time.  That can dispell the nagging sense of “I can’t get it all done” in just a few hours.  Bueno.  Muy bueno.
What do you do for Instant Gratification?
What place does quickness have in your daily life?

The Longest Walk

   When we go to the lake, my job is simple but important.  After the watercraft is lowered into the murky but joyful Oklahoma shallows, I am responsible for driving the truck and trailer up and out of the water and then parking it over in a nearby parking lot.  Then I just have to descend the concrete ramps to the dock, where Handsome is waiting dutifully for me to join him. 
   Sounds simple, eh?
   Never mind how fraught with danger the drive itself might be, what with the pivoting trailer axle and all; what vexes me is the quarter-mile walk after parking.
   I walk plenty o’ miles every day on the farm, but not really FAST.  If I was a race car, I could cover that quarter mile in like eight to ten seconds.  And I might be driven by Vin Diesel.  But that is totally different…

   But I am NOT a ten-second car living life a quarter mile at a time.  I am just a girl.  Just a girl in flip flops.  Just a girl in flip flops and a bulky life jacket battling the elements.  Trying to walk not only slowly but also toe-to-heel in order to reduce jiggle. 

   Supposedly this works, giving the illusion of walking on properly girlish high heels.  But the truth is that doing so greatly diminishes your pedestrian dexterity.  What you might gain in “firmness” you definitely lose in grace.

   And an already mossy concrete ramp is a terrible place to be not graceful.  I promise you that being caught in this situation while in lake attire is humbling. 

   So the short walk from truck to dock turns into a desperate evaluation of my fitness plan.  And suddenly, between dodging those concerned glances from other boat loading Okies, I am thinking a lot less about zooming over the choppy water with Handsome and more about how to improve my situation before our next lake jaunt.   Pitiful.  Waste of sunshine.

   Happily, the water racing is so dang much fun that the Longest Walk is quickly forgotten.  Within minutes I am aboard, screaming and guffawing while we chase other people’s wakes and make plenty of our own.  I have at least a few days to make the next Longest Walk a little shorter.

The End.

We Had Them for Breakfast

   Half of our Couch Surfers (the Romeo half)
is breezing through town tonight
and staying for the THIRD time at the farm,
so I am reminded that we never really wrapped up that story. 
Shall we?


   When last we spoke, I believe Pacino had attempted but failed to ruin a good night’s sleep for all four of us.  Despite his best bird efforts, we managed to sleep through the night, comfortably twined up in happiness and exhaustion.  I did not dream.
********************
   My eyes popped open at precisely 6:09 the next morning, as if they were spring-loaded.  Apparently my hostess-slash-new-friends nerves were still awake from the night before.  This should be interesting I thought to myself.  Then I ignored myself and rolled my eyes.
   I found a tank top and some yoga pants, scrunched my hair into a halfway normal ponytail (because nobody, not even a globe trotting couchsurfer, wants blonde-hair quiche for breakfast), and tiptoed downstairs.  No Hot Tub Summit today; today we have guests.
   Thanks to a timer, the strong, steaming coffee was already forcing its way through to the glass carafe, hissing and bubbling, filling the downstairs with that glorious Good Morning fragrance.  So far the doors to the Green Room (where Josh and Megan slept) were closed.  Pacino was thankfully still imitating a tiny blue flamingo, head bowed and eyes pinned shut.  I tiptoed across the wood floors and began opening curtains as quietly as possible.  I poured myself some coffee, trying to keep the kitchen clinking down to a minimum, and surveyed our options.
   Seriously, we struck gold with our
innaugural Couch Surfing experience. 
Josh & Megan were soooo nice,
so interesting, and such easy-peasy guests
that Handsome and I are actually nervous
to have other murdering strangers people here,
because they cannot possibly be as wonderful.
  
