I love ...

I love hanging lanterns 

and sun-dappled pebbles 

and frogs that hang out 

and rustic front doors.

A Conversation about Bananas

During our son’s freshman orientation this week we were inundated with information. Speakers, break-out sessions, information tables, pamphlets, handouts. Our conversations revolved around classes, and tuition, and dorm fees, and dining plans, and … it went on and on. By the time we left our son at Russell Hall while we spent the night with my brother and sister-in-law, we were googly eyed.

But then I had a sweet conversation with my sweet eight-year-old nephew which provided a nice (and humorous) contrast to all that boring, grown-up college talk.  The conversation was about bananas.

Now, I like bananas, but I cannot stand banana strings—those long strands, which can be thick or thin, that dangle from a just peeled banana. If you know, you know.

 Some people are not bothered by the strings. Joe, for example. Once he peels a banana, he will eat it strings and all.

Ack. Bleck. I cannot watch or even THINK about it without triggering my gag reflex.

On the other hand, after I peel and discard a banana peel, I then spend several minutes inspecting the banana for any errant banana strings. I turn it over and over, poking here and there to make sure there are no strings. Only when it is string-free will I eat it.

So, at my brother’s house I was peeling a banana when I noticed my nephew watching me intently, a funny look on his face.

“Sometimes I don’t like bananas,” he said, with his mouth full of a freshly baked pastry. “You know those stringy things? They make me cough.”

And he made a face. 

“Whoa. Buddy. I totally get it!” I told him. “Banana strings make me gag.”

We then spent several minutes talking about banana strings and how gross they are and how they cause gagging, coughing, and pukey feelings.

Best conversation of the day.

 

For my nephew ...

Why did the banana go to the hospital?

