A floral wreath I created for a funeral at church for a very lovely brightly coloured lady, my darling valentines flowers from Tom, and my awesome pattern of red and pink shoes in the living room.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Also Awesome
Also Awesome
A floral wreath I created for a funeral at church for a very lovely brightly coloured lady, my darling valentines flowers from Tom, and my awesome pattern of red and pink shoes in the living room.
New lovely things
New lovely things
Thursday, February 24, 2011
The Happiest Employee on Earth | The High Calling
There’s a bright yellow band of construction tape blocking the administrative entrance to my company’s main building. Apparently killer icicles are hanging from the roof line forty feet above, threatening to bludgeon unassuming office workers arriving to work.
That wouldn’t be pretty.
In any case, I had to go around and use the main entrance to the manufacturing plant. It was about 4 o'clock, and most of the first shift had already left for the day. A few workers were still milling around outside the plant entrance, chatting on their cell phones, leaning against the wall, waiting around for their rides to show up.
The gray sky had started to snow again, this time a soft, light sprinkling of giant sugar crystals. The news called it a "dusting," which made it sound pretty and mythical, like we were in the land of faeries and elves rather than the gritty tableau of exhausted hourlies coming off their eight hour shift.
We all kept glancing up to the heavens, blinking at the thought of more snow tonight.
As I approached the lobby entrance, I noticed someone right smack in the middle of the entryway making odd, jagged movements with his body.
It was an employee, dancing. Right there in the middle of the walkway, right in front of all those parked cars and passerby's.
It was Donny.
Donny has a mild form of Down Syndrome. His job is doing routine maintenance stuff around the plant: painting, replacing things, odd jobs and the like. He’s good at it - very conscientious, dependable, friendly, and, most of all, he’s happy.
Over the years Donny has become a fixture at our company. He lives at home with his mom and dad, and usually rides his bike to work. But today it was snowing, again, so I guess his bike couldn’t make it through the snow and ice, and, like the other stragglers, he was waiting for his ride home.
But instead of just leaning against the wall with a blank stare, he decided he should start dancing. His feet jiggered this way and that as he hopped up and down, bouncing slowly to the rhythm in his head.
Two Hispanic guys in a white pick up truck pulled up next to him and rolled down the windows. Salsa music was playing on their radio, and they turned it up loud. Then they just sat there, watching Donny dance to their instant soundtrack.
"I’m doing a snow dance!" Donny shouted to no one in particular, his arms flailing every which way and his face pointed straight up to the sky. His eyes were shut tight and a brilliant smile crossed his face.
I walked past him and smiled, too, but he didn’t see me. He was too busy dancing, caught up in the movement of his body, feeling the sensation of the cold flakes falling onto his eyes, the raw beauty of the chill on his face.
I reached for the main entrance doorway, and I heard him shout again, "I’m doing a snow dance!"
I turned to get one more glimpse of him dancing, unrestrained and uninhibited, and felt a pang of – something. What was it? Sadness? Compassion? Jealousy? The thought crossed my mind, surely, he must know something that I don’t.
He is the happiest employee I’ve ever seen.
I can hardly make it through a single day without worrying what someone thinks about me. And I am usually so consumed with my petty worries and projects and meetings that I barely even notice the sky. Except to complain about it.
What must it be like to be so uninhibited, to be so happy just because it’s snowing and you finished up another good day of work? Walking down the hall to the conference room, I realized I already had the answer. You would laugh. You would dance. You would turn your face to the sky with a brilliant smile.
Photo by smithmakaay. Used by permission, via Flickr. Post by Bradley J. Moore.
