Monday, July 2, 2012
Because I watched a few interviews of poets on a dvd I received from The Academy of American Poets (a free gift - I gave just a tiny amount of money), I was enjoying a bit of word play. Everyone who likes to shuffle words in sentences and say things in different ways is a poet, you know. Here is my beginning:
When Jesus fed the five thousand with ample portions of bread and fish, the hungry listeners participated in a most holy and provisional picnic.
Words of divine love floated out among them, weaving around shoulders to rounded backs and back to breasts.
Food-words, worthy of soul satisfaction, appeasing a raw-truth hunger, drew the somebodies to the Life-One, the heart-filler.
Oh, for a picnic to be sustaining is such a way. I read a bit of Edith Schaeffer's The Hidden Art of Homemaking, too. She shares about feeding the hungry homeless men that happened to come upon her house in a town where Francis was a pastor. The way she explains the fare she prepared for homeless ones resonates in a caregiver's soul:
"I would get out a tray, put the kettle on, and look in the fridge for some leftover soup. Into a small pan would go the soup, with the gas under it. I would cut bread, enough for two big sandwiches (not too thin, he'll be hungry) and wonder what sort of home he had when he was a boy- and wonder who he is, or whether maybe he is an angel in disguise! I would butter the bread, cut a lovely big tomato in even slices and pepper them, place them on the bread, and then decide to add bacon. I would sizzle one slice to fold over the tomato and add two leaves of lettuce. For the second sandwich I'd prepare my favorite: walnut halves stuck into the butter, salted on one slice, and then the second piece of buttered bread placed on top. A diagonal cut through the first sandwich showed red tomato and green lettuce attractively displayed in the slash. The walnuts crunched as the knife went diagonally through the second sandwich. Alternating these four triangles on a lovely dinner plate came next, with pickle trim on one, and parsley on the other. Now for the steaming hot soup left over from our lunch. I would put a good bowl of this on a tray, and the children would help me fix a tiny bouquet of flowers nested in an ivy leaf.
"What'll he THINK of that, Mummy?" Priscilla would ask with big, wondering eyes.
"Well, perhaps he'll remember something in his past - perhaps he had a very nice home once, where he had meals prepared for him. Anyway, he'll stop and think, and we'll give him this little Gospel of John to read while he is eating."
Don't you LOVE that? Have you read Karen Mains old book Open Heart, Open Home? I read it as a young bride. It's a lovely encouragement to share with others just as Edith shares above. Jesus really did set the perfect example when he hosted that lovely hillside picnic long ago, didn't He?
As I was watching the poet interviews it occurred to me that many people who work with words do not know the true Word Source, but they are still given grace to say their piece.
I ordered a book that I've had before and given away. My mother introduced me to this author long ago. We both like her and her interesting life. She's gone now, but this book holds her complete works. Read the little blurb I photographed and tell me what you think.
The lilies came out to say, "Happy birthday, America!"
I dug out my poetry journal from last year. It has pockets and picture storage pages, too. Isn't that an exquisite watering can?
During the school year, I do not like Mondays (kids are cranky) but during the summer I LOVE MONDAYS. They are full of promise. I made a strawberry rhubarb pie that truly flopped and is not photogenic, but it tastes wonderful. I put a little almond extract in it and I am going to have it for breakfast with my tea.
Later, I am going to sew. I watched "Miss Potter" yesterday and knit a stripe or two. I took a delicious nap.
Life is simply sweet.