Two Stories

Sissy-Pie Face

I just got in from a walk and am sitting in the window seat in my office, my sanctuary.  The sun is shining in over my right shoulder and I am finally writing. My Jilly-doll is holding my phone so it will not vibrated on the window ledge should it ring or a million text messages, or FB posts come through.  So I will not be disturbed here while I write.  

I called my sister, Jini, this morning to read her the story from “Bird by Bird” by Anne Lamott about the young boy who, when asked if he would donate a pint of blood to his younger sister who had leukemia and might die, said he needed to think about it over night and then the next morning said he would donate the blood.  In the hospital the nurse drew a pint of blood from him and as he watched, dripped that blood into his sister’s arm.  When the doctor asked how he was doing, the young boy asked, “How soon until I start to die”...  

I cried when I read the story to myself and felt an immediate need to call someone and share it.  John was getting ready to leave for his Arabic class, so he was not available.  I did a quick inventory of who might be open enough, present enough or willing enough for an emotional up-ending.  I knew how intense this bit would be to someone new to Anne Lamott or to my emotional response to her telling this story, so it had to be someone who could take the intensity cold turkey.  Jini was the only one who could be immediately and fundamentally open to receive, so I called her.

Just out of bed, barely awake, she said, “Sure, go ahead, read it.  Do you mind if I pee?”  No problemo!  So I read her the story and she grasped it, gradually at first but then full blast and we both cried.  Then I told her about the Bill Moyer interview with Wendell Berry that I had listened to the day before and as I exclaimed how beautiful, reassuring it was, she logged into her computer and pulled up that interview.  We listened together for a while, her on her computer, me listening through my iPhone, until one of her dogs had an accident on the floor behind her as she petted his head.  Jini, being a long time dog owner and dog sitter, was not overly distraught. She laughed and said she should go and we hung up.

Jini is always ready to play.  Years ago she coined the phrase “sissy-pie face,” a term of endearment for her sisters and ever since all Druliner sisters are sissy-pie face.  She is always ready to jump in with both feet into whatever might be afoot, one of her most resilient  charms.  She is older than me by three years and recently began having problems with her heart which twice put her in the emergency room. These events have cut to my core.  I am not ready Lord, to have her return to You!  

She has always been and continues to be one of my most stalwart supporters, my touchstone in stormy weather.  When in desperate need, I turn to her; her voice, her demeanor, a stabilizing presence.  My mom’s voice was never as comforting as my sister’s.  My mom had a lot to carry so no wonder she could not be there in a heart beat, but Jini can!  So let her heart continue to beat!  Let her familiar voice continue to be one I can turn to day or night, and just a phone call away.  

***

Heart, Mind, Soul, Body and Spirit

Yesterday as I was dressing and preparing for the day, I imagined saying to a group gathered to write that the heart, mind, soul, body and spirit are all levels we need to care for in ourselves.  Care of the heart, is the love, the sorrow, the longings; care of the mind, is seeking understanding and wisdom; the soul, finding our way to what is deepest and most true inside us; the body, caring for what we eat, what we see, hear, taste, touch and smell; and spirit, is that which is beyond expression yet unites us.  These are the things that need our attention, our help, our work.  There is no one aspect that can be denied or overlooked.  However, it seems that writing synthesizes all the parts, brings them out from behind the veils that distract and deform our sense of what is important or real.  Writing seems to clarify our deepest understanding of who we are and what this whole life experience is about.

When I was walking up the Farm road today, I could not contain, nor should I, the glory, the majesty, the beauty of the clouds against a pure blue sky, or the orange-gold leaves amidst the still verdant green, or the red bushes and parched green grasses and filaments of purple weeds waving in the cool breeze.  I could not grasp it nor open myself wide enough to receive it and let it consume me so that I ceased to exist.  I wanted to.  I wanted to let go of my meness and merge and disappear into this magnificence.  But I could not will it; I could only be grateful for this exquisite rendition of a perfect Fall day.  To what felt like thunderous applause from the beauty around me, all I could say was thank you; all I could do was to feel gratitude for this sublime moment.

And here I am, still sitting in the window, sun pouring in over my right shoulder, hearing the sounds of silence and pen scratching on paper, my Jilly-doll still holding my phone and my heart still longing to reach you and knowing at the same time that this is you.  All this is you.  And I get to know you in heart, mind, soul, body and spirit.