The Lighthouse

the lighthouse

06 August 2013

Transfiguration




Happy Feast of the Transfiguration

This is my favourite feast in the whole of the liturgical calendar.
It is so because here the Old and New Testaments come together in the meeting of Moses, Elijah, and Jesus. (Elijah is beloved to Carmelites) It is the moment when man meets God, and is transformed in glory.

My prayer is that we will all one day see God face to face, and be transfigured. I look forward to seeing my loved ones revealed in all their glory... the new man that was hidden in the old... when their appearance will reflect their inner self.

O God, who on the holy mount revealed to chosen witnesses your well-beloved Son, wonderfully transfigured, in raiment white and glistening: Mercifully grant that we, being delivered from the disquietude of this world, may by faith behold the King in his beauty; who with you, O Father, and you, O Holy Spirit, lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

02 August 2013

Trending in a library near you: hugging trees

The Orchard house
The Lemon orchard
The Orchardist
The Apple orchard
The Courage tree
In the orchard, the swallows
Rubies in the orchard
Kilmeny of the orchard (ok, this is a bit of a cheat as it is from LM Montgomery and is very old, but I'm including it anyway. The creator of Anne with an e doesn't have to follow the rules.)


I find myself longing for a softly warm day, gentle breezes blowing just enough to whisper in the branches of the trees as I lay on a checked blanket, pretending to read but instead watching the clouds drift through the lace of leaves.

My book would be called 'The Lighthouse Tree'  It would be about An old lighthouse keeper at one of the last manned lights. Over the course of his long life he has had adventures, and encounters with memorable characters. The book recounts his story and the tree marks the passage of time.

What would your book be?

31 July 2013

Of hamster balls and grocery stores

What a co-ink-i-dink. From two different people through two different sources I came across helpful - and entertaining - information about introverts.

Also co-ink-i-dentally, I disregarded my inner voice of reason and went shopping.  The kind that involved large, sprawling, crowded stores - more than one.  I should have known better. For an introvert, the task of selecting the very best broccoli in a superstore amid a large and seething crowd is not only not fun, it is draining.  Exhausting. I bought a bath mat in one over-sized store, and groceries in another, and felt at the end of it just as if I'd been on the presidential campaign trail for a month. Too much visual information, too much stimulation, too much noise, too many people. Too much! I should have gone to my local and modest grocer, but I was tempted with the thought of exotic cooking oils, and housewares.

It's not that I don't like people, it's just that y'all wear me out! One of the helpful and entertaining articles about introverts I read described us as being in a human-sized hamster ball. That is our personal space boundary, and to us it is sacrosanct. We might invite you inside it, but if you poke at it without invitation, we will get cranky. (I become abrupt and take an actual step back.)

Poking might look like the lady I work with who peppers me with personal questions in a loud voice, and the large male patrons who loom over the desk, hands braced on the counter, fingers tapping, voice booming. In both scenarios, I become a figurative porcupine, curling up around my vulnerable underbelly, protecting myself against all comers with my spiney quills. Once in defensive mode, it takes a while to uncurl again.

Few people are welcome inside my hamster ball, but the ones that are tend to appear in it without me noticing. They've somehow got the knack of breaching the walls without laying a siege. I don't know how they do it... they must suck their own personal space up nice and tight when they approach me.

I don't want to give the impression that I'm totally antisocial because I'm not. I've had wicked good times at barn dances, amusement parks, Church basement socials, and Depeche Mode concerts - but then I stay at home and crochet for a few days, needing that time to process what happened and replenish the inner reserves.

Blogging is a hamster ball friendly venue. We can get to know each other at a very safe distance, and the rules are pretty much up to me. It's ideal, really, as long as I don't rely on it to the exclusion of real life with its contingent space-invading human beings.  It's good to be challenged, to be prodded out of my hamster ball.  And to get groceries from time to time.

28 July 2013

Of writing, and letters, and writing letters

Do you ever get personal mail anymore? A card or letter addressed to you without that little window telling you someone wants to slip their fingers into your wallet?

When you do – if you do – doesn't it make you smile?

Though separated by distance, writing a letter is like spending time with the recipient. They fill our thoughts as we write. They know that we have set aside time just for them in order to write the letter. I know that she will be able to read my thoughts, my stories when she has time, maybe over a cup of tea in the evening. She will be able to return to it again and again... so I'd better make it worth the reading of it!

