Small Wonders Archives - Page 3 of 5

Greek Feet, Great Art & Pivotal Questions

Trauma

Nested five-gallon buckets separate—mid-air—serially bashing my second toe.

Howls.
Language.
Mega blood blister.

Later, urgent Labrador claws, jigging at our front door,
meet my hapless, arthritic toe and,
accidentally, gouge open the blister.

Colors yet-to-be-named fresco my foot.
Weight bearing? Impossible.
26 foot bones, not one broken.

And now Toe #2 is 1/4 inch longer than before.

Solidarity

Nurse Tina, armed with gauze and surgical tape, groans aloud—more than once—and I love her for it.

She artfully buddy straps toes 2 and 3.

Greek Feet, buddy strapped (courtesy of a Seahawks fan)

My newly-bound twosome throbs.

I hobble.

I google.

Comparisons

Pop Quiz: How does my foot resemble

Venus de Milo?
da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man?
The Statue of Liberty?

Turns out I have Greek Feet, my second toes longer than my big toes. Greek Feet are the idealized foot shape found in ancient statuary, continuing up to our present-day Lady of Liberty. (Longer big toes? You have Egyptian Feet. Read more here.)

Reflexologists, or Foot Readers, claim overlong second toes indicate leadership qualities: resourcefulness, creativity, intelligence, confidence, enthusiasm, impulsiveness, and vulnerability to stress.

Snopes fodder? You decide.

“The second toe on your right foot shows what you want in life,” Foot Reader Jane Sheehan says. “If you are getting [what you want], the toe will be touching the floor.”

Flattened Toe #2 has never hugged more carpet. Am I getting what I want?

The Kicker

My sturdy middle toe has limits.

This reminds me of relationships. We bind ourselves to a loved one who’s hurting. We try to provide balance. Stability. We compensate, try to share the weight.

When do we loose the bonds, urge the injured part (or party) to step up again and fulfill its role?

Isn’t this what we ask ourselves?

Will Toe #2 return to its original shape? Will my shoes still fit? God knows.

Beyond Buddy Strapping

Meanwhile, I’m reading up on Venus de Milo:

Artistic feet.
Misplaced arms.
She is what she is. And known for it.

How do we play a supporting role—without playing God?

Reflexologist Jane Sheehan will give a reading if you send her a photo of your feet. Visit www.footreading.com

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

“Squirrel!” Or Harnessing Distraction

by Laurie Klein 14 Chiming In

“Squirrel!” Like the talking dog in the movie “Up,” I’m distracted.

While reading, peripheral movements at the bird feeder have snagged my gaze. A small rodent poses atop the Squirrel Begone Baffle.

Book forgotten, I fetch my camera.

I am easily baffled. Prone to distraction:

hunger clears its throat when I mean to pray, then my feet escort me kitchen-ward
a traffic accident occurs and I rubberneck
during party conversations my ears mimic satellite dishes; I eavesdrop on other conversations

Some days my head locks onto the wrong setting: S.W.I.V.E.L.

Squirrel!

A tree squirrel can rotate both hind ankles 180 degrees, allowing breezy, head-first walks down a tree trunk. Or the quick-shinny up a metal pole.

To learn from this one—albeit after the fact—I launch an imaginary conversation: “Do you have a message for me?”

Then I give him a voice and let him answer. You seem less agile, he seems to say.

Didn’t see that coming. Cheeky rodent. “Um, are you perchance … packing a metaphor?”

The squirrel does a double-take. Who me?

“Yes, you.”

Claws re-grip the pole. Coast is clear.

“Meaning …”

Dare …

Standing fully extended,

the squirrel looks relaxed, yet

primed for action.

“Show-off,” I say.

I’m enacting my hunger.

I suspect he says this because in his furry mind, he suspects I am not.

So I change the subject

Whiskers, or vibrissae, surround the squirrel’s nose, mouth, and limbs. Vibrissae ferry nerve impulses brimming with tactile information straight to the brain.

Which restarts the dialogue. “Okay, Scamp, those whiskers suggest I pursue my current project with all my resources?”

The small head cocks, vibrissae quiver.

“Or … you’re implying a leap of faith will override my latest baffling obstacle: fear of finishing.”

Silence.

“I’ll discover balance in time for the next upward push?”

Nothing.

“Following my hungers, the God-given kind, might aid my mental agility?”

Tsk. Follow the ache; embrace the fun.

“I get it. Tend the small hungers within my reach. Then extend the reach.”

squirrel with seed — *Timing. Intention. Readiness. Grace.*

Distraction: harnessed via imaginary dialogue. If you try this, let me know what happens?

Dug, the talking dog, in “Up”—(watch here).

Double take post 1:

Double take post 2: