So I am behind on blogging but not so behind on walking.
Yesterday I walked through Kirkwood and over to Oakhurst to meet my pastor at Kavarna where I had a frozen Chai (I am not usually one for the froo-froo frozen drinks, and really not one for that much caffeine – but – YUM). We met to talk about sermons, The Beatitudes Society and ordination – and that’s all I have to say about that 😉
Of all the silly and beautiful things that I found on my walk, a tiny, blue, glass bead is what caught my eye. I had reached down to pick it up before I even thought about it.
Today after dropping my youngest off with a friend who takes her down to Junior Police Academy I parked on the campus of Agnes Scott to begin my walk. The campus was empty and quiet with the only sound scampering squirrels. The women of Agnes have gone home for the summer, or on to the next step in their lives. The campus is lovely and perfectly manicured. I found one crisp, unlined index card in the uniformly cut grass next to the student center. It could not have been there too long since we’ve had so much rain lately. I am starting to feel like a story that I can’t quite see yet is forming around the seemingly random objects I bring home.
While wandering around the campus, past the new chapel (well new in the past few years) I found myself pausing under the old trees on campus. My mind being what it is, when ever I pass under large magnolias or ancient oaks I can’t help but think about the horrific past of my southern home. In the moist shadows beneath the twisted branches under which I stand, I wonder are these very limbs the last sight of a man or woman who may have been lynched? The fragrance of hate and terror must have certainly drowned the sweet magnolia blossoms. Lest we forget…
It is funny how life has a way of handing you a basket full of excuses that you swore you’d never make. I haven’t walked or blogged in two days and I have broken through to the place where I truly miss it. I woke up this morning with my head all in a swirl and catching any one thought out of the tempest was rather like trying to stuff an octopus into a pillowcase (not that I’ve ever tried such a foolish, odd and cruel stunt).
So off I went, into the humid Atlanta morning, determined to clear my head and find new inspiration. Oh my what a world it is – stories abound. While listening to my usual eclectic mix of songs – (from the Cox Family to Willie Nelson to The Indigo Girls to…Video Killed the Radio Star and a little Paul Simon – Rhythm of the Saints) I found so many little stories out there.
Early in the walk I ran across a pile of things set by the road for trash pick-up, among which were a silly little metal frog on a stick – garden art – and a lovely blue hanging planter. I opted to leave them behind and pick them up on the way home. A littler farther along, in a park in Kirkwood, I saw a glass bowl, cut to look like crystal, just sitting in the grass and clover. It was near a water fountain and made me wonder if it was random trash or perhaps a carefully left behind water bowl where dogs could refresh themselves as their running mates stopped to sip water from the fountain.
Not too far from there I rounded the corner where a playground fills the landscape to stumble upon an eviction pile. It was dumped mostly park side rather than on the curb from which the things were expelled. In the mess there was a box of books, one of which I brought home – Writing Well. Then I snapped a few shots of someone’s life in disarray. In the pile of books there were other text books like Medical Assisting and Math books. In the piles, and in the buggy parked by the playground I felt a life derailed. A drawer with the scattered plastic leavings of action figures, Happy Meal toys and water guns made me wonder if there was a little boy who cried as he was locked out of his home? In the buggy was a coffee pot that surely made cups and cups of good intentions. What made the cream sour in those cups?
Not far from this sad scene were lovely homes with pretty little gardens – how many cups are poured from similar coffee pots and how close to the curb are they?
Just over the hill I spoke in passing to a man sitting on his porch painting. He was working on a canvas perched the porch rail facing the sidewalk so I could not see what colors were forming the image he called forth. In the few steps to pass him I removed the headphone from the ear facing him, he spoke kindly and I returned the gesture. I so wanted to stop and ask his name, ask about his painting, ask him about his story. But alas, prudence prevented me from stepping out – at least for now. I am not sure if it was fear of talking to a stranger, a man, on a street with not much traffic – or if it was a reluctance to disturb his creative process, to interject myself like a tourist into his life. Probably a little of both. I think I will walk along that street a few more times until I gain the courage to truly meet the man.
So I began my morning with the random tentacles of my life undulating around my brain and through the walk out of my life and into the world of others I’ve returned with a smidge more clarity – and a few goodies.
My Roses
My Roses 2
Bowl in Grass
Bowl in Grass 2
Frog and Planter
Writing Well
Eviction Buggy
Toys Left Behind
Flowers on Wheels
Engine in the Garden
Old Medicine Cabinet
Brought back the Frog, the Blue Planter and the Writing Well Book – (I may go back for the old medicine cabinet you see in the gallery)
My walks came with a new lens yesterday – well two actually. A friend, J, joined me and I brought an actual camera. Though I love my iPhone (more than I should love a thing) I have a decent camera that will help me capture even richer images.
I am so very glad that J joined me for my walk! A friend I met a while back, with whom I’ve stayed in contact via facebook, J is a film professor at a local University here in Atlanta. Her eyes brought two fun things to the walk – eyes that did not know a neighborhood that I know very well (we walked in Grant Park) and eyes that are artistically developed to see things differently than mine. As we walked it occurred to me that having folks join me regularly would be fun, then I thought how cool would it be to lead walks, maybe even with J – a film professor and a seminary grad leading walking explorations of Atlanta? Off the beaten path of the city and our minds – looking at things from new angles. I jokingly called it a creative bootcamp – a good brisk walk plus re-learning to be wide awake and see the world with the wonder of a child…hmmm……
Found a weird poster – check it out! It was another trash-day find on the corner of Sydney and Oakland in Grant Park.
Plus a very flat fork that I could not seem to leave behind.
Yesterday I found myself on two very different walks. Early in the morning was the walk through the damp parking garage, across the pedestrian bridge and through the sterile hallways leading me to my mother’s room at the hospital. As I pushed open the door I entered a darkened room where she lay at an odd angle, sleeping it seemed. My dad stood from the chair where he’d spent the night and came to put his arm around me. Another stroke they think. We’ve been on this walk for a long time now, nearly nine years I believe.
Nine years ago came her diagnosis – brain tumor – astrocytoma. We’ve shed a million tears and carried buckets of fear along the rocky cliffs of hope as she’s stumbled, fallen, regained her stride and now is dramatically declining.
After a morning sitting with mom, listening to her breathing, talking to EEG tech’s, shaking hands with young men wearing white coats I headed off to drive north – to pick up my daughter who had spent the weekend in the Blueridge Mountains – in an intentional community no less. They simply call it The Land, over 100 acres in the mountains where a small band of self-described hippies are nestled in mother nature’s lap as they build community centers, homes and lives in the woods of North Georgia. Lush ferns surround large scale tent homes dot the hills and provide shelter for families as they slowly build with materials they pull from the land. Solar panels, organic gardens, puppies and barefoot children run wild across the landscape. And tucked in here and there – a couple of stages for the musicians who play each year as over 300 people descend on The Land for the three-day “Boogie”. The lovely people building this community could have been any number of my friends from my Deadhead days – the freedom with which they are living their lives seems so beautiful and optimistic.
Both walks were a prayer of sorts – prayers murmured in the shadows of my heart – Lord let me see mamma sitting up and smiling, or Lord please ease her suffering and draw her into your peace. Lord – bless these people who are loving this creation in the way the know best. Lord keep them in your loving gaze as they raise children and puppies and corn – sharing with one another what bounty you provide.
Out Seeking Sophia 