Memories, Pilgrims, and Beer

writing from the archives

Hello to my Blue Roomies,

How is your mid-April? I’ve spent the last several days in a fog of post-Holy Week fatigue, coupled with some low-level personal pandemonium. At times like this, I prioritize basic stuff like sleep, water, exercise, comfort TV, and good food, which means both physically nutritious (I recently grew my first batch of alfalfa sprouts, which I’m putting on everything) and spiritually nourishing (Reese’s eggs, Kraft mac and cheese).

Close enough.

In addition to tending the bottom of Maslow’s pyramid this week, I’ve also been going through old writing. I used to write a lot of poetry, especially when my kids were younger… quick little slices of life. Today I’ve picked out three that I think go well together.

The first poem needs a little explanation. My dad’s memorial service took place the same day the Columbia space shuttle broke apart upon re-entry over Texas. Since then I’ve been fascinated by the interplay between mundane and profound events, joy and tragedy, planet-sized griefs and small personal ones. Sometimes, I find a paradoxical hope lurking in the idea that life goes on. Other times, the juxtaposition can seem dispassionately cruel—the earth rotating on its axis while your world is whirling into chaos, or getting engaged to the person of your dreams on September 11, 2001.

Anyway, this poem was written on the day of the Virginia Tech shooting, exactly sixteen years ago.

teeth of the gale

as i sat and clicked in the turn lane,
a funeral procession trudged by,
all grim headlights, wipers flinging the rain,
and i thought: someday,
at some family reunion, egg salad and matching shirts,
they’ll look back on this day; they’ll say,
remember sweet uncle’s funeral?
whew! i’ll never forget that day—
the gusts that blew our coats open,
whipped our legs with our skirts,
wrenched a crumpled program from my hand.
dear cousin up north couldn’t even make it,
what with the blizzard. in april!

oh, i thought, the things we remember about funeral days,
the things that clear their throats
just above the haze of hugs and tears,
the things that seep into the corners of the church.

then i turned on the radio.
and i knew,
no. won’t be the weather.

~

The other two poems don’t need much explanation; instead, consider them invitations to pay attention to the couplets and haiku happening all around you, and perhaps, to put your own poems into the world, using words only if necessary.¹

three days after returning

i’m home, but
i don’t want the pilgrimage to end,
so in the plod of rush hour,
i look around and see not
minivans adorned with little league stickers, not
hummers that make me furious, not
machines inhaling their fossil fuels and
blowing code orange smoke rings,
but the people inside, pilgrims on the way
to their sacred everyday places,
they are modest as turtles, ambling
on four rubber feet,
steel shells heavy on their weary backs;

even on the train they journey as pilgrims,
crammed into each rectangular chapel
where there aren’t enough seats,
where personal space is a little too personal,
yet still they sing bless the lord my soul
the best they know how.

~

assignment completed

So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world…
Love someone who does not deserve it.²

As the group collected purses and sweaters,
the retired librarian tugged at me.
They’re clearing ten acres behind her house—
single family homes from the low 600s.
One morning, over coffee,
she heard the chains, the phlegmatic grunts of machines,
the roots, ripping from the shuddering earth,
and she wept.
Then something in her drove to the grocery store
for a six-pack of beer,
an offering to the sweaty-gloved men.

~

What I’m Up To

• I’ll be preaching at Trinity Presbyterian in Herndon on Sunday at 10:15 a.m. EDT. Livestream.

• The final episode of season 2 of the Blue Room podcast drops next week! Catch up here or on your favorite podcast app (search “blue room maryann”)

• We’re still dishing about Ted Lasso over virtual pints at the Crown and Anchor.

• Upcoming posts for paid subscribers in April: a deep dive on toxic positivity, and by request, some thoughts on Artificial Intelligence and particularly ChatGPT. Yearly subscriptions are 10% off through April!Friday posts are free and always will be; members and friends of Trinity Presbyterian are eligible for complimentary subscriptions upon request.

~

Link Love

I love these Barely Maps. Is your favorite town represented?

1. Paraphrasing a quote attributed to St. Francis

2. Source