Blog - Laurie Klein, Scribe

Granted vs Taken (for Granted): One Way Forward

Uncle Dunkel skipped rocks:
he scalloped the sweltering air with a stone.

The man was mythic. He clambered up trees after cats,
strode along ridgepoles,
re-shingled roofs like an urban card shark armed with a royal flush.

Hands that were mostly bruises, blisters, and nicotine stains
hammered and drilled until,
cellar to roof, he built you a house.

Come Sundays, Uncle Dunkel folded his lanky frame,
like a daddy long legs, into our corner nook.
I poured pop from a teapot the size of my fist,
he cradled a tiny rose-sprigged cup.
And never spilled.

every good thing granted — Every good thing bestowed … (Ja 1:17)

How fully engaged with nature, tools, and progress he was—and one small niece.

Granted: Best Uncle Ever — Uncle Dunkel & me

Did I take Uncle Dunkel’s gentle presence for granted? Sometimes. He didn’t live much beyond my 12th birthday. Given the chance to relive a single day, what might he have longed to witness, one last time? [Read more…]

What Would You Pack? Curation on Demand

by Laurie Klein 22 Chiming In

Smoke wakes me at 4 a.m. It’s hard to breathe. I fumble windows closed, knowing that 45 minutes south of here, acreage is blazing—people already evacuated.

There’s another wildfire north of us. Is this acrid air due to a wind shift?

Or a new conflagration nearby?

Dry, high-90s weather has parched lands and lawns. Kindling, kindling everywhere. [Read more…]

Scales: Deliberate Tippage

by Laurie Klein 24 Chiming In

Scales

Symbol of justice.
Tool for measurements. Proportions. Ratios. Ratings.
Do re mi fa sol la ti do: syllables assigned to musical steps in an octave.
Verb for ascent.
Colorful chitin covering moth and butterfly wings.
Bony overlapping plates on crocs and dragons. Clown fish.

I see the clown fish bubble toy at the Fair. What a hoot! I breathe deeper, forget the crowds and heat.

Later, I read the news and feel . . . overwhelmed. On a scale of 1 – 10, I’m at -3.

I read a poem titled “Work,” by Catherine Pierce.

… I remind myself
for every person razing there’s another engineering
a ladder of light.

The scales tilt.

Hope stirs my thoughts, my pen. I fumble an incomplete litany onto the page. Perhaps you’ll assist me?

For every business depleting a natural resource, there’s an angler practicing catch-and-release.
For every flash flood in a cave, entrapping children, there are divers donning their gear, risking all.
For every soundbite polarizing a nation, there’s a volunteer translating for detainees at the border.

I think of murderous Saul, in Damascus: blind, fearful, huddled in darkness. Enter Ananias, carrying out his work as messenger. He lays his hands over Saul’s eyes.

“Immediately, something like scales fell from Saul’s eyes, and he could see again.”

What can you add to augment our hope?

For every ________________, there’s a ____________________.

You might also enjoy “Catch and Release”

Yes & No Answers

by Laurie Klein 12 Chiming In

Yes. Those 3 letters brim with promise.
Yes can encompass zest
or solemnity,
courtesy, courage or compromise.

Yes can mean guilt,
resignation,
or quiet acceptance—
depending on when and how and why I say it.

Yes may mean “I’m afraid to say No.”

“To allow oneself to be carried away
by a multitude of conflicting concerns,
to surrender to too many demands,
to commit oneself to too many projects,
to want to help everyone in everything,
is to succumb to the violence of our times.”

So said Thomas Merton.

Then I read this:

“One faces the devil’s bargains frequently when planning the structure of one’s day. How much can one crowd into the day?” asks Robert Johnson.

Violence and devil’s bargains—isn’t this hyperbole? Spiritual hype?

Johnson’s meddlesome “how much” question chafes.

How casually I attribute my productive pace to:

Personality
Birth order
Childhood’s family work ethic

All gifts, I would add … that can be abused. When ticking boxes off lists I feel heroic, almost prolific.

Currently, I’m packing for travel. Bustling ensues. I toggle between fast-forward and pause.

There must be fresh ways to sanely pursue the essential—lest I mortgage my reserves into the next decade.

“Listen deeply to your body’s longings for movement and stillness, saying yes to them in whatever way is appropriate for you,” writes Christine Valters-Paintner.

Discernment sometimes begins in the body.

If amid hubbub I can wait with expectation, discerning my “Yes” may also entail speaking a holy “No.” Perhaps out loud. Perhaps, repeatedly.

The words yes and no even trigger arguments among grammarians trying to classify them into conventional parts of speech. Small and slippery, they can be nouns, adverbs, interjections, even minor sentences.

No wonder I’m conflicted.

While I’m away (sans laptop), I hope those of us pondering this will more easily discern when and how and why we say, “Yes.” And “No.”

Meanwhile, you might enjoy my offering in Jenneth Glaser’s winsome Poetry as Therapy celebration. Daily, for the month of June only, Jenneth features stunning photography, music, meditations, affirmations, poems, and prayers. Click the link below to catch up on earlier posts.

https://mailchi.mp/8d4d29876d22/welcome-to-day-15-of-the-poetry-as-therapy-online-retreat-2018?e=408e5c4767

You might also enjoy my e e cummings photo mediation: Natural … infinite …

And this article, by Natasha L. Robinson (especially the list at the bottom)

I’d love to get your take on saying Yes and No. I’ll respond as soon as I can, depending on computer availability.

Photos: detail of collage, by Laurie Klein, and our scummily artful birdbath, beneath the eave.

Trapped

by Laurie Klein 28 Chiming In

Trapped.

A hummingbird flails against the open glass slider—inside the house.

Dare I usher this manic three-inch wonder outside?

Inching closer, newspaper in hand, I cradle and lift until—with a cranky chirk—it swivels midair, then rockets away.

In this moment there is life and food
for future years. —Wm. Wordsworth

+++

I just reread this old journal entry because now, 19 years later, several Beija flors, or flower kissers, have converged on our new feeder. Iridescence shimmers, flushing copper to gold, then green.

The green arrests me.

Last night I read exceptionally good news about a fellow writer’s success. In a hummingbird heartbeat, I felt threatened. Territorial. Envious.

And here I am. Jealousy I don’t want to feel and fail to swallow constricts my throat. My soul.

O the tempers and vanities that beset me.

Ego vibrates, carping after the inaccessible, like a beak against glass.

Jealousy escalates. If I’m honest, I want to win. I want to impress.

Like hummingbirds at the feeder, my thoughts bicker and bully, sideswipe and joust for position.

My ego plunges an all-or-nothing beak into any bright opening, no matter how small.

Sometimes I struggle to discern truth in the world.

This feels like truth:

Make a careful exploration of who you are
and the work you have been given,
and then sink yourself into that.

Don’t be impressed with yourself.
Don’t compare yourself with others.

…take responsibility for doing
the creative best you can with your own life.*

When feeling trapped by comparisons, these are words where my soul can hover.

God gently slips his newspaper beneath my beating thoughts, lifting me safely, cleanly, up and away.

How do you disarm envy?

*Galations 6, The Message