last night I had a dream
but ...
night thoughts
ephemeral
cannot be something
one has
Or had
so I lived a dream
a brief
moment
as an artist
swirling
colors on canvas
with bold
strokes
and feathery
ones
in my dream
with paint
on my hands
I saw what I
created
and could touch, smell, believe
the night thoughts
until …
where did
what I had, go?
the swirling
colors
bold strokes
and feathery
ones
in the
morning light
stick
figures
on college rule
Sometimes you do something dumb because you are having a dumb moment, and sometimes you do something dumb because you don't know any better.
And sometimes … yeah.
So, in early October Jonathan sent me a small wish list for
his birthday and Organized Me got right on it. I went online, placed an order,
and when the items arrived, I wrapped them. I gave myself a high five because I
was two weeks ahead of schedule. Go me!
When Jonathan came home, I placed the wrapped gifts in front
of him. He opened gift #1.
“Thank you. I can always use another game controller,” he
said.
But he had a funny look on his face. He opened gift #2, a
book. Again the funny look.
“Um, I got this last Christmas,” he said.
When he reached for the third present, I had a bad feeling.
Sure enough, he had already received present #3 last Christmas.
“MOM!” everyone protested.
“But YOU sent the list!” I protested.
It took some investigating. Jonathan did send a list, and I saved it a
file. However, when it came time to order the gifts I had opened an old file. One from
LAST CHRISTMAS.
The result? Jonathan’s birthday gifts were repeats.
Now, I am sure you are wondering why I didn’t realize this. In
my defense, I did think it through. For example, I knew Jonathan received a
controller before, but I thought he needed another one; I did recognize the
book, but I thought it was Part II. Or something.
Sigh.
Sometimes you do something dumb because you are an idiot.
Anyway, I leave you with this photo only because Jonathan's expression then was Jonathan's expression the other night while opening his birthday presents (which were really his Christmas presents, on repeat).
A few weeks ago, I came across the photos from Simon Roberts’ exhibition, Beneath the Pilgrim Moon (2021), featuring sculptures that were wrapped in plastic during the refurbishment of London’s Victoria and Albert Museum. The fact that the photographs were taken during the second Covid-19 lockdown (while the museum was closed to the public) makes the images reflective of a world that stood still during a pandemic.
A world trapped by fear and ignorance, hemmed in by borders,
trapped by the unknown.
The images are haunting, beautiful, sad.
Life as we know it can change in an instant, casting us onto
unchartered waters in a rowboat that heaves to and fro with the current. There
is so much that can bring us to our knees — grief, addiction, unemployment, death,
self-doubt, illness, divorce, disability—all of which, like the plastic
covering those statues, can leave us feeling trapped.
And yet … the images are also hopeful.
I look at those trapped images encased in transparent
plastic and realize all those things that can paralyze us do NOT prevent God’s
light and grace from shining through to us. And when we dig deep to our faith, we can see
through the circumstance, whatever it may be, to see beyond to that light and grace. To receive
it.
And to find the hope.
Last Thursday I drove to Athens to pick up Timothy (and his friend, Nathan) to bring them home for Fall Break. It was late afternoon when I arrived, and before hitting the road we decided to have dinner at O House. So there I was, clearly NOT a student, sitting in a college dining hall surrounded by Timothy’s friends who went out of their way to keep me entertained. The stories, the joking, the teasing … I laughed so much and was, quite honestly, flattered by their attention. Mrs. Novajosky listen to this, Mrs. Novajosky did Timothy tell you about what happened, Mrs. Novajosky tell me about your trip to Italy. At the end, I got hugs from EVERYONE. What a great group!
With Jonathan and his fiancée, Caroline, also in town, we
had a full house (minus Nicholas and Lauren). And just like that, I was in my
happy place. Golfing for Jonathan and Joe, hanging out with Augusta friends for
the college guys, lunch at Manuel’s Café for Caroline and me. Then, of course, there
was football. Timothy and Nathan watched the Penn State game from the kitchen
table as they did their homework (physics and calculus, BLECK) and for Saturday
night Mass they both wore Georgia red and black. When we got home, the two of them made a
beeline for the television to catch the last quarter of the game.
(Let me pause to acknowledge this Saturday’s game between #1
ranked Georgia and #2 ranked Tennessee. Timothy said the campus is in a frenzy.
He and his buddies will be up at the crack of dawn to catch all the festivities
leading up to the game, and during the game their goal is to be featured on the
jumbotron. Yeah, so there’s that.)
Saturday evening, as Timothy and Nathan were packing (Jonathan and Caroline graciously agreed to drive them back to campus), they
came into our room and showed us Nathan’s purchase from earlier that day: a
pair of shoes, BOTH for the right foot. After the laughter, I promised Nathan
that I would go to the store this week, get a LEFT shoe, and mail everything to
him.
And that’s what I did today: mailed a care package with
cookies, Kinder treats, football silly putty, a baby sloth (Timothy’s sloth,
Marvin, has a following at UGA, so this is the baby?), AND a pair of shoes.
I also included Dr. Seuss’ book, The Foot Book, because for
all their physics, calculus, and engineering classes, I think they are
forgetting basic life skills such as knowing the RIGHT foot from the LEFT.
It’s been a week since I returned from Italy and I am still not fully unpacked, something I tend to do after any big trip, mainly because I am still reliving the experience and my bags, bundles, and souvenirs keep it all tangible.
Currently our dining table looks like an Italian mercato
due to all the wrapped packages and souvenirs. Last night I was looking over
everything when I came across a stack of receipts in my travel wallet. There were
receipts for food (gelato, espresso), souvenirs (jewelry, linens, art), and
entrance fees (the Abbey of Monreale, the Royal Palace in Caserta).
Those receipts filled me with wonder: Last week I ate a margherita
pizza outside the Galleria in Naples! Purchased a painting from a street vendor
in Taormina! Ate an arancina with seppia (cuttlefish)! Drank an Aperol
Sprtiz on the rooftop of our hotel in Rome!
This sense of wonderment is something I experienced often
during our time in Italy. When I was walking among the Greek ruins in
Agrigento, meandering through the small streets and alleys in Ragusa, throwing
a coin in the Trevi Fountain or gazing at a Caravaggio, I wasn’t so much struck
by the beauty of everything as I was by the fact that I was there . . . physically
there. Pinch me, I am dreaming! Then, every night when I summarized our adventures in my journal,
when I read through everything we had done, I again felt that wonder as I asked myself:
Did we really do that?
Traveling in a foreign country is an adventure, and every
day we headed into the unknown armed only with a map, some guidebooks, and a
spirit of adventure … all enveloped in an abiding sense of wonder.
And it is an overwhelming sense of wonder—both during and
after our trip—that is the reason I still haven’t fully unpacked.
