Haiku Tuseday: Junk

Highway to the Danger Zone: Six Speeds

I went to lunch today with my co-worker Betty. Betty is a petite woman in her mid-fifties with a sweet, girlish voice and a delightful laugh. You wouldn't know it on first meeting her that she and her husband ride motorcycles or that she has a serious affection for sports cars. She told me today of all the different cars she's had in her life, almost all of them having been sports cars of one kind or another. Betty just recently got a silver 350Z. When we walked out to the parking lot today to go to lunch, she handed me the keys and asked if I wanted to drive. My eyes lit up like I was a kid again on Christmas morning beholding that beautiful green bicycle, complete with training wheels and new found freedom.

It was quite windy outside and raining, but inside the Z, I was in another world. The black leather seats warmed underneath me with the growl of the engine as I sped up and changed gears. (Side note: I have a secret love of cars with manual transmission - driving is so much more fun with the power to change gears at my fingertips.) Betty turned on the CD player to reveal the soundtrack of Top Gun. I grinned and turned it up loud. Now, I'm sure I looked like a complete idiot cruising along, singing aloud, bopping my head to the beat and grinning so widely that my cheeks hurt. But in my mind I had just been transported to the cockpit of a fighter jet, speeding along through the clouds, racing against the wind and soaking in the rain that pounded steadily against the windshield. Betty just kept giggling at me.

The thrill of driving that fast sports car on a dark afternoon in the rain with the sound of "Top Gun" in my ears lasted for several hours. I have a hard time not grinning even now as I remember it. But this evening, I've been thinking on the words of that song "Danger Zone" that keeps running through my head. I can't help but think of the dangerous roads I've wandered down in recent years, months, weeks, even hours. For example, last night I caught my mind wandering into memories of my past foolishness. This weekend I let myself swim in the depths of my frustration and dissatisfaction. And this evening, as I watched the film "Into the Wild" with my roommate, I found myself longing to leave everything behind and journey out into the world without looking back.

These are all dangerous highways. There were thrilling moments, to be sure, in the beginning. But the thrill usually wears off too quickly. I suppose life is a dangerous highway regardless of where you live or what you do. We're going to make terribly foolish mistakes no matter what. I am reminded of C.S. Lewis' Aslan, fiercely dangerous, yet full of goodness and rightness. I'm comforted to know that Jesus is like that, walking by my side even when I wander down lanes I shouldn't, picking me up when I fall, helping me learn from my mistakes and showing me where the real thrill of life is found: in following Him, on all six speeds.

Of course He isn't safe. Of course He isn't tame for goodness sake. God never promised me that I wouldn't have to live through scary things or that my own sin wouldn't be a danger to me. But he is good. This I know to be true. And I'm not the one behind the wheel, which is also a good thing. So I can be glad to be on this highway, even if it is dangerous at times.

(Photo by: Bill on Capital Hill)

Haiku Tuesday: Clouds

In an attempt to broaden and stretch my wordy horizons and discipline myself to think creatively and write things down, I will be gradually introducing some new practices into my writer's diet. The first new practice is to write a Haiku once a week, on Tuesdays. I'm taking my inspiration from Nelly's Streams for Sunday, and I may end up creating other "days of the week" writing tasks as I think of them. (And if Nelly will allow, I may start streaming on Sundays too at some point...) :) So, here is the beginning of Haiku Tuesday. Enjoy.

the color of dusk

I wish my eyes were like wide lens cameras. I am always wishing that the images I see with my eyes could be recorded, exactly as I see them, for me to come back to and revisit again and again. It would be great if I could flip through the images that enter my pupils like slides on a screen. Or like one of those little Fisher Price View-Masters I had as a kid, with the circular reels of miniature slides. I used to love putting those big plastic binoculars up to my eyes and clicking through the pictures. If my mind’s eye were like the View-Master, each time I blinked it would click to the next image, captured perfectly for me to enjoy again and again.

I was thinking about this tonight as I was squeezing in my run just before dusk. I wished that my eyes were able to permanently capture the beauty in the sky so that I could share it with everyone when I got home. But then, I guess that’s what writing is for, so here goes.

The coming of dusk tonight reminded me of a water color painting that I bought in a snow covered square in St. Petersburg several years ago. The sky was rent with long horizontal brush strokes fanning upward in colors of orange, pink, pale blue and ivory. The colors quickly became richer and thicker, hiding the sun behind dark indigo blue and purple like the color of cone flowers. Slender streaks of rose seemed to extend out from underneath the dark blue cloak of clouds, back lighting the sky with lavender hues. I passed the white steeple of “El Camino,” the Iglesia Evangelica whose bright silhouette stood out as if it were a picture in a pop-up book. It was the opposite of the bare trees whose thin branches looked charred like the color of charcoal against the sky’s canvas.

When I rounded the corner on the last stretch of my run, the clouds overhead had blended into the deep gray of evening. The vibrant colors which lit the sky moments before had faded into darkness now. I looked down and noticed a sharp black shadow moving over the flashing marquee of the S&S Cafeteria and the intermittent blinking of red and green from the stoplights. I didn’t recognize it at first, but after a moment I realized that it was me.

(Photo by jpstanley)

Sun Day = Run Day = Fun Day

I love warm sunny days like today. And now with the saving of the sun I am joyfully surprised again that its so bright outside, even at 7 pm. I decided that a day such as today was a perfect day for a run. So at approximately 6:22 pm I set out on my little neighborhood course under a big blue sky.