This is a beautiful article
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
Drumming as Prayer
Whilst at the SCM conference this weekend just gone by I took part in a drumming workshop. Using West African drums, Kara, the workshop leading lead us through a new way of praying.We each had a copy of a psalm, (86 I think) and whilst reading through it silence, meditatively, we had to look for words or phrases that leapt out at us, and ponder those words. Very similar to Lectio Divina if you've ever tried that.Then we had to drum out that phrase, either the rhythm of the words, or sounds representing those words, or sounds on how the words made us feel.My words were "For To You I Cry" and as the session word on I drummed the rhythm, the shape, the sound of crying. Sometimes I just just drummed a cry.All the words and sounds of the group looped together. Sometimes there was a big sound, all in sync, and other times chaos and no rhythm. I sat quietly for a time and listened to the sound. And naturally, gently it came a close all together. When our prayer was done.I found praying with my whole body like this, going over and over my cry to God as my hands were busy, my feet busy, my easrs busy so soothing so easy The active me was occupied, and the rest of me could focus on God. It was grand to hear my prayer subsumed into the large prayer of the group.This became a theme of the weekend, looking for ways to pray with the all, to keep focused on God. I taught some to knit, ans some made knots and plaits of wool whilst praying. Some suggested praying with clay or plasticine in ones hands.I've been diving in and out of prayer since coming home. Looking for the time for the subversive silence all through the day.
Drumming as Prayer
Whilst at the SCM conference this weekend just gone by I took part in a drumming workshop. Using West African drums, Kara, the workshop leading lead us through a new way of praying.We each had a copy of a psalm, (86 I think) and whilst reading through it silence, meditatively, we had to look for words or phrases that leapt out at us, and ponder those words. Very similar to Lectio Divina if you've ever tried that.Then we had to drum out that phrase, either the rhythm of the words, or sounds representing those words, or sounds on how the words made us feel.My words were "For To You I Cry" and as the session word on I drummed the rhythm, the shape, the sound of crying. Sometimes I just just drummed a cry.All the words and sounds of the group looped together. Sometimes there was a big sound, all in sync, and other times chaos and no rhythm. I sat quietly for a time and listened to the sound. And naturally, gently it came a close all together. When our prayer was done.I found praying with my whole body like this, going over and over my cry to God as my hands were busy, my feet busy, my easrs busy so soothing so easy The active me was occupied, and the rest of me could focus on God. It was grand to hear my prayer subsumed into the large prayer of the group.This became a theme of the weekend, looking for ways to pray with the all, to keep focused on God. I taught some to knit, ans some made knots and plaits of wool whilst praying. Some suggested praying with clay or plasticine in ones hands.I've been diving in and out of prayer since coming home. Looking for the time for the subversive silence all through the day.
Wednesday, February 09, 2011
My 5 Daily Essentials
1. That first cup of tea at work. It puts the day to rights. 2. A moment of quiet where I can knit, read or pray. 3. A moment to read all the inspiring blogs I follow, especially the
pretty flower ones. 4. Some time spent outside. 5. Most importantly, a hug and a kiss from my husband. I know, it's sickening, but my world feels wrong if I don't at least
kiss him goodnight. As tagged by The Fabulous Miss Pickering
http://www.misspickering.blogspot.com/
pretty flower ones. 4. Some time spent outside. 5. Most importantly, a hug and a kiss from my husband. I know, it's sickening, but my world feels wrong if I don't at least
kiss him goodnight. As tagged by The Fabulous Miss Pickering
http://www.misspickering.blogspot.com/
My 5 Daily Essentials
1. That first cup of tea at work. It puts the day to rights. 2. A moment of quiet where I can knit, read or pray. 3. A moment to read all the inspiring blogs I follow, especially the
pretty flower ones. 4. Some time spent outside. 5. Most importantly, a hug and a kiss from my husband. I know, it's sickening, but my world feels wrong if I don't at least
kiss him goodnight. As tagged by The Fabulous Miss Pickering
http://www.misspickering.blogspot.com/
pretty flower ones. 4. Some time spent outside. 5. Most importantly, a hug and a kiss from my husband. I know, it's sickening, but my world feels wrong if I don't at least
kiss him goodnight. As tagged by The Fabulous Miss Pickering
http://www.misspickering.blogspot.com/
Tuesday, February 01, 2011
Dancing and the way it makes my heart ache.
