Laurie Klein, Scribe

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Whistle Pig

by Laurie Klein 28 Chiming In

May’s winding down. I’ve launched a passel of heart-wrung essays and poems into cyberspace and now await editors’ yeas or nays. Waiting. Waiting. Yes, I get twitchy.

“Good Spirit,” I prayed this morning, “have your way. And please, send a blog idea.”

A marmot arrived.

In our front yard.

  • Think upsized squirrel, with teeth that keep growing
  • Think savvy trickster with a droll silhouette
  • Intrepid tunneller / whistler / survivor of storms

Whistle Pig photo-op

Turns out these pudgier cousins to groundhogs and woodchucks arise, in May, from six months of hibernation. Seeking a mate.

Well, this one’s gonna be lonesome. After 32 years in our cedar house on the hill, this is our first visitation.

In nearby Spokane, there are colonies of them, downtown, near the river. Out here? Never.

The nickname whistle pig (for the distinctive warning call) feels undignified for an animal viewed as a wisdom keeper by some Native American tribes. Some Africans view them as agents of healing.

Christians feature them in their artwork and literature; they also malign them as symbols of gluttony.

(Gulp. While researching the critters, I binge-ate four lunch bag servings of Cheetos today.)

So. Perhaps, a heaven-sent warning?

BUT THIS . . . stopped me:

An encounter with a marmot can be read
as a sign of forthcoming assistance
in a big endeavor.

Fanciful? Perhaps. But I’m on the cusp of submitting a full-length manuscript of poems to a most excellent editor. Except . . . I’ve stalled out. Several hundred hours have gone into this project already over the past year. If the publisher accepts it, then there’s the expected undertaking of marketing and publicity—undertaking, as in engaging with certain death. I am abysmal at business.

Since the marmot feels “sent,” might this be a good-humored nudge to . . . finish up already, and hit “Send”?

“The Marmot is also a reminder that we should never give up on our dreams and goals,” writes Andy Willis, “no matter how difficult they may seem.”

Now that I can take on board. How about you? Can I join you in prayer for your current undertaking?

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How do you cope with looming expectations when you feel inadequate for the task? I could really use help on this. And prayer!

P.S. Speaking of fanciful, here’s a poem I wrote several years ago, from a marmot’s point of view.

Whistle Pig Polka Beneath the Monroe Street Bridge

My fellow tunnel junkie, old twinkle-toes Hans,
warms up in our downtown digs. Too bad
Spokane’s first wooden bridge turned itself
into cinders, sifting across the gorge. These days
reinforced concrete, blithe as a skipped stone,
curves across the river like marmot ears. All-day
roar of the waves plus traffic—who hears the small
footfalls, dancing across our triple arch stage
long as 448 of us, laid out, snout to tail?

Ask any oompah-loving rodent playing the tuba,
or mini-concertina (wheezing beneath the cars
with Bohemian flair): hop-steps, close-steps,
claw-foot twirl—duple time fires the blood!
As to those chewed car wires, and the occasional
neighborhood landscape binge, Hans decrees
we all carb load. Half our lives are spent
dreaming up choreography during hibernation.
Some of us want to believe a bridge is forever.

Appeared in Spokane Writes, 2017

Whistle Pig on the Run
Dreamer’s Action Capture

Feature Photo by Eli Allan on Unsplash

Classic pose with log Photo by Miguel Teirlinck on Unsplash

“On the run,” courtesy of Dreamer, who first spotted our guest

 

Filed Under: Immersions Tagged With: bridge, expectations, gluttony, hope, marmot, undertaking, visitation, whistle pig May 22, 2023

Grit, Stardust, Healing Rigor

by Laurie Klein 23 Chiming In

Grit, mist, helping hand

Grit? Hardly. I awake, dismayed. Another day cranks into gear with exercises from my physical therapist, designed to get this body up and running. Dogged compliance? Vital. I agreed, months ago, to his regimen: healing rigor.

If I want to jog again — and I do — I gotta.

Today? Don’t wanna.

Last January a common runner’s injury waylaid me — a stress fracture, undiagnosed for three months, exacerbated by new bone spurs and acute arthritis.

“Don’t fall,” my doctor said, after reviewing my latest bone scan.

“Wear this boot,” the specialist said, after reviewing my MRI.

Oh, these bodies, part stardust, part grit, mostly water: vibrant one moment, frail the next.

Once the bone re-knit, I worked hard to regain strength, endurance, and range of motion.

Then . . . a sprain. More time out. More P.T.

As of now, my ongoing nemesis? The one-legged bridge:

  • Lie on back
  • Bend one knee
  • Raise body 15 times (twice daily)

Ooof. Floor joists creak beneath me, their weakening structure only perceived when called upon to bear weight. Kinda like me.

Resolutely, I muscle up — 1, 2, 3 — pant — 9, 10 — then muster that last vertical heave . . . 15!

Progress?

Zip. It doesn’t get easier. How can this be? I’ve been so faithful!

My favorite C. S. Lewis poem — with a bridge in it — comes to mind: “As the Ruin Falls.”

Peace, re-assurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek . . .

Oh yeah. This girl wants what she wants.

Only that now you have taught me (but how late) my lack.
I see the chasm. And everything you are was making
My heart into a bridge by which I might get back
From exile . . .

I feel the nudge. Exiled from running late in life, this ole heart feels aerobic as well as emotional loss.

. . . And now the bridge is breaking.

Lewis is writing about his conversion. Human grit, intellect, and resolve proving insufficient, his broken heart gives way to God.

A secondary, physical application startles me as I consider Paul’s charge to believers: “Work out your salvation with fear and trembling.”

Work. Out.

God sure has a sense of humor.

The name Jehovah-Jireh, “The Lord will provide,” appears in my reading for the day. I picture a mighty hand upholding me — despite my dubious one-legged bridge . . .

Grit, mist, helping hand

For this I bless you as the ruin falls. The pains
You give me are more precious than all other gains.

Amen.

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Friends, what helps you say yes to routine demands—those things you dodge despite know they’re good for you?

https://allpoetry.com/As-the-Ruin-Falls

Hear Phil Keaggy’s  musical setting and performance of “As the Ruin Falls” here.

Photo by Aleksandr Barsukov on Unsplash

You might also enjoy Regarding Spin

 

 

 

Filed Under: Immersions Tagged With: bridge, fracture, grit, healing rigor, Jehovah-Jireh, ruin, runner, stardust, work out January 10, 2023

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