   Some of the details escape me now, but I can tell you that it was a beautiful morning in every way.  Handsome had to eventually trudge off to the office, but he found a way to linger with us for a couple of extra hours.  While he showered and dressed for work, I started some food, and at some point pretty early in that process, Josh appeared in the kitchen.
   Our conversation picked up right about where it had left off, me greedily pressing Josh for details about their travels and him politely accommodating me, lots of smiling and laughing, lots of free flowing stories.  He could not know then that I was secretly trying to memorize his faint accent to add to my Garmin-like collection.  Megan’s is even better; she is a Canadian transplanted to Florida, with a little back note of southern drawl.  Hers are enviable inflections, all natural.
   Josh also helped cook, which was so much fun.  I had been told that Megan likes to sleep a bit later, so we tried to not be too loud.  
   The mix of sounds, smells, and mood reminded me of being a little girl and overhearing grown ups sharing the earliest morning hours together, happy and calm, safe from the inevitable chaos of the day.  I used to stay in my room and just listen, not so much to the words, but to the muffled, echoing peace that came from the house before five million children were filling it. 
I LOVE CHILDREN! 
   Don’t get me wrong,  But you know as well as I do that a house has a different vibe in the hours surrounding dawn.  And adult voices still creaky and hoarse from sleep are just flat out interesting.
   The table was gradually filled with cinnamon rolls, bowls of chopped tomatoes and mushrooms, sliced fruits, shredded cheese, and sweet, tasty jams and jellies for toast.  We prepared eggs for everyone, poured juice, and made more coffee.  When Handsome descended all spiffy in his office attire (growwwl) he offered to make his famous hashbrowns.  YUM.  So within half an hour the downstairs was overflowing with delicious food fragrances, and we had enough breakfast to nourish the occupants of at least five additional couches.  Megan joined us and made the conversation absolutely sparkle!
   When I fiinally sat down to eat, I was dreading that everyone would be in a rush to leave.  I knew that both the office and the interstate beckoned and so gave serious thought to hiding everyone’s car keys.  But apparently I wasn’t the only person having a great time! 
Walking Like an Egyptian… 
That’s how I celebrate.
   An early breakfast stretched into a liesurely brunch, interrupted here and there for someone to take a shower or walk outside and get photos with the animals.  Having arrived on a late-winter evening, Josh & Megan had driven up to an already dark farm, and visually things are a lot different in the morning.

   Over the course of our brief time together, we learned that Josh and Megan had finished their Master’s degrees a semester early and decided to spend their free springtime travelling the country via, you guessed it, Couch Surfing.  They had already amassed quite a fascinating collection of stories from all over the place, some fully justifying my murderous tension.  But most of their stays had been exceedingly pleasant and actually very life-affirming. 
   All of this serves to remind me that life is meant to be lived
and that there are many ways to go about it successfully and happily. 
Just because one person or one couple finds a click and a formula that works
does not necessarily rule out a very different click and formula for someone else. 
And why not share?  Birds of a feather may flock together,
but then they also tend to blend in.

 

   The men pored over a paper map of Oklahoma, identifying spots along Route 66 that might be worth a look-see.  Megan and I chatted more about the meaning of life and good smelling shampoo.  I learned that she wants to keep chickens someday.  I told her it is one of my very favorite parts of the farm, which is a fact. 
   As the time to part ways eventaully crept up on us, I did my best to not be annoying by begging everyone to stay a little longer.  Handsome shook hands, hugged, and warmly invited them to return soon, then he drove off to the coal mines. 
He doesn’t really work in the coal mines, but sometimes that how it feels.
   Josh and Megan found their shoes, packed up their car, cleaned their room, and accepted some bags of food for the road.  Maps in hand, they drove down the gravel driveway and out through the open gate. 

    As per his norm, Pacino sang, “Buh-byyye!!!” for three or four minutes.
    After the house was empty and quiet again, I walked around absorbing all of the amazing vibrations.  I found our guest room book where lots of fine people have written a speck of Lazy W history.  Inside was Megan’s handwriting.  If I could find that book right now, I would share a photo with you of what she wrote.  Alas…
********************

Epilogue


   A few months later, they visited us again.  This time they were on the brink of parting ways themselves, though just circumstantially.  They have both found good jobs, Josh in New Mexico and Megan in Ohio. 

    Sniff.

   They now share a puppy, Ben.  He.  Is.  Cute.  And Megan’s Canadian-Floridian-southern drawl voice kicks into high gear when she says, “Guuud boooiii Baaiin…”  It is the sweetest thing you ever heard.

   We urged them to consider using the farm as a meeting spot as they navigate a long-distance relationship.  We’ve kept in touch a little via email since then, delighting in stories about romantic sky diving trips, for example, and gaining the blogging identity green light.  But tonight will be the first time we’ve seen hide or hair of our new friends since that second visit.  We’ll really miss Megan but can’t wait to see Josh!

