I’m slowly working at cleaning my bedroom on these quiet February days. After supper dinner was prepped this evening, I went for a little walk down the lane. (I always think of how much nicer and classier dinner sounds than supper. But I feel like a hypocrite to use it in writing because we don’t use it around home.) On the way back, I was thinking about what I should do with the hour until supper was served. Should I clean another drawer, read facebook, or write something?
I decided to write something. But hmmmm…… what should that be? I found an Anne Lamott quote in my Things that I Was Sorting today that I just adore. Maybe I’ve shared it before on my blog, but it gives me hope in a world where it seems like everything has already been said and who needs my plaintive little voice from up here in Alberta.
It says, “All the good stories are out there waiting to be told in a fresh, wild way. Mark Twain said that Adam was the only man who, when he said a good thing, knew that nobody had said it before. Life is like a recycling center, where all the concerns and dramas of humandkind get recycled back and forth across the universe. But what you have to offer is your own sensibility, maybe your own sense of humor or insider pathos or meaning. All of us can sing the same song, and there will still be four billion different renditions.”
And that was all I wrote last evening before dinner and Bible study, so I’ll finish this morning before facing the clutter in my room again.
I’d love to start a series on my blog of writing about the people I know and love best. But maybe I should get their permission first. After speaking to lots of ladies in Indiana at a ladies’ retreat, I discovered that the compliments that meant the most were those from my own people that I see all the time. I mean….I loved the others too!
But when my family and the ladies from my church told me they watched the YouTube videos and gave me kind, affirmative words, it just meant the world to me. Because all of those strangers don’t know the real me–the one who talks too much at church members’ meetings sometimes. They don’t know the me who worries over the church not getting cleaned properly, the one who grumbles about mud, who sometimes rushes in trying to be a peacemaker when people aren’t ready for it or already have their stuff under control. The strangers don’t know about my messy garage and that I can’t sing high well at all. So that’s why it’s good to affirm the people we know the best.
My aunt in Minnesota died and I’d love to go to her funeral and sit with my mom and hug my cousins. But I was gone to Indiana for five days in January. And since then I’ve been feeling emotional and unstable. I guess that sometimes when you pour yourself out, you become really vulnerable. Because that’s right where I am. God and friends have been so kind, though. I just need some time to rest and refocus. So the trip to Minnesota probably isn’t happening. I feel sad but resigned.
I’ve thought of joining Instagram because it’s the thing now. I like it that it has less drama than facebook. Or so my teenagers tell me. But I can’t think of a good name.
threegreendoors after my blog? (The sad part of this is that our house no longer has three green doors. But that doesn’t really matter.
Or should I go with dugoutwillow, which is my gmail address? Does that sound cheesy? We have dugouts here in BayTree, Alberta. They’re manmade ponds and some people use them for drinking water. Willows often grow up around them.
Or is it best and coolest to just go with your name? lucipeacheymartinherself?
Or maybe gooseyluci? Or lucigoosey. I have a few friends who call me that, Rhoda Miller from Belize being one of them. That looks very silly and self demeaning in print, doesn’t it?
Anyway, this is all very frivolous and unnecessary discussion, considering school shootings and Prime Minister Trudeau’s trip to India, US beating Canada in Olympic women’s hockey, and Billy Graham passing away. And recent attacks in Syria.
Billy Graham’s passing reminds me of one of the people I love that I should write about someday. Brian LaRochelle is 45 years old and has Downs syndrome. He came for supper dinner yesterday and the first thing he said when I picked him up is that he is so sad that Billy Graham died. He had a book along of the Graham family and he was poring over it in his spare time before supper, looking at the pictures and noting that Ruth Graham’s maiden name was Bell. He loves news like that and carefully prints it in one of his many notebooks. He’s fascinated with maiden names.
One of the best things about yesterday was singing “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms” with Brian as it played on a CD he lent to us of the Gaithers, singing A Billy Graham Music Homecoming, obviously while he was still living. I’m not a Gaither fan at all, but I’d sing with Brian any day.
Happy Thursday to you. If you are in the February doldrums, here’s something for you.
Ordinance 1753839-J: “It shall be unlawful, illegal, and unethical to think, think of thinking, surmise, presume, reason, meditate, or speculate while in the Doldrums.” –Norton Juster, US author.
You are welcome for my insightful February blog post. And I love you even if we’ve never met in real life.