in love with change

Not sure how much I will be blogging in the next few days.

My daughter Elizabeth waited patiently at the airport yesterday for me to pick her up. Her flight unfortunately precisely coincided with a much needed eye doctor appointment that I had to take my Mom to. I was sorry to make Elizabeth wait but she was very gracious about it though she had spent many many hours getting from Beijing to Grand Rapids.


If you could hear this you would hear a basic musical resolution.

The stuff that was bothering me yesterday all was resolved with the help of some clear profession direction from my brother and the good leadership of my boss. Whew.  A thank you goes out to colleagues (Hi George and Rhonda!) who heard me out during this process.

Today the wind is blowing hard here in western Michigan. They have been predicted a terrible snow storm will move in from the southwest but so far nothing.


I finished reading Mary Oliver’s Winter Hours  this morning and resolved to read more of her. The last lengthy prose poem uncannily rhymed a bit and commented on the blowing wind. It also moved around in spaces where my head often goes especially this time of year when one is forced to confront the ideas of religion bouncing around everywhere in stores and media.

Here are a couple passages:

We hear on the forecast that it may snow, or it may rain, and there will be high wind. Certainly there is wind. The rest passes out to sea, but wind is sufficient. Clap of invisible hands and all the winds together, those breezy brothers, they are on their way.

Speaking of the ocean near where she lives, Oliver writes this beautiful clear passage:

Sometimes the surface takes on a tarnished glow, as it heaves and throws the white spume skyward. One could be standing in the same place, by the same sea, a thousand years ago. In spite of the motion and the noise, that glow releases something strangely peaceful. It is not unlike the calm that one reaches in the deepest influence of great art, where the spirit senses that purest of mysteries: power without anger, injury without malice. For nature and art are in this way twins: they are both beautiful, and dreadful, and in love with change.

Post script: I loaded this blog to find that daughter Sarah had changed the color to green (something I had asked her to do). I think it looks great! Thank you, Sarah!

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