Tag Archives: perspective

Drum the Cello

Bits of hurried meals scatter beneath the table:
sauced penne, broccoli, bread, chocolate covered raisins.
Strands of hair fall unheard across the rooms:
brown and blonde, long and not-so-long.
Art implements cover all horizontal planes:
crayons (the floors), markers (the chairs), papers and pencils (the tables).
Everywhere my eyes see shreds, scraps, and specks.

I should try something different.
Look up, perhaps.
Look forward, even.
Try drumming the cello instead of bowing it.

Contentment and Balance

“One who is content with what he has and who accepts the fact that he inevitably misses very much in life is far better off than the one who has much more but who worries about all he might be missing. For we can not make the best of what we are if our hearts are always divided between what we are and what we are not. 

We cannot be happy if we expect to live all the time at the highest peak of intensity. Happiness is not a matter of intensity but of balance and order and rhythm and harmony. Let us therefore learn to pass from one imperfect activity to another without worrying too much about what we are missing.”

~ Thomas Merton

~ Reposted from First Sip

Hello, Time

A washboard and a wood-burning oven
are things I don’t have.

A few months ago
the little ones were sick, for weeks,
and I was exhausted, but I didn’t cry.

Then my washing machine fell apart inside and quit spinning.
But I didn’t cry; I used every stitch of fabric in the house
before packing the back of our van
full with dirty clothes
blankets, sheets, pillow cases,
towels, rags, more towels, and more rags
and driving to the laundromat.

When I made back to the house,
lugged in baskets filled with clean laundry,
wiped noses and gave hugs,
the oven broke. I cried.

I actually felt that if I had a washboard
and a wood burning oven
I could have kept it together. Maybe so.

The other day my dishwasher stopped running
and the water sat in the bottom.
I filled the sink with hot soapy water
and lined the counters with towels
and set to work.

The most fascinating thing happened:
contentment came to me as I stood at the sink.
I couldn’t be rushed here.
I could not force myself
to hurry through this task
like I could hurriedly stuff the washer full of
pajamas, t-shirts, and shorts,
and frantically line the dishwasher racks with
plates, bowls, and glasses
and move on to the next thing.

I spent the following few weeks
letting dirty dishes collect in the sink
throughout the day,
washing them in the morning.
Sometimes I would even stand there and dry them.
And the kids would run through the kitchen,
stop by my legs for a quick hug,
and keep going because everything was okay.
My world didn’t end, in fact, I found a whole new one.
My relationship to time has changed –
I don’t rush myself to get things done,
but sort of let the doing happen –
all because the control panel on my dishwasher burned up.