Ordinary Time
Today, May 5, is the beginning of my 77th year.
77 years ago I emerged from that woman
my mother, Daisy,
to begin a life journey of mostly ordinary time.
Today is such a day of ordinary time
I rise at 5, dress, make coffee
perform morning absolutions – fun word that -
Begin to make the bed noticing a tear in the sheet
which has been washed one too many times.
Send morning greetings vis texts, emails or
Facebook messengers.
Smile when I learn that Emmanuel Macron the French presidential
candidate first met his wife Brigitte Trogneux when he was 15 –
she 24 years his senior.
They met in ordinary time.
Reportedly sending him to high school in Paris did not
quench the love which happened in ordinary time.
Married when he was 29 in ordinary time.
I drive to the gym, work out, shave, shower
then drive home stopping to retrieve the morning
newspaper which has been resting and I suppose
visiting with the other copies
each one remarking on the banality of
repeated experiments of love, violence, theft,
and stories of the triumph of showing that only
the deserving will get health care or tax breaks
My friend C texts that she has been collecting money to help
with the cost of cremating her niece who died of
too much alcohol to hide the pain of living.
I have breakfast, clean up, change the bed, start laundry
Sit down at the computer to an overwhelming and humbling
number of happy birthdays greetings because Facebook has
reminded everyone on my friends list of the fact.
I put the new copy of my professional license in the frame.
Print some receipts for client payments
and so forth and so forth and so forth.
It is, you see, quite an ordinary day as long as I do not dwell
on Maina’s message about the death from hunger in that part of
Kenya called Muranga. There is no safe water for drinking, food
for perhaps one meal a day while I sit here with a freezer filled
with food and filtered water from the tap.
I listen to On Being which this week is a rebroadcast of a
conversation with the poet Marie Howe who reminds all who
listen or read of ordinary time.
That time between High Holy seasons.
Today is ordinary time when all that is meaningful happens
when we, if lucky, remember to be grateful, to enjoy the moments
when we can be with each other.
Loving each other in ordinary time is, it seems, so very simple
when we do not need more money, bigger houses, or fancier cars
to intercede on our behalf.
Jesus, Buddha or otherwise gods show up just to chat
seemingly unaware or insensitive to our worldly importance or
lack thereof.
Ordinary time recalls the ordinary time of 76 years
The ordinary time of loving, learning not to love and relearning
how to love.
Of how to love “this much” as I open my arms wide in ordinary
time.
Written May 5, 2017
Today, May 5, is the beginning of my 77th year.
77 years ago I emerged from that woman
my mother, Daisy,
to begin a life journey of mostly ordinary time.
Today is such a day of ordinary time
I rise at 5, dress, make coffee
perform morning absolutions – fun word that -
Begin to make the bed noticing a tear in the sheet
which has been washed one too many times.
Send morning greetings vis texts, emails or
Facebook messengers.
Smile when I learn that Emmanuel Macron the French presidential
candidate first met his wife Brigitte Trogneux when he was 15 –
she 24 years his senior.
They met in ordinary time.
Reportedly sending him to high school in Paris did not
quench the love which happened in ordinary time.
Married when he was 29 in ordinary time.
I drive to the gym, work out, shave, shower
then drive home stopping to retrieve the morning
newspaper which has been resting and I suppose
visiting with the other copies
each one remarking on the banality of
repeated experiments of love, violence, theft,
and stories of the triumph of showing that only
the deserving will get health care or tax breaks
My friend C texts that she has been collecting money to help
with the cost of cremating her niece who died of
too much alcohol to hide the pain of living.
I have breakfast, clean up, change the bed, start laundry
Sit down at the computer to an overwhelming and humbling
number of happy birthdays greetings because Facebook has
reminded everyone on my friends list of the fact.
I put the new copy of my professional license in the frame.
Print some receipts for client payments
and so forth and so forth and so forth.
It is, you see, quite an ordinary day as long as I do not dwell
on Maina’s message about the death from hunger in that part of
Kenya called Muranga. There is no safe water for drinking, food
for perhaps one meal a day while I sit here with a freezer filled
with food and filtered water from the tap.
I listen to On Being which this week is a rebroadcast of a
conversation with the poet Marie Howe who reminds all who
listen or read of ordinary time.
That time between High Holy seasons.
Today is ordinary time when all that is meaningful happens
when we, if lucky, remember to be grateful, to enjoy the moments
when we can be with each other.
Loving each other in ordinary time is, it seems, so very simple
when we do not need more money, bigger houses, or fancier cars
to intercede on our behalf.
Jesus, Buddha or otherwise gods show up just to chat
seemingly unaware or insensitive to our worldly importance or
lack thereof.
Ordinary time recalls the ordinary time of 76 years
The ordinary time of loving, learning not to love and relearning
how to love.
Of how to love “this much” as I open my arms wide in ordinary
time.
Written May 5, 2017
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