"Hello?" called out Ford.
No answer.
"That's odd."
"Perhaps it's a trap."
"They haven't the wit."
"What were those thuds?"
"Dunno."
They waited for a few more seconds..
"Right," said Ford, "I'm going to have a look."
He glanced round at the others.
"Is no one going to say, No, you can't possibly, let me go instead?"
That all shook their heads.
"Oh well," he said, and stood up.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, after a second or so, nothing continued to happen. Ford peered through the thick smoke that was billowing out of the burning computer.
Cautiously he stepped out into the open.
Still nothing happened.
September 19
This passage is all about . . . nothing. Nothing happens during this exchange. But everyone is waiting for something to happen. Anything.
This passage is all about . . . nothing. Nothing happens during this exchange. But everyone is waiting for something to happen. Anything.
In my life, I always try to think one or two steps ahead. That way, I'm prepared for anything that comes my way. Sometimes it's a very tiring way to live. This evening, I took a pause from this hectic existence. I attended an event called Out Loud at the Joy Center is Ishpeming. Out Loud is basically an open mic. You can read poetry. Or essays. Tell stories. Pretty much, anything goes.
I always find this event very satisfying. Whether I'm reading a new poem or essay, or listening to another person's sharing, it fills my empty cup up. It doesn't matter how many people show up. Sometimes there's seven or eight attendees. Other times, there's only two. Rain or snow or tornado, Out Loud goes on.
This evening's Out Loud was attended by myself and my good friend, Gala. She and I have bonded over the children we lost this fall to college life. Her son is at the University of Michigan, while my daughter attends the university where I teach. It's a painful thing letting go of these creatures that have been a part of our lives for nearly 20 years. For Gala, it's a physical and emotional separation. For me, it's simply emotional. It's the inability to make choices for her now, to protect her from a world that can break your heart. And, even though my daughter still lives at home, I rarely see her. Our ships pass in the night sometimes, but I can go for several days without laying eyes on her.
It was raining when Out Loud was over. Gala drove me home, and we took a selfie, My friend, Helen, who owns the Joy Center, always says about Out Loud, "The people who are supposed to be there will be there." Tonight, Gala and I were meant to be in each other's presence. God put us together for a reason. She was a blessing to me. I hope I was to her, as well . . .
September 21
I always find this event very satisfying. Whether I'm reading a new poem or essay, or listening to another person's sharing, it fills my empty cup up. It doesn't matter how many people show up. Sometimes there's seven or eight attendees. Other times, there's only two. Rain or snow or tornado, Out Loud goes on.
This evening's Out Loud was attended by myself and my good friend, Gala. She and I have bonded over the children we lost this fall to college life. Her son is at the University of Michigan, while my daughter attends the university where I teach. It's a painful thing letting go of these creatures that have been a part of our lives for nearly 20 years. For Gala, it's a physical and emotional separation. For me, it's simply emotional. It's the inability to make choices for her now, to protect her from a world that can break your heart. And, even though my daughter still lives at home, I rarely see her. Our ships pass in the night sometimes, but I can go for several days without laying eyes on her.
It was raining when Out Loud was over. Gala drove me home, and we took a selfie, My friend, Helen, who owns the Joy Center, always says about Out Loud, "The people who are supposed to be there will be there." Tonight, Gala and I were meant to be in each other's presence. God put us together for a reason. She was a blessing to me. I hope I was to her, as well . . .
September 21
It has been a long couple of days. Yesterday, after working in the medical office and then cleaning my church, I was exhausted. I didn't have the energy to string together any syllables. I tried, but what I wrote seemed . . . mundane. I bored myself. So, I gave myself another day's hiatus. This evening, after leading three writing workshops and spending most of this Saturday behind the wheel of a car, I am again exhausted, but in a different way.
I worked with children at 11 a.m. I was asked to be a part of the homecoming festivities at the university where I teach. The theme of the workshop was Bigfoot. That's right. I got to talk about Bigfoot to a bunch of little boys, who were totally geeked about the subject.
Then, after Bigfoot, I hopped in my car with one of my best friends, and I drove 80-some miles to teach spiritual writing at a Lutheran women's retreat. Another good friend, Rose, helped organize the event, and she thought of me immediately. There was no talk of Bigfoot, but, through some contemplative meditation exercises, we wrote and talked about God and listening for His voice. We wrote about what was troubling us. Some participants wrote about their mothers. Some wrote about being unsure of their calling. Everyone, I think, encountered Jesus and God.
So, here I sit at my kitchen table now, after spending a couple hours cleaning my house this evening, in a state of exhaustion again. It's good exhaustion. I feel as if I made a difference in the world today. Now, I am ready for bed. For a good night's sleep, which hasn't been easy to accomplish recently.
This blog post is the last thing to scratch off from my "To Do" list.
Saint Marty give thanks for finished lists..
I worked with children at 11 a.m. I was asked to be a part of the homecoming festivities at the university where I teach. The theme of the workshop was Bigfoot. That's right. I got to talk about Bigfoot to a bunch of little boys, who were totally geeked about the subject.
Then, after Bigfoot, I hopped in my car with one of my best friends, and I drove 80-some miles to teach spiritual writing at a Lutheran women's retreat. Another good friend, Rose, helped organize the event, and she thought of me immediately. There was no talk of Bigfoot, but, through some contemplative meditation exercises, we wrote and talked about God and listening for His voice. We wrote about what was troubling us. Some participants wrote about their mothers. Some wrote about being unsure of their calling. Everyone, I think, encountered Jesus and God.
So, here I sit at my kitchen table now, after spending a couple hours cleaning my house this evening, in a state of exhaustion again. It's good exhaustion. I feel as if I made a difference in the world today. Now, I am ready for bed. For a good night's sleep, which hasn't been easy to accomplish recently.
This blog post is the last thing to scratch off from my "To Do" list.
Saint Marty give thanks for finished lists..
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