a tea-time discussion

dear rory,

today a battle raged somewhere deep inside of me. I didn’t hear legions of soldiers marching in formation, stomping their iron-shod feet, shouting war chants with blood-lust in their mighty voices, brutally clanging their weapons, or savagely awaiting the trumpets to sound and the war to begin. instead, I heard a much more civilized battle taking place. a battle that involved two professors in tweed suits sitting down over a cup of tea (maybe they were speaking with British accents? don’t judge.) and discussing life.

meet professor heart and professor mind.

professor mind is notorious for being selfish. he enjoys going to pity-parties and holds many an audience captive with his pitiful descriptions of his pitiful life. despite his flaws, he does wish to be better than he is. he knows that his disposition is not right, but he has been selfish for so long, that he often forgets he is striving to become something better.

professor heart usually fights for what is just and right. he knows that he was bought with a price, and with the help of the Holy Spirit, he works at becoming a new creation. although he occasionally has his moments of weakness, he tries to seek after wisdom and to correct professor mind in a way that is kind, but firm.

these two professors usually meet somewhere inside of me. at a little out-door café. or so I imagine.

during their civilized battle today, I overheard a discussion of theirs.

their dialogue went something like this:

“ah, professor heart! I’m so glad that you could make it. please, do take a seat, and let me ring for the tea to be brought out. it’s such a dreadfully hot day, and I feel it all the worse, for I spent half the morning cutting the grass. or rather, I spent half the morning thinking about cutting the grass and dreading the task of actually doing it. it is such a bother that *I* should be the one to do it. why can’t somebody else do it instead? doesn’t everyone know I have better things to do than to get sweaty and dirty cutting a lawn? I’m sure I should have been resting my poor head. I woke up with such a dreadful headache, you know. oh! here’s the tea!”

“how long did you say that your mother has left to live? I know that she has been sick for quite some time now.”

“my dear professor heart! wherever did you hear such a thing as that? my mother is in perfect health, thank goodness! she has never been better, in fact. although, *I* have been feeling slightly down lately. I tell you that I am *quite* overworked. most people don’t have any idea how much I do for my family. why, just yesterday I had to…”

“and when did you say the bank was going to seize your house from you?”

“did I say that, professor heart? good heavens! the rumors you have been hearing! no, no, the bank is not going to seize our house! we are managing tolerably well, I assure you. things have been a bit tight… did I mention that we are going to have to sell some of our furniture? I was quite put out when mother told me so. to think that a respectable family like us should have to sell some of our furniture. it’s not fair at all, to be sure. why, if only we had more money, the things I would buy! First of all, I should like to get…”

“how do you find the soup kitchen at the shelter for the needy? I hear that they actually make quite a decent lentil stew.”

“the soup kitchen, professor heart?”

“yes, and how is your factory job going? the one that works you from dawn to dusk?”

“uhmm…professor heart. if I could but interject for a moment…?”

“and your father… it is such a shame that he is not a hard working man. I hear he visits the pubs so frequently that…”

“professor heart! none of these things are true! we are quite fine, believe me. I have good health, a home, food, and hard-working parents. I do not have to work from dawn until dusk, I assure you. I only have a few measly chores around the house, and mother and father work so hard that these tasks of mine are comparatively nothing. we are doing quite splendidly, thank you. have I made myself perfectly clear?”

“yes, quite clear, professor mind. forgive me for asking. now, what were you saying before I interrupted?”

“I… uhmm… well…”

needless to say, professor mind went home feeling very ashamed of himself. he resolved not to complain anymore and decided to be even more helpful than he had been of late.

professor heart went home with a smile on his face, quietly singing a ditty he had learned as a child: “do everything without complaining…so that you may become blameless and pure children of God.”

and I went in from mowing the lawn… *cough cough*… feeling especially grateful for everything that God has given me and wishing that I had spent less time that morning complaining and more time giving Him my thanks.

hopefully professor mind has learned his lesson. but I’m guessing he’ll soon forget it and have to be reminded again. good thing the café is open twenty-four seven.

your strange, imaginative friend,

muffin

after the storm

muffin! oh hi. =]

firstly I ought to warn you that there is nothing of importance in this post. seekers of wisdom or profound sayings, go no further. consider yourself duly warned.

so. I basically love this: 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9DPbJorCcNw

[hear it out & let it grow on you.] How have I not heard them before?!

note:: please do not tell me you've known about them since you were 4. you would simply be joining the masses of humanity who all seem to have been born with mumford&sons playing in the background, while I frolicked around in musical ignorance. 

second note:: I have heard OF them before. but for the longest time their name simply swirled through the dim, cobweb-y recesses of my brain along with similarly unknown artists such as [don't judge]

selena gomez

fallout boy

florence + the machine

eminem

flogging molly

I know nothing about their music [although maybe I have unconsciously heard songs of theirs without realizing who they were]. these are all names that are stuck in my head, surfacing every time I hear someone mention them. perhaps someday I'll look them up on youtube simply so I can say, "oh him? yes, of course; such a talented vocalist," or "she's rather too eclectic for my taste, though I'm hardly one to judge," as the need arises. we'll see.

