Backyard

Didn't mean to squirt the praying mantis with the power nozzle.
Of course I divert the water elsewhere
And watch with admiration
As she determinedly crawls back atop the echinacea.

I turn off the faucet and rest on the porch step.
That aspen, straight ahead in the back, has grown
Slender, and straight.

One cricket starts up. I always hear the first one cricket.
Another in echo, then in unison
Hailing the twilight.

A forehead, gently pushed against my knee
I reach down to scratch her neck.
She rolls on to her back, exposing her massive belly.
I run my fingers through that long, soft, teddy bear fur
She purrs a quiet humming, complete in the moment.

My neighbor has family over
A pleasant, happy gathering.
I think about a friend who might as well be next door
Or on the other side of the world.

The stillness sets in, each sound distinct.
I take a sip of peach and grapefruit soda—tart and sweet—
And put the can to my cheek for the fizz,
A million bubbles breaking at the surface
Extending the moment.

Personal Rituals

Last weekend, Kevin and I made our traditional trip to the Utah Shakespearean Festival in Cedar City. This is the largest, longest-standing tradition in our marriage, and when I was back to work, I felt a sense of loss that the trip had been completed. With a baby due before then, I'm not sure if seeing plays next year will be feasible (and there's a great line up of plays too).

This trip is more meaningful than just seeing plays. It's about visiting a city that's familiar to Kevin, and has become familiar to me too. It's honoring the grave of someone close to both of us. And it's about completing our yearly ritual of visiting a group of bristlecone pine trees to privately inventory our hopes and wishes, and draw on the strength of these old-soul trees to carry our wishes through tough times. This got me thinking about rituals we do as individuals, couples, friends, and families.

A ritual differs from a tradition in that it contains some level of ceremony, even if it's a small amount. A ritual is an action that is somewhat meaningless in itself, but given the ceremony, this common action takes on special meaning that, when coupled with our own willingness, has the ability to change us and our perception of reality. The magic in ritual comes only from our willingness to let it work changes in us. Otherwise, it's merely an empty act.

I know many of you have religious rituals. Temple attendance, baptisms, weddings, the sacrament/Eucharist, fasting/Lent. These are often initiated by institutions, depending on what religion you subscribe to. What I'm curious about are other rituals you perform outside of those prescribed by your religion. Ones that were invented by you, your family, your friends. The little intimate rituals that come from our humanity, our practice as believing beings, as social beings, as people who like to attach meaning to our actions and visibly show what we feel inside.

For instance, have you ever let a balloon go up into the sky, watching it lift away a burden or care that had been weighing you down? Have you ever lit a candle when a loved one was struggling? Worn a ring or bracelet as a reminder of a promise you made, or your dedication to a cause? Grown a rose bush in someone's memory? Made a yearly pilgrimage to a cemetery? Said a poem that connects you to an experience or individual? Retreated privately into a special spot in the wilderness to pray? Are there ritual words you exchange with the one you love that signify a renewal of your love, be it once a day, a year, or every 10 years?

Beyond Composition

It's 6:00 pm on Tuesday night, and I'm avoiding grading research papers. I've read through the stack, and I have only to match them up to my rubric. What that's done, I'll submit grades, and enjoy the week and a half before class starts again. I've never taught two classes during one 4-month period before while working full time, and it's kept me more than busy (thank you, oh fetus, for not making me too sick to teach). It will be nice to be back to just one long night a week.

People ask me why I do this. The answer is because I think it's what I'm meant to do. In fact, one of the recommended careers for my Myers-Briggs personality type is English teacher. I love mentoring others. I love discussing ideas. It's more satisfying than staring at a cubicle wall, and since I need to have my cubicle job to survive, I also teach on the side.

There's a reason I only need a master's degree to teach my class. The tenure-track professors are bored by general education classes, and even though students pay as much for my class as they do for any other three credits, they can pay faculty with only a master's a lot less to do it. That being said, I love my students. I have some of the hardest-working, sincere students. They know that English is not their best subject, so they come ready to learn. It's fulfilling that way.

But sometimes I dream of something more. Over the weekend, I popped into the bookstore on the SUU campus. I am always tempted to see what other schools are teaching in English, so I went through the shelves. I found a class on coming of age in the Pacific Islands. I found another on the Southwest desert with Wallace Stegner and Terry Tempest Williams, among others. One was a seminar on Willa Cather. But the one I found so intriguing was on graphic novels. They were reading Batman, the Incredible Hulk, America's Greatest Comics, a novel in woodcuts, and a theory book on Reading Pictures. Oh, how I would love to teach (or take!) a class on that. While I loved studying the classics, if I could do it all again, I would dive into the world of excellent contemporary literary art.

You know, I miss that. The exploration. English majors have all the fun.

August Afternoons at Last

When I look at the xeric gardens we have, it's amazing to think they were ever anything but spectacular and huge. I remember this post I did last year when I was very frustrated that my garden was not coming along as I thought it might. Here are the pictures I posted.

Here it is in April 2008:

And in July 2008:

And here it is now (if you look you can see the blue polka-dot chicken):

It's almost in full bloom (the oregano is just starting to flower), but already it's covered in small orange-striped bumble bees.

And, just because a certain 17 lb, 8 oz cat always brightens my day, a garden view (with the other chicken on the far right), and Aja's wide belly.

Why does it look like she's scowling? Well, she's a cat. And I just made fun of her weight.

Idaho Summer

Everything flows, nothing stands still.

You could not step twice into the same river, for other waters are ever flowing on to you. (Herakleitos)

Garden Life

The flowers we have in our garden attract a lot of life—particularly bumble bees and hummingbirds. If we attracted more butterflies, I'd consider the fauna to be about perfect.

I just spent five minutes watching at least six hummingbirds drink and rest in my garden. From nearly the size of an insect to the size of a sparrow, it seems to me a miracle that these birds were created to hover and shift in the ways that they do. I thought about grabbing my camera, but you know, sometimes nature just wants to be observed by the human eye.

Power of Imagination

"Worrying is using your imagination to create something you don't want." - Abraham-Hicks

I feel like I should give this post a warning that it's a little hippie. Hey, I'm in a condition here. A beautiful, natural, healthy condition. I get to be as hippie as I want to be.

Imagination in itself is like a form of creation. I find some major flaws in the philosophy of attraction—despite our best intentions, there are many things we don't control in the universe. So, some ideas I take, and some I leave. Overall, realizing I'm at least in control of my own thoughts has led me to think about the power of imagination and where I invest my energy.

As I think about my pregnancy, about Kevin's new graduate program (accepted, but no public details here) and his new job (still looking), and about all of the transitions we're facing, I'm so grateful for the power of imagination—for being able to think about what I desire and then thanking God for that blessing, even if I haven't received it at this point in time. Because I believe all time is before God, I don't think it's ever too early to feel grateful for something like having a beautiful healthy baby. A strong, sound pregnancy. Career success for Kevin and me.

The Navajos said that nothing was ever created that wasn't first dreamed. What good things are you imagining and creating in your life?