Where to start? I had a lovely weekend with my parent’s visiting and as often is the case it put me in a rather a thoughtful place – things about life start to percolate, who I am now, where I come from, the books I read, the sermon in church, all come together in my mind and just bubble. However, a damper was thrown on the whole thing a few minutes ago when I checked in at The Critical Poet to discover that my poem “coyote song” was cremated. I thought it was good and my dear, dear friend and mentor Jerry thought it was...but they nailed it to the proverbial tree...they might as well set flame to it. But that has to go behind me – writing poetry again has been good for my other creative outlets and I will not let it be dampened. There.
Mom’s birthday is coming up in October so I gave her gifts while she was here. I gave her two cds of gospel hymns...one is “Glory Train” by Randy Travis and the other was “My Mother’s Song Book” which was Johnny Cash’s last album. The liner notes explained the album and were just about enough to make you cry...the interview for them was held about two months after June’s death and a few months before Johnny died. When he made the album, he just went to this little house in the woods that reminds him of his childhood home with his guitar and his mom’s hymnal and called is person (don’t know the term) who does the recording. That Sunday morning he flipped through the book and sang songs with just his guitar and the recorded twenty-five –fifteen of which are on the album. Some of the songs are much slower and meditative that we like to hear them as a rule (for instance, the classic spiritual “Do Lord” seemed very draggy at first). However, as one listens to the album a few times through the spirit of it seems to seep into one’s soul.
Today’s sermon at church was about creation. Actually, last week was the first in a series of sermons that Pastor Randy plans to preach on the first eleven chapters of Genesis. However, we missed the first one because we were the nursery caretakers. This Sunday he talked about how we are created from dirt and the breath of life is breathed into us. It got me to thinking – everything else in creation was spoke into being and that fact along with the first chapter in John always affirmed to me the importance of words and names and meaning, which as a poet, I find extremely important. And today, as I listened to Pastor, it got me to thinking about the significance of not being spoken into being but rather, in being made by his hands and breathed into by his breath. It makes the act of creation extremely significant and I began to appreciate the way in which it validates my ‘crafts’ to create something with one’s hands is an act of imitating God and is that not part of who we are. Made in His image we are called to live in his image. So now, I wonder, where do I find photography – it is not an act of creation, it is not an act of word, it is for me, at least, my purest response to His creation. It is my song of praise, so to speak (which is good because while I love music – I have no talent!). When I photograph, I am 90 percent of the time simply responding from the heart to what I see. I seldom impose my will on a photo (in the sense, that I direct the situation be it people or 'still-life' I may direct myself around to take the shot a certain way to convey what I see and feel - but I don't contrive the shot). I do occasionally especially in my ‘expression’ gallery for obvious reasons but the most satisfying photography is when I lose myself in the moment – in a way I no longer exist. Which, I suppose, is an act of worship.
I write to think things through. I craft in order to lose my mind in the activity of working with my hands. I photograph as a response. I am grateful beyond measure that God has given me so many ways to respond to him...it is an incredible privilege to be able to write, create, and record. I love the activity of my life and I am grateful.
As to the rest of my weekend with Mom and Dad, Mom and Dad arrived late Friday. On Saturday, they played with the girls for awhile and ate breakfast while I pulled my tomatoes for the winter. Then Dad came out and we moved some big pots into storage (with a handtruck he brought from my bro and which I am very grateful for), and we pulled the squash bed then we hauled all of it to the compost site. Then we all went to Eveland Farm to pick pumpkins and see the animals. I will probably put some pictures up from that wonderful little excursion tomorrow. While the girls napped, Tim and Dad went to the used bookstore and Mom and I did a little on-line Christmas gift shopping for her. Then she helped me put together Angela’s pillow. I was too nervous to try it myself. I think I was afraid of wrecking all my work in the embroidery. I love how it turned out. The embroidery on the pillow for my MIL will be done soon and I can’t wait.
After the girls woke up we went for a walk where K and I went on Friday and I took some shots of the girls with Mom and Dad. Then Tim and Dad went to pick-up gyros at Dino’s to bring home for supper. In the evening, Dad made a chocolate cake from a beer cookbook I gave him for Father’s Day this year. It was very good!
This morning, we went to church. After church we went to Baja Sol for lunch and Mom and Dad headed home.
The girls and Tim and I took long naps. It was a relaxing Sunday. The girl’s do miss Grandpa and Grandma terribly.
Oh, sigh, Mom brought back all my crafts I sent to a shop in Pella. Nothing sold, I guess I will put most of them up at my etsy shop sometime this week. Purse anyone or a button bouquet, perhaps?