I have one friend in particular I write long letters to. We were nearly half a country apart for many years with little opportunity to be in the same room together, and while a phone conversation would bring her immediately into my presence and was satisfying in its own way, writing a letter allowed me to set the scene, describe a humorous event, share snippets of something I'd recently read that I knew she would enjoy. I could picture her in the comfy chair she had in her kitchen window, cat in her lap, tea and cookies beside her. I knew she would laugh out loud, prompting her husband to ask to hear it, and she would share the letter with him.

Not only does she have the freedom to take her time with the reading of it, doing so as time and inclination allow, but I also have the luxury of time with the writing of it. I can put down the pen in order to look up that funny bit in the book I wanted to share with her; I can answer the phone when call display reveals my mother's number; I can go for a walk when I've been sitting too long and come back to it reinvigorated and freshly inspired.

A letter is a connection. I will hold the same paper you did. I can tell something of your mood by the state of your penmanship. I admire the paper you chose.

“What's so often missing in our lives today is the richness of shared humanity, those moments when we feel really connected to other human beings. The act of writing personal notes not only feeds our own soul, but also lets us share ourselves with other – offering hope, affirming life, connecting.

But let's clarify. Although we have the great advantage of advanced technology and electronic gadgets that keep us instantly and constantly in touch, we often feel a deep void that can only be filled when we take a moment to reflect, experience, and reach out for another. Ironically, the can come from something as old-fashioned and simple as writing a personal note.” (Personal notes / Sandra E Lamb)


Writing a letter is 'slow communication' and like other slow movements, it's an indicator of the desire for a more intentional life. It is a creative act, an expression of self. Women, being relational creatures, do poorly in isolation. We need to connect with others; the sending and receiving of letters is a beautiful way to establish that connection.

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Admitting to a fondness for the handwritten note results in a spectrum of reactions from appalled disbelief, to rosey-lensed nostalgia, to enthusiastic glee. Many people think composing by hand is outdated and a waste of time – why not use a computer with spell check? (I edited an article recently in which concur was used when conquer was meant. Good job, spell check!)

Tired of defending my position with the good-old-days argument, I began to research the merits of handwriting (some of which research involved long, ranting conversations with my sister. We solve many of the world's problems in this manner.) but it turns out there are benefits to pen and paper, and even benefits to cursive over printing. Here are a few:

In school, notes taken by hand are remembered more clearly than notes tapped into a computer.

The physical act of holding and moving a pen (or pencil, naturally) engages the brain in ways typing does not. It involves areas of the brain used for thinking, language, and memory – not so with typing which entails one action to form a letter. Cursive actually uses both hemispheres of the brain.

The ability to spell well increases with handwriting over typing – its about muscle memory as well as time and attention.

Children taught to print are quicker to learn letter recognition and to develop certain learning centres of the brain. In fact, MRI studies have shown that children who have letter instruction have neural activity similar to an adult's.

It also helps develop fine motor skills.

Writing by hand is more beneficial for formulating ideas and expression.

Test takers who answer by hand typically score higher, with more complete answers.

The handwritten requires focus. Focus is good, especially for the distractable among us. We are more focused when we write because the reticular activating system is stimulated. Its job is to give more importance to what you are actively focused on at that moment.


When composing by hand, we tend to think first, write second. The order is often reversed when a keyboard enters the picture.

As for cursive over printing, the learning of it is much easier, and there are advocates for teaching children penmanship before printing. Think of a preliterate child giving you a story they've written. It is a page filled with loops, formed from bottom to top then back down, from left to right (mostly). The motion is natural and fluid with the pen not leaving the page until the end of the word. That is another benefit, as then spacing rules are clear – a novice printer leaves awkward spacing between letters and words clouding comprehension. Because the strokes are consistent, learning letter formation is much easier than when printing which has multiple starting points.

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When it comes to every day life, there are undisputed benefits of technology. Email and texting have their place. But for the personal, the meaningful, the intimate, nothing surpasses a handwritten communication.










27 July 2013

Five sentence fiction: Limitless

 
Limitless

 
I ache from the sweat-soaked hair tucked under my hat to the bruised and tender toes in my boots. I push the straining, quivering muscles of my legs to move me one step higher up the path, one step nearer my destination. My feet are becoming uncertain under me, slipping on loose rocks, tangling in fallen branches, sliding into deep depressions in the dirt. It is only my will that propels me forward, in the end, to the summit. And at last I know:

 I am limitless.

