all things ya ya.

well. i just returned from a night of celebration with constance, as she has just finished her book. (i'm so proud.)
we had a lovely dinner (albeit at the bar) at pf chang's, and then we whisked ourselves across the street to the movie theater and watched the divine secrets of the ya ya sisterhood.

yes, i really saw it. and.
yes, i liked it.

...this is incredibly difficult for me to admit, honestly. i've turned into a bit of a film snob over the past couple of years, and when i hear descriptions like "pandering cliche" (see cnn.com's review) of movies such as ya ya, i automatically cross said movies off my "list". however, with t-bone burnett involved in a soundtrack featuring artists like alison krauss and lauryn hill, i was curious. and then, i find out that maggie smith is in it, playing a precocious louisiana woman. i love maggie smith. i will gladly watch sister act just to see her. anyway, anyway. t-bone and maggie are not my main reasons for liking this movie. i liked it so much because i feel it.

the ya ya story has so much to do with how i'm endeavoring to live my life: to find out who i am, where i come from. to honor the stories. to keep them like treasures and share them like gifts. the good and the bad. the joy and the suffering. (it's all we got, you know.) and this movie spoke that kind of truth to me.

when something speaks to your soul--and your soul responds--it's an important, sacred moment. and really, who the hell wants a movie to do that kind of work? doesn't that feel cheap, or like manipulation? i don't want sandra bullock to move my soul. how embarrassing. however...

it happened. i feel it. and i am incredibly aware of the non-linear emotional weight of memory. it's always there, of course, but a soul-stirring like tonight makes me all the more aware. and such movement gives me permission to grieve, to exhale. to remember. furthermore, i get to plug these emotions into a holiday we call father's day: an upside-down kind of celebration anymore that allows me to simultaneously honor my loss of father as well as gratefully acknowledge all the other dads around me.

the irony is that a movie celebrating the legacy of women (and a supposed pandering cliche at that) is the threshold for father's day weekend for me. huh.

and i am off to east tennessee tomorrow morning and early to visit jim. my car is full of cowboy belongings: saddle and bags, blankets and other tack. transistor radio and king james bible. zigzag tobacco. and boots.

yeehaw. and peace.

(oh and pee ess: thank all of yews for coming around 1000 times tonight. i am very blessed by your continued presence.)

all things ya ya.

well. i just returned from a night of celebration with posted by ohchicken at 6/14/2002 10:28:00 PM

Tuesday, June 11, 2002

bursting through

A sense of the presence of the Great Unnamable may burst through the seeming ordinariness of life, Samuel Palmer says. And I really can't get past it, mostly because I'm desperate for the bursting. It's night as I write this, and I'm dog-sitting. It's a quiet screened-in porch kind of night, with Damien Rice singing, "why'd you sing alleluia if it means nothing to ya?" The dogs are sleeping at my feet, and the crickets are awake. Is this the bursting through of the presence? Is that what I sense here?

Or. Is the Great Unnamable always bursting forth, right in front of us, and we simply miss it? Annie Dillard quotes a rabbi (whose name I forget) in her book, For the Time Being: "It is men who are absent, never grace." And Becca once preached, "vision is sight with grace." Is there alwaysthe chance for vision to sense the Unnamable presence if I would simply show myself as present? Is that what Samuel meant when he said, "Here I am" in the middle of the night? I really do ask myself such questions over basil pasta and wine, on Tuesday nights.

And I do think that maybe the answer to my questions is "yes." Show up, girl. My friend, Sarah, had her own Samuel on Sunday night. He is a six-and-a-half pound kingdom of God. And I held him tonight, nestled in the crook of my right arm, for an hour. He slept. His sister, Dorothy, kissed his head relentlessly. And he slept. My busy mind hushed immediately at his stillness, and bowed reverently. We simply sat together on the couch, Sam and I, as Sarah ate cake in the other room and chatted with her mothers, who have come to welcome the boy. And, if you ask me if all was well for our hour, I would simply smile at you. Of course.

Monday, June 10, 2002

to go or not to go.

so. here is the short version of my daily thoughts as of late: should i go to ireland?
yes, yes, i was just there (i remember), but i have the chance to go again and for awhile. to write. to be. to live. and, of course i want to go; there are so many fantastic friends there who i love very much...

so go, right? but. of course, such good things are contingent on a lot of other things, i.e. money, job security, and the big et cetera.

so. wisdom. discernment. a plan. i am trying to figure it all out.

karen (whom i wish the whole world could know) reminded me of a "model" of discernment that she taught me once before: live life as though i've made the decision to go: for a day, a week, a month, and see how i feel. write it. experience it. believe it. pray it. then, do the opposite and again, just see how it all ends up in my mind and heart.

how quickly we forget what we're taught. i was thankful for the refresher course.



pray for me, friends.

jayne is in brunei.

if you like good writing about important things to know, then--by all means--visit jayne's blog today. (right now, even.)

her experience so beats the rainforest cafe.

cheers.