"For with God, nothing will be impossible."
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January 25, 2012
Poets, Kittens and Rain
"If your everyday life seems poor, don't blame it; blame yourself;
admit to yourself that you are not enough of a poet to call forth its riches, because for the creator there is no poverty and no poor indifferent place."
Rainer Marie Wilkes
I admit it, today and many days I'm not enough of a poet. My shoulders that keep inching up toward my ears tell me that is today's truth. The lack of enthusiasm for the day, my job, my future tells me that I am no creator.
Relax shoulders.You and I both know it's not true. So tell your story of frustration this morning. The rain we've so needed has been blissfully dripping for fifteen hours with at least another 24 hours predicted. A radio guy called it a "mess" but a caller said, "It's not a mess! It's a blessing!" The radio guy agreed but then called it an "inconvenience."
"It's not an inconvenience!" the caller said. "It's a blessing! The answer to our prayers!" I feel that way about rain. And I am blessed with the luxury to decide when and whether I go into the office on this rainy day.
What then? It's probably about the house we're about to buy. The roof and the foundation that need work that the insurance company is balking on. How do I move forward to buy a house I don't want to live in? I've been doing the Isle of View Experiment on it and it has definitely lessened my frustration with the lack of space and shortcomings of the house, but.... Wait! I know. I'll think about what I DO love:
I love my purple flowered armchair tucked into the back corner of the dining room where I do my reading and praying...and sometimes working, when I choose to work at home. Where I'm sitting now.
From here, I can see my purple cabinet. It was my grandmother's, salvaged from their "camp" house, the old house she had lived in as a child that had been moved to some property they had outside of Centerville, Texas and used for camping. It had eventually become a storage facility for stuff they didn't want. After her death, I called dibbs on the faded white cabinet, missing its screens, that had once held towels in her bathroom. No one fought me for it. To everyone else, it was just an ugly, broke-down cabinet. I painted it eggplant and put silver handles and knobs on it. It may be just the eyes of love through which I view it that thinks it looks very Pottery Barn-ish, but I guess that's what love does.
If I can call forth the riches of this poor old thing that adds a nostalgic bit of storage to my too-tiny kitchen, there is a poet in me capable of doing the same with this house. It has just not yet gotten inspired with its subject matter. It will though, because a creator never sees "poverty or a poor indifferent place." It always sees a resource for creation. And deep down, I am a poet. Not a very good one, a poet short on time and money, but a poet nonetheless.
Some more coffee and a little breakfast. Listening to the rain while I get back to the challenge of coming up with a company slogan using three words Corporate mandated I must include. Smiling at the "fresh" kitten that pops up every time I write 100 words (I've seen 6 so far in the little word editor I'm using called Written? Kitten!).
By the time, I sign off, I'll see the 7th, and that's too many words for a blog post, but sometimes you have to ramble a little to waken your inner poet.