An Image of My Wife

This is my first post as the lucky husband of Kendra: Lover of Bumblebees

She opened up that organic white cheddar cheese that was starting to mold in the refrigerator. My eyes widened with the thought of her preparing me a good meal with cheese in it. She cut off the mold and put a few slices on a small plate and ran outside onto the patio (which is at eye level from our basement apartment). As it turns out, that cheese wasn't for me; it was for a kitty cat who entered the patio through a small hole in our fence. Upon delivering this cheese to its new happy consumer, she noticed the cat giving a high five to a rather large bumblebee who was returning with his own attempt at a mutual display of affection. Yes, the cat and the bumblebee were gesturing what looked like a high five.

Kendra left the cheese for her newly adopted visitor cat, who then ran away. She poked the bee to check his vital signs and saw that his end was near. Rather than send that bee to its creator, as most would do to this "damn pest", she scooted him under the elevated fire pit so that nobody would step on him. She preceded to visit and check on that bee every few hours for the next two days until he was finally home in that sweet, big honey comb in the sky. She spoke of him as if he were an old friend and his passing as the inevitable ending in a broken world. In this snapshot of Kendra, this bumblebee was, in fact, a friend - a friendly reminder of this good earth's simple treasures, of a patio where a kitty cat, a bumblebee and a woman can share some space on God's good earth for just a few moments.

Of Poetry and All the Rest

At a conference once, I got to pose a question to Anne Lamott. It was a question about writing, about art. I asked if she thought art could do anything. Could art motivate people to change? Could art inspire people? Should it be created with the intention of doing either of these things? Was it worth creating at all if it couldn't do either of these things? She was not the first artist I'd ever posed this question to; the first artist was a Welsh poet, who was taken aback at my question, and insisted that she would never "presume" to inspire anyone. Huff.

Anne Lamott apparently thought the question deserving of more than abrupt dismissal. She answered that she thought art was the thing that shone through the cracks of the broken world; art was the light beyond the dark. Art provided hope in desperate times.

I think, then, that God cannot be unlike poetry. Like poetry, but that where poetry only approaches, only mimics, God is and will do.

When I consider that one man can kill thirty other human beings in a morning, I find myself skidding across the burnt and blackened shell of our world, frantically looking for the cracks; looking for the narrow, faintly lit crevices; gasping at the drips of water slipping through the rock. When I find the droplets, I suck at them. When I see the cracks, I scratch at them with my fingernails. I cry,
please let me just touch your hem,
please leave us just with a little light,
please, please,
we take it all back, we take it all back, we take it all back.
Please, please,
our throats are parched.

Filling in the Gaps

Perhaps we will encourage more commentary if we stop expostulating on moral gastronomy and simply give a little update on our lives. So, here's a recap of recent times, in no particular order:

1. We gave up the car for Lent. We should have given up chocolate.
2. Greg and Shea came to visit. They took us clubbing with hundreds of med students. We took them to the zoo.

4. Kendra began freelancing. Find her most recent stuff here.
5. Our apartment flooded...again. But our landlord took half off our rent for that month. Lucky us: with the extra money, we replaced our cracked car windshield.
6. We got official(ly robbed of our rights):7. We went on a church retreat, our first since high school. It was in West Virginia. The water didn't work. The speaker owned a dachschund. It was pretty good.
8. We went to the orchestra, to the opera, and to the ballet. No, Kendra is not making that much freelancing. We have a connection.
9. Sara Lepori visited. Tanya Lubansky came over with her. We took them to the zoo.
10. Jeremy Weber and his entire family came out to visit (his mom for the first time since Jeremy was in utero, his dad for the first time since sixth grade). Mitch also came. Jeremy took them on a slave march around the National Mall; we slept in. We sent them to the zoo.
11. We bought a couch! It is blue and cream, and fits into the house just fine when you take the front door off its hinges. In our ongoing dispute between simplicity and hospitality, hospitality has gained one point.
12. We did several peace marches.And found Lindy Scott at them.
13. Kendra's parents came to visit. We ate lots of good food, but didn't make it to the zoo.

Fin.