It wasn't peeling very well. 

~~~~~

Why do bananas have to wear suntan lotion?

Because bananas peel!

Choosing Hope to Find the Joy

It may seem paradoxical to be reading The Book of Joy when the nightly news offers an endless barrage of doom and gloom. School shootings, political vitriol, gas prices, racial unrest, muggings, murder, mayhem ... honestly, where is the joy in the face of suffering, pain, loss, and bedlam? 

Then I read the following quote from Archbishop Desmond Tutu. 

"It is also good to recognize ... how incredibly noble people are. You know human beings are basically good. You know that's where we have to start. That everything else is an aberration ...the fundamental thing about humanity, about humankind, about people, is that they are good, they were made for good, and they really want to be good."

The Archbishop went on to say that we must keep a more holistic view. Yes, terrible things happen; yes, there is so much doom and gloom. But we must have a sense of proportion and a wider perspective. This doesn't mean sugar-coating events or looking at the world through rose-colored glasses; instead, we must look with honest eyes at the whole. 

And in doing so, we won't feel despair but hope. 

NOT optimism (which depends on feelings) but HOPE (which is based on the firm ground of conviction).

As I am typing this, I am trying to think of ways to apply the Archbishop's quote on a practical level--to right here and now while I enjoy my morning cappuccino. What can I do? Like the Archbishop, I fundamentally believe that people are good, were made for good, and really want to be good. But I also acknowledge that the goodness can sometimes be hard to see. 

Then I read another quote from the Archbisop: Despair turns us inward. Hope sends us into the arms of others.

So that's where I will start. With hope. Out in the world. To stand in the face of the bad, but celebrate the good; to witness the ugly, but bring forth the beautiful.

To open my eyes and see the world holistically and honestly, and still choose hope. 

To choose hope is to step firmly forward 

into the howling wind,  

baring one's chest to the elements, 

knowing that, in time, 

the storm will pass. 

 

~Archbishop Desmond Tutu

The Book of Joy 

blooming bushes and budding greens

dawn tiptoes along the sky

whispering promises

of new starts

again beginnings

of blooming bushes

and budding greens

 

once upon a time

awaiting the story

*from the files of very bad poetry by bia

Timothy's Top 10-ish on his 18th

I had planned to write a mushy post in honor of Timothy's birthday, but alas! he would get embarrassed. So I'll do a Top 10-ish list instead. Not embarrassing at all. 

1- Once Upon a Time Timothy thought chocolate was made by mixing water and dirt with spoon. He changed his mind once he tasted it.

2- He loves art galleries. Like, really really likes them.

3- He also really really likes school. Like, just look at that enthusiastic smile.  

4- Timothy and his brothers like to "crick" each other, which is brother-speak for wrestling.

5- In preschool he once got in trouble for saying "poopy words" (exact words in the teacher's note) while the class was rolling out gingerbread dough for cookies. To which I thought: give a child a chunk of brown, lumpy dough and poopy words are a given. 

The very next year in Kindergarten, he received the Christian Service Award. So there's hope. 

6- His older brothers teach him lots of useful things. Pokémon stuff and Formula 1 stuff and video games stuff and how-to-get-out-of-jail stuff. All useful.

7- Timothy was once King of Kandy Castle when his brother let him win in Candy Land.

8- He likes corny jokes.

Q: What did the fish say when it hit a wall? 

A: Damn.

9- Give the kid a Nike sneaker and he can conquer the world. 

10- He gets into serious arguments with his brothers on which Top Gear show is better: American or British. Yikes. Timothy will take you out if you mess with Jeremy, James, or Hammond. British Top Gear all the way.

11- In Disney World, Timothy agreed to sleep on the Princess bed if  Nonno slept in the bed next to the door. You know, to be the first line of defense against an ax murderer. Or a serial killer. Or a Disney Princess.

12- Timothy started working at Publix when the Pandemic lockdown went into effect with a goal to save up enough money to buy his first car. His first paycheck was for $71. Exactly one year later he saved enough to buy his car  with no help from mom and dad.

 

13- Baby brothers grow up. Who knew? Happy birthday, Timothy! 

DISCLAIMERS:

1- Numbers 2 and 3 above are sarcastic. Art museums make him yawn and school is tolerable. Barely.

2- He didn't eat the "chocolate"  but he learned a lot about mud.

3- His "poopy word" was poop. Didn't want you to think it was something else.

4- OF COURSE he won't take you out if you malign the British Top Gear show. But he WILL think less of you. 

Speak to Me Sunday: Living the Question

Wallowing in mediocrity.

Not to be overly dramatic, but those words can haunt me.

As someone who writes (or tries to), plays the guitar (okay-ish), loves art (but is not an artist), dabbles in poetry (the very bad kind), decorates (but panics when selecting paint color), follows fashion (but sticks to wearing black) ... well, I look at that list and think: I am okay at this, I am good at that. Okay is good. Good is good. But is it wrong to yearn to be GREAT in any one of those things? To be able to put pen to paper effortlessly? Play the guitar without sheet music? Create inspirational poetry? Wear bright yellow (or pink or purple) and own it? 

No, it is not wrong, for even as I wallow in mediocrity, even as I struggle to be where I am, the journey of being okay-ish leaves mountains, oceans, galaxies of self exploration and improvement to explore. Being okay-ish dispels complacency and embraces growth.

In truth, I am not so much wallowing as living a question. 

The poet Rainer Maria Rilke, in Letters to a Young Poet, said we should have patience with everything that remains unsolved in the heart; that we must love the questions themselves; that it is okay not to look for immediate answers because then we could not live them. 

And it is important to live the question. 

A question is a good place to begin. It launches astronauts into space, stirs a longing for God, inspires artists, gives imagination to the writer. A question fuels the search, which immediately sets you on a journey. 

Recently, I had an opportunity to live the question when a friend and I signed up for a Beginning Drawing class in Aiken. Suddenly I was immersed in a world of composition, harmony, perspective, light and shadow. I learned the different types of graphite pencils and how to find the vanishing point. I learned how to view the world in a different way, and what a beautiful world it is!

Very Bad Art will now be added to my Files of Very Bad Poetry. 

Which is all sorts of wonderful. I am living the question and love every minute of it.

Have patience with everything that remain unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, liked locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day. 

Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

A Forever Family on Valentine's Day

This morning I grabbed my CASA photo id and showed up bright and early at Columbia County Courtroom #1 to witness love in action at an adoption proceeding.

Finally, my CASA child was getting her forever family. 

After 62 months in the foster care system, after being placed with three different families in the past year alone, after being enrolled in three different schools in that same period, after losing the chance for adoption two years ago when her foster father suddenly passed away, after all this time today, on Valentine's Day, this precious 9-year old now has a mom, a dad, and a baby sister.

When the parents raised their right hands in a solemn oath to care for and love this little girl who will now be considered their biological child, there was not a dry eye in the place. 

Later, after hugs and gifts, I thought about all the love that brought about this moment. It is so easy to focus on all the brokenness, on an overburdened foster care system and overworked caseworkers, but there is so much courage and heroism and love. It is there, believe me. I am humbled at how hard everyone worked so that today a little girl is no longer alone in the world. 

It was a perfect love story for Valentine's Day.  

photo used with permission

Dear ----,

When I was a little girl, one of my favorite possessions was a Memory Box. When I first received my box it was empty, like this one I’m giving you, but over time I filled it with things that held a special meaning for me: a small silver bracelet, some flower petals, postcards from our family vacations, a letter from my grandmother, ticket stubs from Broadway, photos of my family.

I still have my Memory Box, and now I want you to have one, too.

Today is a special day because you and your forever family have found one another. You now have a new Mom, a new Dad, a new sister. They have you. And I hope you will use this Memory Box to collect and store all the beautiful new memories you will be creating as a family.

Love,

Maria Novajosky, CASA

February 14, 2022