Saturdays

I have been up since before 9 and it is now almost 2. I have been wanting to get this blog post written for hours but the rain — and wow, it rained so hard you couldn’t see through it — kept me in a kind of mesmerized, sleepy state. It is thundering loudly and beginning to rain again now. The pugs are snuggled in close, sleepy little beans, and even Vincent the Beta fish seems still in his watery world.

I spent hours reading things online, good things, starting with Krista Tippett’s On Being website jumping from story to story from today’s email and finally coming to the most wonderful article by Parker J. Palmer which mentioned his new book due out next month, On The Brink Of Everything: Grace, Gravity and Getting Old. It included a link to a sample chapter which was absolutely wonderful. I can’t recommend it highly enough. Click the title to go to the sample chapter. It is a poetic treatise on aging, profound, and beautiful. He writes…

“Age brings diminishments, but more than a few come
with benefits. I’ve lost the capacity for multitasking, but
I’ve rediscovered the joy of doing one thing at a time.
My thinking has slowed a bit, but experience has made it
deeper and richer. I’m done with big and complex projects,
but more aware of the loveliness of simple things: a talk
with a friend, a walk in the woods, sunsets and sunrises, a
night of good sleep.”

Palmer will be just shy of 80 when the book, his 10th, comes out next month, and what I thought when I read his words above is that this is wisdom for all of us at any age. We are all too often multitasking and racing willy nilly toward the next deadline trying to get so many things done. What if we slow down and rediscover “the joy of doing one thing at a time.” How much richer our lives might be.

This life of mine is a slow, quiet life, and though I can be guilty of multitasking my life is mostly a contemplative life of silence and solitude. It has been so for nearly twenty years, next year on my 65th birthday it will be 20 years since I left my marriage, and despite somewhat desperate attempts to make it in the outside world I was thrown back in on myself over and over until I retreated entirely, leaving the house only when it was absolutely essential and then not easily or often. That is still my life today and though I have glimpses of another kind of life, like seeing the garden on the street when I went to the clinic, I quickly withdraw to the safety of my world here. I doubt that I will ever knock on that door, even though the picture of that curbside garden is the desktop image on my computer. Something in me has already become afraid.

I had to leave the house for veterinary emergencies or appointments every single day last week and by last night it had taken a toll. Next week I have doctor or dental appoints or therapy 3 different days. I want to stay here and be quiet but I will do what I need to do.

What can I say to you? I seem to have no energy or imagination to write something meaningful, I am rambling, listless, and wondering, as I often have, what it is that I have to offer anyone through my writing. What is it I have to say? What is it that you want to hear? Can you tell me?

In Parker Palmer’s sample chapter he writes that he really did not think he would ever write another book after his last one. He wrote little essays and poems he shared with a few people but he really didn’t think he had a book in him. But a discussion with a friend changed things and led him to write his new book. He writes…

“…Sheryl asked, “Have you thought about gathering
those essays, along with some of your poetry, editing them,
writing some new material, and weaving all of it into a
book, the way you did with Let Your Life Speak?” The conversation
that followed is a good example of how we get by
with a little (or a lot) of help from our friends, just as the
Beatles claimed:

Me: No, I haven’t. I mean, a book has to be about something.
My short pieces have been all over the map.
Sheryl: Um, that’s not true. I know, because you’ve sent
me a lot of those pieces over the last few years.
Me: And you think there’s a theme running through them?
Sheryl (after a brief silence): Parker, do you ever read what
you write?
Me: Of course not. Why should I? I write the stuff. But,
OK, I’ll bite. What, pray tell, have I been writing
about?
Sheryl: Getting old! That’s what you’ve been writing
about. Didn’t you know that?
Me (lights blinking on in my brain): Well, no . . . But now
that you mention it, a book on aging might be interesting
. . . Wow, am I ever glad I had that idea!”

I think right now I need a Sheryl. Maybe that could be all of you out there reading this. Can you answer me this — What, pray tell, have I been writing about? I tell you, in this moment, I haven’t a clue! I do my blog post every single day and like Parker Palmer these short writings feel like they have been all over the map. Is there a theme? When I started this project I called it a “Search For Happiness” but I have gone so far afield from my original intent I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. It would be a tremendous help if you could point it out to me. If you could leave a few thoughts in the comments below I would be deeply grateful. It might help me navigate these waters ahead.

It is so dark outside it looks like night is falling. The fireplace app that I have on my computer desktop taking up half the screen is nearly lulling me to sleep. I will spare you any more random thoughts or odd queries but I do look forward to hearing why you have to say. What, pray tell, have I been writing about? I really want to know.