Lying on the floor tonight in a cool dance studio, half lit by
daylight florescent tubes, I felt my back ache and my heart ache along
with it. We were supposed to the cooling down, but the smell of sweat
and feet and lycra and jersey, and the soft but hard feeling of a
sprung floor took me back into my past. I has 15, 16, 17, 18, dancing
6 nights a week, able to dance phrases of Cunningham, Alston,
Anderson. Meeting Christopher Bruce in the dance studio at school on
the off chance, learning about contact improvisation and how to lift
people, and how to dance to silence. My poor young but old bones. My joints are tight and I can't feel free
when I move. Leaden with 5 years of not enough dance, using the wrong
muscles in the gym, not the ones for dancing. But when I stop worrying
about all the bright young things in the class watching me as my non
existent movement memory fails me and I dance in the wrong direction,
I feel alive. I feel my soul stir and my heart soar. This is always who I was. Someone who used my whole body to express
myself. I breathe in and I breathe out, feeling my thorax swell and
feel my centre in this place. Here I am talking to God in this place.
In this sweaty, painful now.
daylight florescent tubes, I felt my back ache and my heart ache along
with it. We were supposed to the cooling down, but the smell of sweat
and feet and lycra and jersey, and the soft but hard feeling of a
sprung floor took me back into my past. I has 15, 16, 17, 18, dancing
6 nights a week, able to dance phrases of Cunningham, Alston,
Anderson. Meeting Christopher Bruce in the dance studio at school on
the off chance, learning about contact improvisation and how to lift
people, and how to dance to silence. My poor young but old bones. My joints are tight and I can't feel free
when I move. Leaden with 5 years of not enough dance, using the wrong
muscles in the gym, not the ones for dancing. But when I stop worrying
about all the bright young things in the class watching me as my non
existent movement memory fails me and I dance in the wrong direction,
I feel alive. I feel my soul stir and my heart soar. This is always who I was. Someone who used my whole body to express
myself. I breathe in and I breathe out, feeling my thorax swell and
feel my centre in this place. Here I am talking to God in this place.
In this sweaty, painful now.
Dancing and the way it makes my heart ache.
Lying on the floor tonight in a cool dance studio, half lit by
daylight florescent tubes, I felt my back ache and my heart ache along
with it. We were supposed to the cooling down, but the smell of sweat
and feet and lycra and jersey, and the soft but hard feeling of a
sprung floor took me back into my past. I has 15, 16, 17, 18, dancing
6 nights a week, able to dance phrases of Cunningham, Alston,
Anderson. Meeting Christopher Bruce in the dance studio at school on
the off chance, learning about contact improvisation and how to lift
people, and how to dance to silence. My poor young but old bones. My joints are tight and I can't feel free
when I move. Leaden with 5 years of not enough dance, using the wrong
muscles in the gym, not the ones for dancing. But when I stop worrying
about all the bright young things in the class watching me as my non
existent movement memory fails me and I dance in the wrong direction,
I feel alive. I feel my soul stir and my heart soar. This is always who I was. Someone who used my whole body to express
myself. I breathe in and I breathe out, feeling my thorax swell and
feel my centre in this place. Here I am talking to God in this place.
In this sweaty, painful now.
daylight florescent tubes, I felt my back ache and my heart ache along
with it. We were supposed to the cooling down, but the smell of sweat
and feet and lycra and jersey, and the soft but hard feeling of a
sprung floor took me back into my past. I has 15, 16, 17, 18, dancing
6 nights a week, able to dance phrases of Cunningham, Alston,
Anderson. Meeting Christopher Bruce in the dance studio at school on
the off chance, learning about contact improvisation and how to lift
people, and how to dance to silence. My poor young but old bones. My joints are tight and I can't feel free
when I move. Leaden with 5 years of not enough dance, using the wrong
muscles in the gym, not the ones for dancing. But when I stop worrying
about all the bright young things in the class watching me as my non
existent movement memory fails me and I dance in the wrong direction,
I feel alive. I feel my soul stir and my heart soar. This is always who I was. Someone who used my whole body to express
myself. I breathe in and I breathe out, feeling my thorax swell and
feel my centre in this place. Here I am talking to God in this place.