   I feel so fortunate to have met Romeo and Juliet and to have shared life stories with each other.  It’s fun to find common ground with people who are following such a different life path.  I wish them well in my heart.  What a great couple! 

Exfoliate My Soul (book review of The Shack)

   Our most excellent little Oklahoma book club recently tackled a piece of fiction that served up a heckuva lot more than this girl bargained for.  At our previous dinner, we agreed on William P. Young’s The Shack.  Have you heard of it yet?  I had not heard of it prior to the night we discussed what to read next, but apparently the buzz is widespread and I live beneath a rock.  Typical.

It bears mentioning that although for book club I checked out my copy
 from the library and am painfully challenged by it, I plan to by a copy now. 
I need to have more time with it and possibly read it again in a year or so.
   Anyhoo, let’s chat about this.  I would not characterize it as Christian fiction exactly, although it certainly has a spiritual message and is unapologetically bent toward Christ.  It is also not all mystery, although there is a mystery that needs clearing up.  It was, however, absolutely written by someone who loves words.  For better or for worse, you decide.
   Overall this was a difficult read for me.  It was beefy and mentally profitable, so I do suggest that thinking people check it out, but it was an uphill belly crawl toward completion.  If you choose to read The Shack, please do so without the expectation of being fully entertained.  Crack it open in a quiet room.  Keep your Bible handy for referencing and maybe also a blank journal.  I suspect it will draw out of you a flood of thought and emotion that will need somewhere to crash land.  Plan on crying and possibly raging.
   Or maybe that’s just me?  It just wore me out from head to toe, scrubbing my head and my heart mercilessly.  Especially since I had been reading it alternately with a completely frivolous Stieg Larsson book, my hours with The Shack were EXHAUSTING by comparison.
   Without spoiling the story itself, here are some themes that come to the surface of this book:
  • Trusting God’s goodness when you don’t really trust Him anymore
  • Senseless tragedy and how people cope with it
  • Hating God (and repenting of that)
  • Reconciling genuine spirituality with indoctrinated religion
  • Relating personally to God
  • Abandoning judgemental tendencies
  • Forgiving those who have wronged you
  • Accepting your own forgiveness
  • Believing you are loved
  • When should grief expire?
   Our group that night was twice the size we normally have, partially because the book already had an audience that was happy to gather and share.  Once everyone was fed (we eat WELL, remember?) and comfy in the living room, we cautiously dipped our toes into a proper conversational review.
   I would say that over half of the group really liked The Shack.  Loved it, in fact.  The inspirational quality of the story was admittedly powerful and certainly enough to bond people together over a mutual love for God, among other beautiful sentiments.
   I feel a little bad being in this particular minority, and I am having trouble putting my finger on why I feel bad about it.  The book just scrubbed me so dang hard.  It HURT.  It challenged my unnatural hard heartedness, and it articulated religious issues I have been wanting to address for years.  It forced me to acknowledge how far I have drifted in my own grief, how attached I am to it, and how much I have allowed it to separate me from God.
  
 This is all very serious business, you guys,
and I really just wanted to read about dragon tattoos ‘n stuff.
      A few passages resonated for me in ways that I am able to enjoy apart from the tricky doctrine.  I had to resist whipping out my trusty highlighter since I was reading a borrowed volume.  Among them:
“…So to live as if you are are unloved is a limitation.
Living unloved is like clipping a bird’s wings
and removing its ability to fly.”

   I have to admit that despite all difficulty with heavy message, thick prose, etc, the singular result of my reading this was a renewed craving for my old prayer life.  If nothing else, Mr. Young convinced me to reconsider trading my calloused heart for calloused knees, and that cannot be all bad.
   So no, I do not flat out LOVE every book I read.  But even the tough reads can have a lot to offer.  And I sure don’t have all of my spiritual ducks in a row right now, evidenced by my extreme discomfort in having my soul exfoliated like that; but I do appreciate being led back through pain and then arriving at a completely believable sense of peace afterward.
   Overall, I am happy to have read The Shack and expect to read it again in the near future.  If you have some words of review, please share!
  
   Also, please read  this brilliant girl’s  review of the same book.  She is one of our newest book club members and drove many hours to the farm to be part of this weekend!  We mulled over the intricacies of the stuff for hours.  Enjoy.