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LUCKY: Shelf Life, 3rd Edition

by Laurie Klein 25 Chiming In

In this month of cancelled Proms,
the memory of mine, over
half a century ago, brims
within me—mingled emotions
still attached. I remember

my mother, at the black altar
of her sewing machine,
the painstaking arc of her spine,
face bowed over nimble hands
in a circle of light.

A sleeveless drift of floral voile
in citrus colors skimmed
the dress of our dreams—
with a matching stole: “One must,”
Mom insisted, “always be warm.”

Enter the orchid, be-ribboned
perfection, in a windowed box.
“Oh! Lucky, lucky you,”
she cried. “I’ve never had one.”

She looked so wistful.

Guilt churned. Then . . .
adolescent annoyance, alongside
the message: I was adored.
By a boy. Extravagantly.

I felt so confused.

The corsage waited, inside our fridge,
all day, until my date arrived, then
again, for days afterward: waxy, exotic,
transforming our Maytag into a garden.

Shelf life at its most literal.

Back then I knew nothing of a woman’s bone-deep loneliness. Or betrayal. What it’s like, being left for another.

But kids know when something’s amiss. And even self-absorbed teens occasionally splurge on someone else.

That year on Mother’s Day, from the top shelf of our turquoise fridge, a windowed box enclosing an orchid met Mom’s blue gaze.

She kept it for days.

Today, I see the connection, one I’ve long been living—yet missing. For years now, I’ve stashed little bouquets in the fridge, top right shelf. Each time I open the door . . . blossoms! I never remember they’re there.

Gratitude rises to the Creator, then adoration.

I feel wooed.

My mother never remarried. Never dated, as far as we know. She died, during a bygone May.

I wish I could send her orchids this Sunday. I’d say, “Oh, lucky you! Stay warm, Mama. Know you’re forever adored.”

orchid, wiesenfeld

What memorable corsage or bouquet—given or received—maintains a shelf life in your memory?


Perhaps even the smallest acts of love are fractionally akin, in a nano way, to Eternal Largesse.

Let’s romance ourselves and each other. A May bouquet might nudge us to pray for mothers worldwide amid the pandemic. And teens missing Prom this year.

Whether grocery shopping in person or online, add a few hardy carnations, mums, or alstromeria. Refrigerated, they last for weeks. Be inventive, choosing a vase. Or gather dandelions, clover, or wild violets from your lawn or neighborhood tree border. Maybe send up a prayer, each time you see them.

lucky fridge

For more about my amazing mom: Homesick? 3 Timely Ways to Experience Healing Restoration

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Orange orchids, black background: Photo by John Wiesenfeld on Unsplash
Wild tree orchid & Fridge shot: L. K.

 

 

Filed Under: Immersions Tagged With: corsage, lucky, May, Maytag, Mother's Day, orchid, Prom, shelf life, warm May 6, 2020

Shelf Life: Second Edition

by Laurie Klein 20 Chiming In

Mid-1300s: Stone walls
confine her. No power,
no plumbing. No hearth.

Shelf Life
An anchoress, by choice,
she is bricked in
for life—gruel, heels of bread,
perhaps an apple, daily
passed over the sill.
Waste, handed out.

Door-less, she understands
fear. Isolation and boredom,
restless yearning.
Famine. And persecution.
The Black Plague.

People line up
at her window, seeking
counsel. Mercy.
Her quiet listening heart.

She will become the world’s most famous anchoress—a woman voluntarily locked up to devote her life to prayer for others.

Julian of Norwich, they call her, noted for penning words that comfort me today:

“All shall be well,
and all shall be well,
and all manner of thing shall be well.”

Julian: Medieval poster child for well-being.

The first woman to write a book in English, she titled it Revelations of the Divine Love. Seven-hundred-some years ago.

Talk about shelf life!

T.S. Eliot quoted her, in The Four Quartets. As have numerous others. To this day, her book ranks with the great spiritual classics.

How might a woman sealed in a stone cell help us today as we shelter in place?