For those of you who may be gasping, "Wait...MEL?? RUN??? What about her life motto of 'I hate running'?" Yes, shocking as it may seem, I have finally found the joy of running. I started out slowly, and I'm still working my way up to hopefully being able to run for 30 minutes solid. This week I'm running in intervals of 5 minutes and 3 minutes with walk breaks for a total time of 30 minutes. A couple of weeks ago I participated in my first ever 5k race. I didn't run the whole time, but I think I did pretty well finishing in 37 minutes and 45 seconds. Not too shabby. And the best part is that I had a blast.

I try to change my course a little bit each week so that I don't get bored with the scenery. Tonight I went up my street and over to Azalea Court where I first passed the house with the insta-green-spray-on-lawn. The yard looks like its covered in fur the color that copper turns when it oxidizes. I like to think of it like those spray-on tans, except for grass. I wonder which would look worse in my yard: copper green spray grass or the current muddy slab covered in holes with shards of demolished grass hanging onto to the last possible semblance of life? These are deep curious ponderings...

Next I pass the house I like to call "House of a Thousand Daffodils." I just want to pause here to say that I think daffodils are one of the happiest flowers God made. They just grin at the sky with gladness and wave at me when I run past. Every time I go by that house I want to run over in the yard a pick a whole bouquet full of yellow smiles to take home with me.

Then I circle around on the main road past the Taco Casa (which smells strangely like the state fair to me... maybe its the fried grease...), Fresh Market, Fire Station and 3 dentist offices all in a row until I make it back into the neighborhood. Then I repeat.

As I came down the final stretch towards my house tonight I was thanking God for simple pleasures like running, daffodils and spray-on-grass that make me giggle.

I think running is good for the soul for many reasons, but particularly because it is a metaphor for life and I like metaphors. So I'll end this rambling post with good advice on running (and living) from Shakespeare:

"Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast." (Romeo & Juliet Act II: scene 3)

(Photo by Zed.cat)

Juno: I give it many thumbs up!

Well folks, its my turn to try my hand a little movie review!

A couple of months ago I was riding along in my car, listening to the local "public" radio which is code for "cool indy jazz n blue grass." One of the things I like about this radio station is that they play cool things I've never heard before. So on this particular morning, I heard a song that the DJ said came from the soundtrack of a movie called "Juno." I'd never heard of the movie before, nor did I have any idea what it was about, but by the end of the song I was convinced I would like it. Its funny to me how I can make a judgement call on a film based on the soundtrack. Strange as that may be, my calculations were correct. Two months later, I finally made it to the theater to see Juno for myself.

I think this is one of the most honest films I have seen in a long time. The characters are witty and edgy, yet beautifully human and down to earth. Its the story of a teenage girl who gets pregnant, and how the experience helps her to better understand who she is, what love is really about, the importance of family and how much she has left to grow up. Its artfully done, with an excellent script and creative cinematography. But underneath all the surface humor and candidness are serious life lessons and hard questions that everyone asks themselves deep down.

Its the stuff of life via a mouthy teenager. I love that. Its honest. Its real. And it speaks volumes. Not to mention it has an excellent soundtrack. (If you're into weird music like I am.)

So, I highly recommend JUNO. I give it many thumbs up. Go see it, if you haven't already. This one has definitely earned a spot in my DVD collection. :)

the strong discipline tree

I've been coming to terms with some of my frustrations this evening. The primary one is my lack of passion for anything lately. Its very unlike me. I tend to be an overly passionate, intense person. Its not that I don't have moments of excitement or surges of creativity but lately those moments seem to be short lived and peripheral. I think I need more solitude, and more discipline. I suppose that would help a great deal. Especially with writing and with prayer.

I was talking with my friend George tonight about the curse of the muse. Once you have a muse it seems impossible to create (or write in my case) without one. But in reality I think true art comes from within rather than from without. Depending on some outside muse can easily hinder us from ever really improving. Not that outside inspiration is bad, I just think it can become a stumbling block if it becomes the well from which we draw out the essentials of what we are attempting to create. Discipline seems to be a requirement for genuine improvement in any creative activity. It forges ahead even when we want to sit down in the dust of our dry spells and wait for rain. If we didn't have discipline to move us forward we'd die of thirst before we ever reached another well of fresh water. Discipline helps us grow like trees; unnoticeable and slow, but to great strength and stature in the end. I found some truth and encouragement tonight on the subject of strength and prayer from one of Rilke's letters to his wife.

"Life has unending possibilities of renewal. Yes, but this too; that the using of strength in a certain sense is always increase of strength also; for fundamentally we have to do only with a wide cycle: all strength that we give away comes over us again, experienced and altered. Thus it is in prayer. And what is there, truly done, that is not prayer?"

I think Rilke got this right, at least in his summation of strength and the way giving it also produces it. But I think it produces strength of a different kind; the kind that helps us endure, like trees, for many years through all sorts of weather. And perhaps prayer is like this too. The more we pray and discipline ourselves to it, the more our own prayers enrich and strengthen our spirits to pray more, and as a result we grow.

My problem with disciplines like these is that I lack patience. I would like to make an attempt to find regular periods of solitude in my life. I think I need to stop watching so much television, for starters. I think it would quiet my mind and spirit. Hopefully, I will be able to say as Rilke wrote to Rodin that, "I am able more and more to make use of that long patience you have taught me by your tenacious example; that patience which, disproportionate to ordinary life which seems to bid us haste, puts us in touch with all that surpasses us."

I think this patience is key.

I hope to write more this week. Come back again soon. :)