Not Much to Tell

This is a silly little thing I wrote several months ago when prompted by a friend to tell her about myself.

The truth is there’s not much to tell
I’m fat and middle aged
and the main thing I think about is sleep,
or rather my sorrowful lack there-of
No more songs to sing
No more plans to leave this place
I used to see as God forsaken
Imagine that
Of course I know now that I was wrong
These days I run into Him everywhere
In the pinky purple sunsets painted across the summer sky,
in the smell of the rain soaked earth,
in the tender embrace of my husband
and in the life we’ve helped the Almighty create
I see Him in my children perhaps more than anywhere else
as they call for me and reach for me,
again, and again, and again
reciting their never ending litany of needs
expecting me to provide
believing that I’m able
trusting even when I doubt
pushing me, guiding me, molding me,
leading me to heaven I suspect
if I’m wise enough to follow
It’s hard to know with someone like me
Someone with a will like a dry shriveled up grape
trying to pray but becoming sidetracked
by thoughts of another sleepless night
pushed off course by daydreams of coffee and books
and spending time with my favorite friend
who would probably find a way to blame herself for my acedia
if I allowed her to read this
and I probably will allow her
not because I want her to feel bad
but because I want her to know
that the truth is there’s not much to tell

It’s funny because I didn’t think it sounded that negative when I wrote it, but looking at it now I can see that I was in a very negative frame of mind at the time. I suppose it had something to do with the sleep deprivation I was obviously suffering from, but I think the negativity came mostly from the company I was keeping at the time. It’s difficult to be around sad, depressed, negative people and not get sucked into that way of thinking. Misery does love company and it’ll do whatever it has to do to ensure that it’s never alone.

But I’m all caught up on my sleep now and I’m no longer keeping company with Misery. And I must say it feels very nice!

Good Quote

“Loss and possession, death and life are one, There falls no shadow where there shines no sun.”

~ Hilaire Belloc ~

Cookies, Picture Books, and Anna

We made peanut butter cookies today. Yummy! While they were baking, the little kids and I read through part of our pile of library books. We read:

Henry Works by D.B. Johnson
Some Dog by Mary Casanova
Henry Hikes to Fitchburg by D.B. Johnson
King Puck by Michael Garland
Bear Snores On by Karma Wilson
Fox by Kate Banks

We were just starting our next chapter of the Boxcar Children when some of the kids’ friends came to the door, and suddenly nobody but me wanted to read anymore. So Lily, Tess, Henry, Gus and Mamie, taking with them a plate of freshly baked cookies to share with their friends, went outside. And since I still wanted to read I picked up Anna Karenina and read until I had to take a break from the desperate situation our heroine has gotten herself into. I’m not even close to finishing the book (so I doubt I know what I’m talking about), but right now I’m wondering if what Anna and Vronsky shared had anything whatsoever to do with love. It’s quite easy, and often an effective way to soothe our consciences, to call any emotion involving affection, pleasure, desire, or longing by the name of Love. We profess to love that which makes us feel good, and sometimes that which makes us feel anything. And we cry in indignation when we lose those things – kicking and screaming like children when the highly depended upon pacifier is taken away. But we’re distraught at the loss of comfort, not at the loss of love. I wonder how many times in our lives we encounter true love, and how many times we simply use the label of love as an attempt to convince ourselves and others that the satisfying of certain desires is inevitable or out of our control, or to prove the necessity of pursuing or remaining in unhealty situations or relationships. How much of what we call love is just a sneaky way to hang on to our vices and satisfy our selfishness? I wonder.