Tuesday, May 24, 2005

Pearl of Great Price

I just finished reading this book. It's about Mother Maria Skobtsova, who was a Russian Orthodox nun living in France. She fed and clothed any needy that came to her for help. She was sent to a concentration camp by the Nazis for helping the Jewish. She was killed in the concentration camp.
"The world thinks, if I gave my love, then I am less well off in respect of such and such a quantity of love, while if I were to give the whole of my soul, then I would be left utterly bankrupt and there would be no point in trying to save anyone at all. But the laws of spiritual life in this area are diametrically opposed to material laws. In accordance with these, whatever of one's spiritual wealth is given away not only reverts to the donor like the rouble which can't be changed, but is increased and consolidated. Whoever gives, receives; whover impoverishes himself, gains in wealth."

Monday, May 23, 2005

beautiful weekend

It's nice to have a weekend off, two whole days to myself. Especially when it means I won't be working during Viking Fest. Poulsbo, the town in which I work, is normally very quiet. It's small, and has a cute little downtown full of quaint shops. It's known as "little Norway". Once a year the town celebrates Viking
Fest, turning the small streets into parking lots. I worked last year. Our building is right on the main street, so I had a perfect view of the parade. I didn't care enough about it to want to fight the traffic and crowds. So I was more than happy to spend the day on the water with good friends. We took most of the day and sailed from Brownsville to Port Orchard and back. Well, somewhat sailed, paritally motored. There wasn't much wind, so it was slow going. We had lunch in Port Orchard, walked around antique stores, and then sailed home. There was more wind on the way back, enough to gain a pretty good speed. It started raining, and we were prepared with water-proof coats. No one wanted to sit inside the cabin and miss the fun. I came home soaking wet. I enjoyed a hot cup of coffee, and a hot shower before leaving the house again. It was amazing to be out on the water like that. It's been way too long. I love living near the water. It's amazingly beautiful, even when it's cloudy. There are so many different kinds of trees, tightly packed together, all this lush emerald green surrounding us. I wish I lived on the water like my friends do. When I laid down that night to go to sleep, it felt like the room was rocking, like a boat. I love that feeling. Like when you're a kid and spend all day in the waves.
The next afternoon I saw Star Wars Episode III. Someone I know had remarked that the first half was boring, the second half good. I didn't agree. It was all exciting, but it was very dark and sad. I also felt bittersweet with it being over, just seeing this thing end. Growing up with it and all. I also watched The Motorcycle Diaries, finally. I had rented it last week, and when I finally got around to putting it in the DVD player, the disc was broken, as in cracked! Right from the center to the edge, very strange. Stories like this always intrigue me, setting off on travels and just going.

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

and the rain came down...

and we were very wet.

The rain came back. It rained all night. It's pouring. Trying to make up for lost time. I've got a song stuck in my brain..."rain drops keep falling on my head".

Friday, May 13, 2005

the sailor

The Sailor has been active this week. I'm not sure how much I can remember to put down here. I've been working a lot of overtime, and been sick. I didn't know one person could produce that much mucous. So, back to The Sailor. He says the fanclub has been "silent as a bunch of slaves." He was talking to his wife on the phone, I asked who he was talking to, and he replied, "my slave!" With all the slave talk, I asked who wasn't his slave, his reply? "Everyone's my slave!" Just so you know. He was very upset with me because I wouldn't pull his 36 foot sailboat into the harbor. My excuse that he was on land in Poulsbo and that I don't have the physical strength to pull his sailboat in wasn't a sufficient answer. (I usually go along, and he's much happier then.) His question of the week, "How can you call it love-making if there's only one person?" I opted to keep a straight face and silence till I left the room, though I did hear my co-worker's reply. That scene is among many in the legacy of The Sailor.
A fellow nurse that always feeds him dinner is in her sixties, with very short hair. He started calling her "Mister Engineer". After many reminders of her gender, he now calls her "Missus Engineer". One evening during the meal I walked up and he called me "sweetie". She made a face and a snide comment about affectionate greetings, and I said, "That's why he doesn't call you sweetie." He shivered and said, "God no!" LOL She provides much entertainment on her own, blustering about liberals, conservatives, communists, etc. He looks at her and laughs, or rolls his eyes.

****

On a serious note I can't even imagine how difficult this is for his wife, his son, his daughter. It's painful. Sometimes I get a glimpse of him, real, not the one trapped in his visions, but the real man. I weep inside for the loss of thought and reason. To be trapped in an imaginary world. It's a horrible disease, Alzheimer's.

adventures in reading

reading...quests, dreams, gods, sword fights,visions, blood sacrifice, queens, monsters...I just finished "Till We Have Faces", C.S. Lewis. His "re-telling" of the Greek myth of Cupid and Psyche.
"The complaint was the answer. To have heard myself making it was to be answered. Lightly men talk of saying what they mean. Often when he was teaching me to write in Greek the Fox would say, "Child, to say the very thing you really mean, the whole of it, nothing more or less or other than what you really mean; that's the whole art and joy of words." A glib saying. When the time comes to you at which you will be forced at last to utter the speech which has lain at the center of your soul for years, which you have, all that time, idiot-like, been saying over and over, you'll not talk about joy of words. I saw well why the gods do not speak to us openly, nor let us answer. Till that word can be dug out of us, why should they hear the babble that we think we mean? How can they meet us face to face till we have faces?"

This spoke to me, because I so often struggle with words. Saying what I don't mean, or trying to think, what do I even mean. Saying much I think I mean, and looking back, and seeing it differently. Not even words, but looking back at life and seeing it differently. I pray to God to give me clear vision and clear thoughts. It's a struggle to see myself clearly, sometimes I do.

Thursday, May 05, 2005

Christ Is Risen!

Indeed He is risen!

What a beautiful and blessed Pascha.