Write the Love

My friend the writer, who, without malice or even intent, inadvertently puts writers such as I in their place with his vivid portrayals of passion and love, leads a life seemingly filled with drama, excitement and intrigue. He sweeps ladies off their feet and gallantly rides in on his pony of passion to elicit romance known only to those few who brave the waters of torrid love and lingering lust.

I commented to him on my perception of the the excitement of his life and, what I was mistakenly feeling was the boredom of my own. I write, for goodness sake, about apple cake!! (See earlier post- if you dare.....) In his kind and gentle reply, as he has done so many times before, he provided sage advice: "Write what you see. That’s all I do. I write what I see. You see it. You can write to record it. Or you can write to right its wrong."

Right now, in my life, I see love. I feel love, and, I hope, I radiate love. I've decided, at least for today, I'm going to write the love.

I love my small town, which cradles me in its arms and helps me feel safe and happy. I love the nip in the air in the mornings as we take our walks and take in - not see- not view- but try to take in the raw and expansive beauty of the mountains, the river and the daily dynamic of clouds and mists and sunshine which act as an ever-changing lens on the beauty of this region.

I love this time of year, when as my wife said yesterday on our walk, "The breezes tickle Autumn right through your clothes and into you." Some leaves already explode with color and beauty as they signal their oncoming drift into another phase of life. The wind aids them as they cavort with one another, playing tag and footsie in the trees, savoring this resplendent time of love and life and beauty.

And I love, oh how I love, my family. They provide me daily with joy unbridled and soft peeks of the eternal happiness awaiting. They lift me up and praise me and help me through the rough times of doubt and discouragement. They love me when I'm most unlovable.

I live a short five minute walk from my work, so my family is never far away. Just today, my 15 year old daughter came up to hear an author speak at the University's weekly forum. He was funny and inspirational, and Kathryn and I shared a father/daughter time of joy and happiness as he signed the newly purchased books from two of his newest fans. Joseph and I share an evolving set of father/son bonds. Kicking the soccer ball used to suffice; now we need talks about things and jobs and girls and life. Those talks are often short, arising just after negotiating who will be driving to our next destination, but they are poignant, and, frankly, what a father longs for. And Granger, our 8 year old, brings me such deep joy and love each day. He is a spark to our smolder, a breeze to our doldrums and a purpose to our drift. We all love him so, and that love brings a greater unity to every other aspect of our family. And the joy, love and pride I feel for our exceptionally wonderful 23 year old, Elizabeth, is immense. She teaches special needs children and is not unaccustomed to coming home from work with bite marks or bruises. The love she feels for her work and her students is inspiring, and I'm sure it will be evidenced in her interactions with everyone she meets throughout her life.

Finally there is Sharlet, my wife. She has been by my side for almost 26 years, and has stood by me through the storms of life and the inherent drama of international moves, part time graduate studies, late in life doctoral studies and the myriad of tests and complications which make a 26 year relationship a 26 year relationship. She is my rock, my anchor. She brings me home- not with a look of distaste or a harsh word, but merely with a soft touch or knowing glance of love. Recently she and I have discovered the joys of text messaging, and it is truly thrilling to feel my heart skip just a bit at the sound of a new message from her. She holds my soul in her hand and has the power to do so many things to it. But her choice- and this says so much about her- is to sweetly, quietly and gently adore it and hold it to her breast.

She is the mother of our 4 amazing children. She has raised them to be wonderful souls who serve those around them, and seek to leave every person they meet a bit better, whether it be by a gentle greeting, a small act of service, or even a kind look which can say so much. Her motherhood has dropped the pebble in the pond of familial joy from which the circles will spread for generations.

When my shortsightedness brings darkness to my life and our lives, she is the light which remains, unwavering, ready to reach out and console and love and cherish. I cannot describe the debts I owe to her nor her willingness to waive all debt that we might simply enjoy life as two who act as one. We are united in life and love, and therein is my truest joy.

I feel so blessed and privileged to be living this life right now. Of course there are problems and concerns- but the love emanating from our marriage and home is a force not to be ignored. Today, it is one to be praised and written of. Please pardon what some may consider sappy ramblings. I love sap. I live for sap. For me, right now, sap is love and life and home. I may not be able to write drama and sexual intrigue, but I can sure try my very best to write the love.

On Being "A Writer"

The question of what exactly constitutes being "a writer" crops up with dramatic consistency amongst those who write. One can only imagine the Eagle and Child on Thursdays at 11:00, with Lewis, Tolkien, and the other Inklings pondering and debating the very same. So what does it mean to be...."a writer?"

I think, like most true answers, this one comes from within. If the state of being a writer is allowed to be bequeathed by those external to one's self, it will eternally come and go as the tide or the moon, waxing and waning in the spotlight of the uninitiated. It will be as ephemeral as the good wishes in a receiving line or the political cause du jour.

If, however, one draws a sense of self and "writerhood" from within, it becomes a state which means more than just a status- more than the transient dusty robes of academe- more than the whimsy of the Times critic or the inking sanctions of an overwhelmed editor. To be a writer, one must deign to acknowledge, first and foremost to self, that writing is what breathes air into tired lungs, sweeps the cobwebs from a mind thick of spreadsheets and reports, and fills the soul with a vibrance and awareness that comes only through the written word. A good wrestle to find the "mot juste" becomes a welcomed workout- not a distasteful labor in language. And, upon finally seeing that well-crafted, neatly polished and timelessly immortal sentence, a writer knows that the hours of paper balls or backspaces have been well worth the effort. Even if no one else ever sees it.

A writer writes- not just for others- but so he or she can breathe.
copyright @2008

Apple Cake

Our family has several close friends. (I know that might be surprising....) Certainly among, if not the, dearest, are the friends who brought us to our current job and town. Way back when, the father, with whom I share a birthday and a very close friendship, said, "Joe - we've just got to have you here." Twelve years later I'm still here, and we have loved it. They are celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary. What an amazing achievement in today's society! I've barely LIVED for 40 years, and they've lived together- married- happily --for that time. It's is truly awe inspiring to me.

Well, in honor of their anniversary and our friendship, we (Sharlet, my wife, did the lion's share, but I actually helped a bit- quite romantic, don't you think?) baked one of their favorite desserts- Apple Cake. (My friend doesn't eat chocolate. I know, I know- but we can still be friends....) We took it over to them last night and had a brief chat and just enjoyed being together as family and friends and doing a little good deed.

Now, here's the funny part. When we got back from doing that- we'd been gone maybe 40 minutes total-- on our doorstep was.... an apple cake.... from our wonderful friends who live two doors down. It was heavenly- a different recipe, but heavenly all the same. How did they know? And why apple cake instead of chocolate or white or yellow? I love the serendipitous moments of true friendship.

The circle of friendship is a tightly woven one, as our thoughts revolve around those who have come to own a piece of our hearts. Last evening this circle of friendship was evidenced by a synchronous circle of apple cake. And what a delicious and delightful circle it was. I do love small town life, and I especially love friends who know when a little apple cake is just what you need.

At What Price?

What is the worth-
Of a heart that is pure?
Of love that is untarnished and unbridled?

Without the niggles and vague memories
Of a former life- not real nor tangible-
Merely shadows of fantasy,
Masked with opaque luminescence.

Stand not in the opaque.
Embrace the sun
Dance in the open.
Live now and here.

Be.... and be free.