It’s been pretty quiet around here, and the reason is that the proverbial doo-doo hit the fan when I changed my name and url… I’ve been scurrying around trying
to fix broken links and update everything and it’s been a little bit overwhelming, especially for a decidedly non-techie like myself. I’d like to say I’ve learned my lesson, but knowing myself… probably not. I’m sure I’ll spontaneously do something again and have to clean up my mess. But it’ll be a different one next time – I at least don’t repeat the same mess over. Most of the time.
I wanted to share something I ran across the other day – a quote from Leonard Cohen’s song Anthem, which I am sorry to say I didn’t know until today. I know I’ve read this particular quote before but somehow it really struck me this time, hit a particular chord that’s been missing from my song, and I felt that just maybe there was somebody else out there who needed to hear it. So here it is:
Ring the bells that still can ring,
forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything;
that’s how the light gets in.
Breathtaking, isn’t it? I’m trying to embrace those cracks and be gentle with them, and with the cracked whole that is me.
“You are a noodle,” I say to my silly little girl.
“No, Momma,” she says, shaking her head, “I’m not a noodle. I’m pasta.”
>”One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began” – Mary Oliver
I think I’ve been waiting for that day to arrive, the magical one where I’d know exactly what this space is supposed to be (mommy blog? gardening blog? food blog? introspective space? creative writing?) and so I’ve been hesitant to make it anything. And now, with all due respect to Mary Oliver, I am thumbing my nose at that day. Thpppppptht. Come, don’t come. Whatever. I’m just gonna start posting whatever. We’ll see what emerges.
I don’t know why anyone reads this, anyway – why they come here, what they’re hoping to see, to read, to hear. So who am I trying to please? the mysterious writing gods who are telling me I’m not doing it right? Oh, wait – those aren’t writing gods – they’re my stinking inner critics. Well, we’re going out for coffee together and talk this out. Because if I don’t know what I’m doing, then there’s no way to do it right… or wrong.
So here I am, just doing it.
“Mmmm, you smell like cookies. Let me take a nibble… Do you taste like them, too? “
A great, heaved sigh of the put-upon variety.
“No, Mommy. Raspberries.“
arbitrary moments of nearly painful happiness for a life I feel privileged to lead. Think of the way you sometimes see a tiny shaft of sunlight burst through a gap between rocks, the way it expands to illuminate a much larger space – it’s like that. And it’s like quilting, a thread disappearing into the fabric of ordinary days. It’s not always visible, but it’s what holds everything together.
~Elizabeth Berg, The Art of Mending
>There is nothing on God’s green earth that someone won’t complain about, including both God and the green earth.