In this sweaty, painful now.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Flowers for grandparents
Flowers galore
Flowers galore
Flowers for grandparents
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
DarkCopy - Simple, full screen text editing
DarkCopy is a simple, full-screen text editor for distraction free writing.
DarkCopy is for anyone who enjoys the simplicity of a typewriter, and wants to increase productivity by focusing only on writing. It was created as a free, web-based clone of WriteRoom.
Go ahead and try it! Simply start typing and toggle to full-screen editing mode to clear your mind.
Add DarkCopy to your browser: DarkCopy (drag the link to your bookmarks toolbar)Help us spread the word: Stumble this Digg this Del.icio.us Facebook
via darkcopy.com
So useful!
DarkCopy - Simple, full screen text editing
DarkCopy is a simple, full-screen text editor for distraction free writing.
DarkCopy is for anyone who enjoys the simplicity of a typewriter, and wants to increase productivity by focusing only on writing.
It was created as a free, web-based clone of WriteRoom.
Go ahead and try it! Simply start typing and toggle to full-screen editing mode to clear your mind.
Add DarkCopy to your browser: DarkCopy
(drag the link to your bookmarks toolbar)
Help us spread the word:
Stumble this ??
Digg this ??
Del.icio.us ??
via darkcopy.com
So useful!
Clearing my mind
This is my new document and I'm just going to write and write and
thing and write. There has been a whirl of things going on again. Looking back at old
posts, I used to write so freely and happily and feel better for it.
And now, I don't write at all, just give floods of images because I
don't know what to say. I feel at once little and huge, that strange sensation of my body
looming and my mind shrinking. One blurs away from the other as if I
am being distorted or liquefied. Where do you out your creativity when you can't use it? Is there a
little box somewhere where it lives until you need it? The gloves are
helping. Beautiful wool whirling into numbers and stitches. I read the
old glove like a pattern and try not to rip back too much. Will they match? That is the question. People look amazed at the tiny
stitches and a la the Yarn Harlot, I nod, smile, explain and take the
compliments. I don't get a lot of those these days and I need the
reassurance like air. Working so much, so hard is irritating me, but I will remain faithful
to this goal we're striving to reach. Come February, we'll know one
way or the other how our lives will go for now. Faithful, faithful,
faithful. In the reading of the Word, in the praying, in watching and listening,
in being, in trying to live all things as we are meant to. I hate
struggling, but it feels like we must for just a little longer, a
little longer. I would like to go on holiday some where quiet with wine and food, and
just knit and write and paint. Almost like Devon at Christmas, but
perhaps with less people. Or I'd like a lazy afternoon with friends just talking and being, or
on a gentle walk. Not worrying about life, or tomorrows. Actually
living, not just muddling through.
thing and write. There has been a whirl of things going on again. Looking back at old
posts, I used to write so freely and happily and feel better for it.
And now, I don't write at all, just give floods of images because I
don't know what to say. I feel at once little and huge, that strange sensation of my body
looming and my mind shrinking. One blurs away from the other as if I
am being distorted or liquefied. Where do you out your creativity when you can't use it? Is there a
little box somewhere where it lives until you need it? The gloves are
helping. Beautiful wool whirling into numbers and stitches. I read the
old glove like a pattern and try not to rip back too much. Will they match? That is the question. People look amazed at the tiny
stitches and a la the Yarn Harlot, I nod, smile, explain and take the
compliments. I don't get a lot of those these days and I need the
reassurance like air. Working so much, so hard is irritating me, but I will remain faithful
to this goal we're striving to reach. Come February, we'll know one
way or the other how our lives will go for now. Faithful, faithful,
faithful. In the reading of the Word, in the praying, in watching and listening,
in being, in trying to live all things as we are meant to. I hate
struggling, but it feels like we must for just a little longer, a
little longer. I would like to go on holiday some where quiet with wine and food, and
just knit and write and paint. Almost like Devon at Christmas, but
perhaps with less people. Or I'd like a lazy afternoon with friends just talking and being, or
on a gentle walk. Not worrying about life, or tomorrows. Actually
living, not just muddling through.
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