IdentityChrist by Joey Unlee
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
Excerpted from her poem, The Summer Day
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it means to have a good life. This topic might seem calming and contemplative but it actually stems from a deep sense of grief over the fact that I’ve started to think that we are, collectively, doomed.
Ha! Happy Monday, folks.
Tonight I’m lying here beside sleeping Olive, who wheedled her way into my bed, and I’m thinking about the past three years.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how far I’ve come – how far WE’VE come.
A few weeks ago I went to see my doctor about a mole on my arm (as you may have guessed, this will not a particularly sexy blog post). She referred me to a different doctor, who would probably be unhappy if she knew I’ve been calling her The Mole Lady in conversations with friends and family, especially since she is quite elegantly named.
Anyway, this morning it was finally my appointment with The Mole Lady, where she decided it’d best to remove the whole thing – “the whole thing” being a pencil-eraser-sized dot on my left forearm.
It started off well enough, the sharp prick of the anaesthetic needle, no feeling at all while she used a scalpel to cut away the small chunk of flesh. But then came the stitches.
Stripping Off by Julia Blackshaw Art on Etsy
You know when you think you know something? You know this thing so well, in fact, that you don’t even think about it anymore, it’s just an accepted part of your worldview. The sky is blue. Olive never stops talking. E=MC2. These are just facts! Generally accepted truths!
Well, this afternoon one of my own personal truths shattered and I am still reeling from the aftershock.
In case it wasn’t obvious already, this story is about boobs.
This post has not been sponsored in any way.
Just over a year ago I snowshoed up a mountain.
In some ways, it was a triumph because I didn’t die and now I get to say things like “I snowshoed up a mountain”. In other ways, it was a really sobering experience. As soon as we started the ascent, it became painfully obvious that I had virtually no cardiovascular endurance. The lack of thigh muscles definitely made the trek upward more difficult than it needed to be, but the main issue was that I needed to stop every few minutes to catch my breath.
To put it bluntly, it was embarrassing.