Monday, February 16, 2015

Feast of Trust

Another Prose Poetry Assignment...


I enter the barn at dawn.  Ancient light filters in beams through slats in long need of repair.  Bits of dust and hay are alive and unsettled, I breathe them, I am part of them, and they of me.  You regard me with eyes of either side.  You are the color and warmth of the sac-oats I keep by the stove.  Cold wet mornings demand such sustenance.  The larder runs short this winter, the grounds frozen over again and again.  The spring crops will be well fed however we are not, and this is why I have come. 

You bleat.  You trust.  I feed you so why should you not?  You are warm under wool laced with lanolin, I am envious.   You are immune to the gangrenous cold that patiently stretches its fingers up the rocky cliffs from the dark sea.  The wind laments in sinister dreams all night, every night, calling us out.  We cannot sleep, and winter has had its way; our fortitude raped.  My cheeks are raw. I smell you.  Your essence is visceral.  I taste your gamey sweat.  I sense your quickening like the ice that will reign over all tonight; shards of it on the black rocks below.


 You are plump.  Your fat will spit on the fire and we shall sleep tonight despite the banshee sea.

Wednesday, February 4, 2015

The task at hand...



So the clothes dryer finally died.  I had fixed it twice and it limped along for a good while but then came the day I loaded it up and silence.  To say we are in a money crunch would be an understatement right now.  I've got 3 more months of school left (and basically the entire language of Spanish to learn) so we are holding steady trying to keep the lights on.  I broke down and began entertaining the idea of per diem work at a hospital to bring in more money.  It's scary but it isn't impossible.  In a way I think this is what I was supposed to go through at 20.  It's a bit amped up now within the parameters of an adult life but so be it.  But I can tell you this, I wasn't throwing the (wet) towel in over a broken dryer - no frigen way.  Thoughts crammed my mind -how on earth were we going to take this hit? Because we certainly couldn't take it financially right now.  I imagined running loads back and forth to my fathers. No.  I imagined gathering coins and sitting in a laundromat from dawn to dusk. No.  Then I wandered into the basement and rigged some lines and hung some clothes...

What could've been the straw that literally broke the camels back in terms of 'Really?! Now?! Really?! AND THE LAUNDRY OF ALL THINGS IN THIS HOUSE?!  Well it turned out quite different.  It's been a bit and I haven't even picked up the paper or searched craigslist for a replacement...in fact I just spoke to my son last evening about taking the broken dryer to the dump.  His reply was "Sure mom, but do you want to just wait until we get a new one?"  "We aren't getting a new one sweet boy."  He gave me that look that we have all given our parents when we believe they have finally gone over the edge and have lost it and they aren't coming back.  I think he thought he was in for a Chevy Chase Christmas vacation psychotic humorous break - that's normally how we roll here

I read constantly.  I read stories of solo journeys across tundras and jungles.  I read books of survival in impossible conditions.  I read tales of women that say F it all, buy a boat and sail around the world. 

One story in particular stands out in my mind of Shackleton.  He and a crew went on a Trans Antarctic expedition and their ship - The Endurance - became land locked then crushed by moving ice on the Weddell Sea.  They were stranded for two years literally floating on ice in the most forbidden of terrain.  But what struck me most about this story was the adaptability and the psychological aspects of their leader Shackleton.  This man somehow, over and over, made the crew believe that each day would be the day they would be rescued, that they must carry on in spite of everything else, but above all they had their tasks - daily tasks that kept them working, kept them focused, kept them going.  One man had a job to cook (they were able to get supplies from the boat prior to it screaming whilst being torn to splinters from the pressure of the moving ice)  another had to tend to the dogs, play with them keep them well and fit, another made music at night and told stories, and yet another dried the wet socks over a fire.

Now this may seem a stretch but I've always seen my life through various metaphors and I've always been in awe of the human spirit from Shackleton to Flash Gordon - You just can't kill the human spirit.  It's a mind flip.  The sock dryer knew his job was important.  Wet socks would cause skin breakdown in such a terrain and the dreaded frost bite would set in, amputation would be risky at best and death was surely a present danger.  Every job was equally important in one way or another to their overall well being.  Never had I thought of that when I did laundry.  Ever.  It was toil, I joked about burning the clothes (I still do) but my point is I never looked at the importance until I found myself in a dimly lit furnace room in the depths of my house hanging socks from a jute line hung between wall studs.  I hadn't really given much thought to the furnace either.  And the water heater - only negatively when it began leaking last year.  So much we take for granted.  So many innovations we don't even think about or say thank you for.  We simply expect.  

A few days after the crude hangings in the furnace room I found two karate weapons - long sticks tapered at the ends.  I looked at all the lofty space in my basement prep closet which also holds the water softener.  I got a ladder and strung 4 simple lines through the drill holes already in place for pipes etc.  I wrapped the loops of jute on either end of the poles.  I can hang 4 loads of wash between the two rooms forget about it for 24 hours and return.  But there is something in the 'doing' of it the 'presence' of it in the 'thinking' while I am doing it that relaxes me, that centers me, that gently nudges me forward.  It's the task at hand that makes the fear subside.  Strange but true.

What could've been a modern day disaster has turned into Luddite like bliss.  I'll get to my farmhouse one day and my clothes will hang in the sun.  I'll collect eggs from under warm hen rumps.  I'll check the progress the beans make as the climb toward my dinner table. I understand the peace it brings.  But today I am here.  Totally here.

And as for Sir Shackleton - I was happy for the 'visit'  and the memory of taking my boys to see the film at the Museum of Natural History when they were young.  I've got my own Endurance, and I'll do just fine.  Sometimes it's the mental survival you need and will treasure most.  Maybe one day my boys will recall the tale and relate it (however ridiculous, or not) to their own lives.  Grab peace when you can - it's all connected.  Busy hands move you forward.

I'm not replacing the dryer anytime soon.

Namaste