And after the storm, 

I run & run as the rains come

And I look up... I look up...

So yesterday I had the privilege of tickling two pairs of little feet, cleaning two little faces, & being a policeman chasing two little "bad guys" all afternoon. oh yes. I make a fearsome policeman, you'd better believe it. However, I will not vouch for my ability to construct jails, as my prisoners tended to escape under cover of giggles.

I like little people. in all their sticky, banana-mushing, toy-throwing glory. granted, it's tiring to keep up with them: their ability to wreck everything within reach never ceases to amaze me.

But at the end of the day there's nothing like tucking a small person into bed with a favorite blankie, humming Amazing Grace until breathing steadies & imagination takes flight.

[side note:: it's funny that you wrote about memories in your last letter. they've been on my mind lately, too. memories fascinate me... moments imprinted on grey matter, postcards to be read&reread for years after the postmark. touching one brings an overwhelming flood of emotion: happy or sad or jolly or miserable or the rush of butterflies against your ribs. never wearing out with frequent use; dimming only through disuse. what a concept.]

Alrighty. Gotta run. My song has ended & my toast is merrily burning in the toaster. [not sure which is the greater calamity.]

Always,

rory

visiting & paving memory lane

dear rory,

why do we become attached to inanimate objects?

at the moment I am sitting in my camper. i spent some of the afternoon standing on top of it. scrubbing away the dirt. washing it clean. shining it up. making it glow under this unrelenting august sun.

we’re going to sell this beloved hunk of metal, plastic, wood, cloth, and three-year-old dead ladybugs. we're going to sell my camper.

this camper is just a product. there were hundreds of others made exactly like it, and now it is considered an old model. maybe even ancient. nothing special about it... right?

what this camper is made of isn’t special to me. it’s what made this camper special that is.

when i look out of the camper window right now, i don’t see my small backyard.

i see 6:30 a.m. somewhere in wisconsin. a few ambitious kids are gathered around a barren fire-pit, and in the distance someone is hauling a load of firewood in a wagon. i see matches and lighters and newspapers. a spark begins to catch. i see proud faces, toothy grins, and high-fives all around. i see the adults waking up and coming out of their campers. breakfast sizzles over the new-born flames. and after a day of running, biking, and swimming, i see millions of stars blanketed across the midnight sky.

when i close my eyes, i don’t hear my sister talking, my dog panting, or an airplane overhead.

i hear rain tapping on the canvas roof. i hear birds singing (it sounds like some of them are screaming, good heavens!). i hear people chatting and laughing around picnic tables. wood crackles and children cry out with delight at the sight of a toad. my friends are calling me to hurry up and get ready so we can bike to the lake.

why is it so hard to get rid of inanimate objects?

i tried explaining my sadness in losing those memories to my dad. he asked me if my mind would be wiped clean once the camper was sold.

i guess he's right in a way. the memories will always be there. even if the object of those memories is not.

am I sad that my camper is being sold? yes. will it be sad to watch the source of many memories be bought by some random stranger? yes.

but i’ve noticed something about happy memories... you can always make more if you want to.

make some happy memories with me?

much love,

muffin

on compliments

my dear muffin,

I am sitting at my oaken desk, bouncing a slippered foot and meditatively twirling my quill pen. [metaphorically speaking, of course.] 

something you said to me today made me smile. or rather, it's still making me smile. and then it made me think. 

it wasn't anything important, really: just a little comment that rang sincere. you probably didn't think twice about it, but I knew it was heartfelt, and it made me feel better about something that was bothering me. it was a compliment that stuck.

you see, lately I've been noticing a trend in compliments. we-- and I count myself among those charged-- are guilty of handing them out like so many observations about the weather: oh hey. I like your shirt. your jeans. necklace. hair. earrings-bracelet-shoes-purse. etcetera ad nauseum. And although we do mean them, somehow the flippancy and sheer number undermines their worth. 

I remember the first time my 3.year.old cousin complimented me. she walked up to me, looked me over, and said in her tiny voice, "Hi. I like yore shirt." then she considered, and added "I like yore earrings." and finally "I like yore hair." then, having completed her duty, she skipped off to join her other little friends.

It made me laugh at the time. in her string of compliments I could hear myself, my friends, the female species in general: she had watched us, seen us exchange greetings&compliments, and concluded that that was the way things were done. when I paused to reflect, though, it made me realize how deeply ingrained this compliment-exchange is.

it's become our unconscious expectation. a meeting can hardly pass without one person complimenting the other. and then, naturally, the second person waits a suitable amount of time & returns the favor. 

let's get something straight. I have nothing against compliments. like any normal human being, I appreciate them. when well-placed & genuine, they can uplift, encourage, and brighten a person's day. 

but I've decided to watch the compliments I give out. I want each one to be special, sincere.

like the one you gave me this morning.

[can I be like you when I grow up?? =]

-rory