Begin with her body prayer, comprised of four simple (yet pivotal) movements:
Await . . .
Allow . . .
Accept . . .
Attend . . .

Friends, Julian’s body prayer bookends my days in isolation. Sometimes I use it mid-day, as a calming reset between chores. It helps me lean back in my spirit, breathe slowly, inhabit deepening peace.

Shelf Life, 2 Hands

I could riff on the four words beginning with “A,” but I trust their shelf life. I believe they’ll speak to you if you need them—in their own way, their own time.

I hope you’ll consider adopting, or adapting, Julian’s prayer. You can watch it here.

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What simple thought or activity helps you in surreal times?

Read about a 21st century anchoress here.

Photo of hands: Milada Vigerova for Unsplash

Inset of anchoress: A bishop blessing an anchoress, from MS 079: Pontifical, held at Corpus Christi College, Cambridge (c.1400–10)

 

 

 

 

Filed Under: Immersions Tagged With: accept, allow, attend, await, shelf life, well-being April 26, 2020

Shelf Life: First Edition

by Laurie Klein 20 Chiming In

I am 10 years old. Floor to ceiling, three walls of open windows beckon me. The sun room seems to pulse, summer breezes stirring up dust motes suspended in sunlight.

Angled toward the small lake beyond, the yearning silence of one grand piano.

Shelf Life, a memory

No one notices me inch away as the realtor ushers my family upstairs, their voices receding.

I close the wall of French doors behind me. I’ve never seen glazed terracotta floor tiles. I slip off my Keds.

For now, I own this echoing chamber.

I ease the bench away from the keyboard. Sink onto the padded surface. Fold back the long, hinged lid: 88 keys. Ivory. Ebony. A playground in B&W.

One stocking foot stretches toward the sustain pedal.

Breath: held. Released.

Shelf Life, Edition One

No “Chopsticks” for me today, no percussive “Night and Day”—this moment calls for arpeggios, and because I didn’t ask anyone’s permission, pianissimo . . .

What half-way musical kid wouldn’t imagine the sold-out concert hall? And who on a summer’s day could lift hand over hand across ivories in brimming light and resist exerting a faster, firmer, more confident touch?

Notes blend like the half-furled petals of color on a pinwheel, spinning the spectrum into ethereal white. Joy effervesces. Time melts . . .

They come to find me, of course. Scolding a little.

***

To this day, I can summon the timeless shimmer of those moments alone at the keys.

If author Frederick Buechner is correct, eternity is neither endless time nor the opposite of time as we experience it. Like that spinning pinwheel that reduces colors to essential white, eternity is the essence of time.

Beyond fathoming. Ever available.

I seldom welcome the extended shelf life of memory when wrenching episodes resurface. They do, however, usually offer an invitation toward further healing.

It’s those replayed moments my soul glimpses God’s abiding presence that rejuvenate and nourish me. The opened door, the readied larder of the soul.

***

In these days of restricted access to people and places, is there a scene from your earlier life—perhaps still throbbing with magic and possibility—that might freshly nurture or inspire you? Perhaps it will awaken a shelved dream you might now have the time to explore.

  • Your high school aha at the microscope
  • That winning Little League swing for the fences
  • A thorny equation, solved
  • You, reassembling your dad’s radio—no leftover parts
  • Mixing drops from all your mother’s perfumes for that unforgettable gift on Mother’s Day

I hope you’ll consider inviting me in . . .

***

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“God, as Isaiah says (57:15), ‘inhabiteth eternity,’ but stands with one foot in time. The part of time where he stands most particularly is Christ, and thus in Christ we catch a glimpse of what eternity is all about, what God is all about, and what we ourselves are all about too.”   —Buechner, Wishful Thinking

Photos: Ebuen Clemente Jr on Unsplash and Clark Young on Unsplash.

You might also enjoy Appointment with Delight (click here)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Filed Under: Immersions Tagged With: arpeggios, eternity, grand piano, larder, memory, shelf life, timelessness April 3, 2020

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Where the Sky Opens, a Partial Cosmography

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