Black Pavement Ahead

Black Pavement Ahead

Black pavement ahead

Late/early work. Empty streets.

Two a.m. and home.

Rarely these days, but often when I was an ambitious workaholic, I am at my desk until the wee hours of the night. The cleaners have moved through my floor, vacuuming and emptying waste baskets. They have swept through the building and have departed. I sit in front of my computer trying to finish the project. The later I’m there, the blurrier my brain. The ache of weariness clothes me, my heavy wardrobe of exhaustion.

Except those nights when there is magic, and I can't stop if I want to, the words flying, the fingers back and forth, the ideas popping and rearranging and arranging and ranging far and wide until, boom, it is done. Sitting back in the chair, rereading, smiling at my own sentences and paragraphs. Save. Shut down. Lights off. Ignition. Drive.

Drop Want, Walk Away

Drop want, walk away.

My old green sweatshirt suffices

Many years. Keeps me warm.

I’ve never been a clothes horse, never cared much for expensive, fancy clothes. Perhaps it was because our family comes from humble roots. Oh, I’ve wasted money on this or that, things my grandmother would have tut tutted about. Of course. My grandparents were farmers. They didn’t waste a pin or a scrap and a sock had to be undarnable before it became a rag to sop up motor oil. Lately with all the simplicity, de-cluttering, minimalism movement – which I welcome – I think it’s time to honor my green Colorado State sweatshirt, which I have worn for many, many years. It has personality, utility, and is a reminder that my son and daughter-in-law are both alums of that excellent university.

My grandmother might be proud of me for wasting not and wanting not. But that generation, well, they were a special lot, weren’t they? Humble. Conservationists. Devoted to their family, their friends, their farm, and their faith.

Sometimes, even often perhaps, the simpler is at the same time the most profound.

Moving Furniture

Moving furniture

Moving lives. Moving away.

The grass stays behind .

I am changing offices at work. In fact, our whole work group is changing floors. It’s hard to do that. I like the ordered disorder in my office. It has taken me years to get just the right combination of swag – University of Idaho, University of New Mexico, University of Kansas; pictures of my family; little sentimental, historical items; books and books and books; witty and profound stuff taped to my door and walls; that add up to just the right, well, je n’e sais pas . The right feel for what I consider to be a professor’s office. I love that feel.

And yet, we must move. To smaller quarters. Without the feel of “home”. I am sad.

Of course.

But then again, I was sad the last time I was forced to move my office.

And look how that turned out.

Reading The Art of Pausing , by Judith Valente , Brother Paul Quenon , and Michael Bever , and writing a haiku, has become a daily practice for me. The authors recommend this, and I have found it in the few short weeks I have been doing this, a meaningful activity when paired with reading a daily haiku and narrative from the book.

I’m not a trained poet, but I don’t think poetry has to be created by an MFA graduate to be meaningful, and certainly meaningful to the author.

So, to introduce profound poetry, here is a haiku I wrote this week.

If you are interested in this poetic form, I highly recommend the work in The Art of Pausing . So, so good.

What Is Haiku?

Three lines. Five syllables the first line. Seven syllables the second line. Five syllables the third line. They aren't supposed to rhyme, but of course why have rules if you can't break them once in a while.

More about haiku here.

It can be so beautiful. Take a look at some here.