26 July 2013

St. Anne and Matthew vs Massimo

Have you ever watched The Wedding Planner? I saw it recently and got to thinking that as nice as the fairy tale is, the other story also needs to be told, the story of Mary's parents who met on their wedding day, grew to appreciate, then respect, then like, then love each other.

Don't get me wrong - I'm all for romance and the grand gesture. What girl isn't? But doesn't it seem like we put too much emphasis on the romance and the gesture, and not enough on the respect and the like?

Couples with successful marriages - meaning those that last - will tell you it takes work, that love doesn't sustain itself, that it doesn't always feel good and isn't always easy. Despite the dreamy dates of courtship and the creative expressions of love, marriage ends up being about who does the dishes and how to squeeze the toothpaste. Not exactly fodder for a Hollywood romcom.

The wonderful thing is that despite the work and the negotiations and the daily life of it all, those successful couples will also tell you that it gets better with time, that love does endure though it is not the same as it was (it shouldn't) and that (as one wife has told me) she still loves the smell of his shirts when she does his laundry. That is a story worth telling.

This all supposes making the right choice in the first place, the right mate, the right spouse, the right partner.  In The Wedding Planner, Jennifer Lopez (Mary) meets Matthew McConaughey and he is pretty and successful, but belongs to someone else, and frankly, is a little spineless. Her father introduces her to Massimo who promises to keep a good roof over her head and love her more than anyone else will. Mary is attracted to Matthew - he seems the ideal, and fears she would be settling with Massimo though they share a common background, and family connections (more important than we give them credit for) and he fits in with her friends. She chooses Matthew.

If Mary and Matthew were a real life couple, I believe that not long after the beautiful wedding, the reality of day to day living with the actual person rather than the idealized version would reveal the shaky foundation of their relationship.  On the other hand, perhaps Mary and Massimo, though more prosaic in their approach would end up being one of those successful couples forty years down the road talking about how it just keeps getting better and better with time. They wouldn't have had unattainable expectations, they would have entered into marriage knowing they had to work at it, and they would have given the other an opportunity to prove themselves. There would have been room for growth and willingness to grow together.

Am I reading too much into a simple movie? No doubt. Am I blowing sunshine up your shorts (I just watched Top Gun, as well) writing about marriage as a single person? You bet. It is, however, the Feast of St. Anne. I've prayed her novena these last nine days, and have been reflecting on men and marriage. I don't have any deep insights or surprising revelations. I do know that friendship is a key ingredient in a successful marriage, and I'm pretty sure Massimo makes for a better friend than Matthew.

25 July 2013

A Porch, two ways

Stretch, screech, slam

The day is measured by the thud and twang

Open and close

Of the old screen door.

Run, leap, sneak

The years pass by with the press of feet

Up and down

The wooden porch stairs.


***   ***



I would buy a house for it's deep front porch and an old, wood-framed screen door.

The porch would be L-shaped, and access both the kitchen off the short leg, and the front hall at the centre of the long leg. There would be thick, curvy corner posts and a substantial balustrade running the lengths, all in glossy white, with here and there dried nodules of paint where the previous owners hadn't caught the drips when they last touched up the faded bits. The main steps from sidewalk to front door are wide, and creak slightly, especially the third from the bottom which sags a little in the middle. The sound of enthusiastic feet thumping up and down those stairs echoes in the empty cavern under the porch, the sound of long summer days when school is out and freedom means adventures, and lemonade under the big oak.

The creaky screen door to the kitchen has a handle just big enough to fit your finger under, and you have to pull hard from outside to open the door. The coiled spring protests rustily and quickly snaps the door shut as soon as you let go. The screen mesh warps from true with the years of hands and elbows and knees pressing against it. The thud and shudder of the door closing can be heard all through the house, and mark the comings and goings of everyone under the roof.

The porch is home to soft summer evenings of iced tea in the swinging chair hanging from the ceiling. It is comic books read laying on your tummy, legs bent and swinging idly behind. It is pumpkins decorating the stairs in the Fall, and twinkle lights cheering the bleak winter nights. This porch welcomes friends and family to come in for fresh ginger cookies with a cup of coffee and a cozy chat. It is cousins playing Go Fish and grown ups sipping beer. It is where dad grills the steaks while mom hulls the strawberries and a cat follows the sun in hour-long naps. It is where we sit to listen to rain from the rockers and wave to our neighbours as they stroll by.

The porch is home.