The Captain

Perched atop his electric wheelchair
the captain of this tiny vessel in a bustling park
grasped the pole with his aged fingers

And his little grey dog
sniffed the dried leaves and gum behind him.

With a quiet whir
he began to reel it in.
A fluttering,
colorful fish
across the deep
blue Atlantic sky.

The wind picked up a bit. Tore at the ladies' skirts
and nipped at the scuttling leaves.

And he let out the line
and the kite shrank
smaller
and smaller
to a tiny speck.

Floating over the city. 

Lost to the World

I found out that one of the best professors I ever had passed away yesterday.  He wasn't terribly young, but still.


Such a good, kind, thoughtful soul.

You could tell he GOT it.  He cared about his students.  He opened our eyes to new ways of seeing and understanding.  And he always, always remembered the human side.  Architecture school can be brutal. 

My grandfather died freshman year of college and I was a little apprehensive approaching Ken about missing "Contemporary Design Approaches."  But he didn't hesitate.  "GO," he said.  "You need to be with your family now."

That second semester, I had him again in studio (the hands-on class that's worth six credits rather than four, the place where, as an architecture student, you pretty much LIVE, unless you're in another class or occasionally eating or sleeping), and he worked us so hard.  Not so much demanding impossible quantities of models or drawings, but mentally worked us, really challenging the way we saw things, our assumptions, allowing us to stretch ourselves without us even realizing it.  I came out of that studio with a deeper understanding of space: form, void, scale, movement.  I think I worked harder for him than I did for any other studio professor. 

Then my second year, when I was thinking about leaving architecture, I talked to several of the faculty about it.  This man said to me, "I'm not going to tell you what to do.  You have to do what makes you happy.  You could be a very good architect, if you chose that, I want you to understand that.  But in the end you need to choose what makes you happy."  I almost wanted someone to tell me what to do.  To allow me to not have to make that choice.  If he told me he thought I should do one thing or another, I probably would have just done it.  Almost unquestioningly.  

He lost his daughter while I was in school.  He had some pretty bad health problems.  Yet somehow, he was always there for the students, for the community. 

Love suffereth long, and is kind; love envieth not; love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up...

I just am overcome with this deep sense that we have all lost something rare and beautiful.

I Got My Rock Moves

Well, I got this on Cragslist for $10:

Then I bought these:

So, I am thinking, with this:

...and this, I might just be able to come up with something worthwhile, even though I haven't sewed anything since 8th grade (and even then, it was nothing to brag about). 


I have been feeling all this restless creative energy lately.  This past week especially.  Just wanting to be alone, to produce, to beget, to conceive and to give, to heal through creation.  I learned some sad news last night about a professor from college.  I will probably post later about that.  

Food Storage: Existential Crisis

So I am the "Provident Living Specialist" for my congregation.  Basically I am supposed to get people to store several months' worth of food and stuff like that.  Anyway, I sent the following email to the listserve, with picture attached. I figured I should share it here, because why not? 

I haven't done one of these ramble-y Provident Living emails in awhile.  But I felt inspired.  In the midst of a minor existential crisis which seemingly came out of nowhere, I had a very important learning experience which helped me realize the importance of food storage.  


I don't want to go to work tomorrow.  I can't face another day.  It's November already. 

You know.  It was one of those days.  You have had one of those days too.  We have all had one of those days.  Cranky.  Whining.  Dressed in in PJ pants, sequined dress, and oversized brown sweater.   A veritable self-described "wad."  And I was so hungry, yet there was nothing that seemed appealing to me.  I kept wandering into the kitchen, hoping beyond hope that there would be something in the cupboard that seemed palatable.  But no luck.  Each time it was still all the same food.  Yes, it was real rough. 

I flopped down on JDH's bed, where she finally made a suggestion for a food item which would have helped get me out of the funk (or at least which would have tasted really, really good).  Made with organic semolina pasta from durum wheat, cheddar cheese, whey, buttermilk, butter, salt, and natural sodium phosphate...

Yes.  Annie's Bunny Pasta. 

BUT WE DIDN'T HAVE ANY!!!!

Brothers and sisters, I am not sure I can convey the distress which consumed my soul.  Even if I typed a colon with twenty-three left parentheses, it would not be sufficient.  In the moment, it was - truly - agonizing.  "Well, we could go to the grocery store and buy some.  How does that sound?" JDH suggested, almost timidly.  Okay, I nodded.  I put on my boots (see picture, which I have included so you can really get a sense of the experience), and we headed over to the thankfully-still-open store.  Once back home, with aforementioned bunny pasta, I realized that the whole situation could have been entirely prevented, if only I had kept sufficient stores of the soul-healing substance on hand.  It has a good shelf life.  It is easy to prepare.  I am the Provident Living specialist.  I could have totally been all over it. 

And really, the point of it all is that I WILL.  That's right.  I'll never let this happen again.  And really, what IS emergency preparedness, beside preparing for any and all foreseeable disasters?  Am I right?  Am I right? 

Shameless plug for cheesey bunny pasta. 

90 Degrees?

When we put furniture in the corners, it becomes evident that there are very few right angles in this apartment. 

The Most Beautiful

Yesterday morning the church bells began to chime out some old hymn as I was walking/running in to my office from the T.  I started to find myself getting a little annoyed, I think because it sounded like too cheery of a song (believe it or not, I don't really like a lot of cheery songs, especially not cheery churchy songs).  That is sad that I would feel annoyed, because those bells are one of my favorite things about this location.  Anyway, the phrase ended up surprising me and resolving itself into a sorrowful minor chord which filled my soul with this beautiful achy feeling.  

Then, this morning, I was walking through the rain in my new boots, noticing to myself how the clouds diffused the light and deepened the color of every single leaf, how the moisture saturated every dark tree trunk and released that cool earthy scent, how droplets of water on railings reflected a black and white world gleaming with russet and amber and saffron. 

And I thought to myself, this might just be the most beautiful autumn of my life.