October 7: Touch-and-Go, Same Orbit, Nobel Prize, October 13

All this means is that the physical world as we understand it now is more like the touch-and-go creek world I see than it is like the abiding world of which the mountains seem to speak . . .

Dillard is talking about the frustratingly constant fact that the world is not constant.  It is malleable.  Mutable.  Constantly in motion, in a state of change or (dare I say it?) evolution.  Floods happen.  Forest fires and earthquakes.  Species come into being.  Species are snuffed out like candles.  Human beings sometimes have a hand in it, and sometimes it's Nature.

If you have been reading this blog for any length of time, you already know that I'm not a great fan of change.  I eat the same breakfast every morning.  An egg.  The same lunch.  Chicken sandwich, apple juice.  My days are pretty structured.  I work the same hours.  Teach the same hours.  Get home at pretty much the same time every day.  If Nature is an instrument of change, I am an instrument of stubborn constancy.  I am a redwood.  A mountain.  The moon.  Always there, in the same place, following the same orbit.

Yesterday, I wrote about the Nobel Prize in Literature.  How, early in the morning on October 13, my name will be announced in the Grand Hall of the Swedish Academy.  The Nobel Prize has been announced in the first weeks of October since the beginning of the twentieth century, with the exception of the years during World War II, when no prizes were awarded.  Thus, the Nobel Prize in Literature is a fairly constant thing, as well.

Next Thursday morning, I will get up at my normal time (4:45 a.m.).  I will shower, get dressed, eat breakfast.  Then I will drive to work.  When I get to work, I will fire up my desktop computer.  I do these things every Thursday.  And then, I will sit and wait for a phone call.  You see, just minutes before the Permanent Secretary of the Swedish Academy announces the recipient of the Nobel Prize, she phones the selected writer to congratulate him or her.  When the phone rings at my desk next Thursday, I will pick it up and have a conversation with someone in Stockholm.

That's the way things always happen on the day the Nobel Prize is announced.  Always.  That's another constant.  And Saint Marty is not about to fly in the face of tradition, although he may take the rest of the day from work after he wins.

Neruda's Nobel diploma . . . He got the call in October

August 8: The Summit, the Car

Well, we made it to the top of the mountain this morning.  This is what my kids looked like at the bottom:

This is what my kids looked like at the top:

It was a good climb.  We took the difficult trail, which might have been a mistake.  But, after twenty minutes of rocks and roots and steep stairs, we were staring down at Lake Superior.  It was a gorgeous day.

The mechanic called as we were descending.  It wasn't good news.  Over two thousand dollars in repairs.  Of course, I told him to just complete the oil change.  I've had enough of dealerships.  I'm taking my car to a local mechanic tomorrow.  The difference:  $60 per hour versus $180 per hour.

Saint Marty's momma didn't raise no fools.

December 22: Saint Chaeremon

I owe my readers a huge apology for my prolonged absence from my blog.  My list of excuses is long and really unimpressive:

1. I got caught up with end-of-semester teaching and grading.
2. I got caught up with holiday preparations and responsibilities.
3. I  got caught up with other projects, including teaching a spiritual journaling workshop and writing my annual Christmas poem.
4. I got caught up with my duties as a church musician and worship leader.

Are you buying it yet?  Am I forgiven?  If not, I'll add one more excuse to the above list.  While my other excuses were true, the following one cuts closer to the real reason I haven't blogged in over a month:

     5.  I got caught up with being lazy.

Especially with writing, it becomes very easy to find other, more "important" tasks to accomplish.  I can think my way out of any writing situation.  My line of reasoning usually follows this pattern:

I really need to sit down and write a post for my blog.  It's been way too long.  But first, since I'm at the computer, I should check my e-mail to see if anyone is trying to get hold of me.  Hey, look at how cheap Kindles are now.  I should go to Amazon.com and see about ordering one.  Wow, they're offering free, 2-day shipping for Christmas.  I wonder if the stuff I ordered on Monday has been delivered yet.  I should track my package.  It's out on the UPS truck right now.  It'll probably be there when I get home from work.  I should check to see if my syllabus needs to be updated for next semester.  I should...

You get the idea.  I could go on and on about the shiny objects that distracted me from the business of writing.  It's easy to become distracted  because, despite the pleasure I derive from writing, writing is hard, time-consuming work.  And it's lonely.  When I write and post blogs, I know there are people reading them.  For the most part, however, it feels like I'm stuffing notes in bottles and tossing them in the ocean.  The conversation, for the most part, is pretty one-way.

Again, I am making pretty lame excuses for my lack of communication in the past month or so.  So, I will just say I'm sorry.  I am not dead.  Or ill.  Or angry.  Or in rehab.  I just fell out of the habit of writing, and now I have to teach myself to love writing again.

In some ways, my relationship with writing is sort of like my relationship with Christianity.  I get lazy.  I start making excuses.  I get tired.  Cranky.  Worn out.  I become distracted by shiny objects--books I want to read instead of devotions, movies I want to watch instead of worship videos, naps I want to take instead of praying.  I'm easily distracted from two of the things that are very important in my life:  my faith and my writing.  I'm not proud of that character flaw, but I know it exists.  And admitting that you have a problem is the first step to recovery.

I'm in recovery right now.  Even as I write these words, I'm thinking of all the things I need to accomplish before Christmas Eve.  Shiny objects abound.

So, I'm trying to get back into blogging on a regular basis.  It's a struggle right now, as I've said.  I feel unfocused, uncreative, and uninspired.  Granted, I can't always wait for inspiration in order to write something.  If I did that, I might as well burn my journal, donate my fountain pen to some poetry half-way house, and start watching reruns of Little House on the Prairie.  Inspiration is actually a small component of the writing process, maybe 4%.  The other 96% is all hard work and dedication.

Chaeremon, today's patron, was Bishop of Nilopolis during a time in the third century when Christians were being hunted, killed, and driven into hiding.  Chaeremon, who was a "very old man," fled into the mountains with a friend and was never seen again, despite extended searches by fellow followers of Christ.  Chaeremon simply vanished.

This saint's story is not quite as gruesome as other martyr's stories.  He wasn't burned alive or drawn-and-quartered.  He wasn't decapitated or fed to hungry bears.  He just disappeared.  My guess about most saints is that the majority of their accomplishments are the result of 4% divine inspiration (visions of Jesus or the Virgin Mary; prophetic dreams; levitation; miraculous healing) and 96% hard work (climbing mountains; building churches and schools; begging for food for the poor; being tortured).  In other words, it's just like writing.

Sometimes grace will guide what you do.  Most of the time, you just have to disappear into the mountains and hope some bright star appears to light your way.

I'm looking up, waiting for my star to appear.  I haven't vanished into a cave.  I have my pen.  I have my paper.  Just add water and inspiration.  I'm heading down the mountainside, one rock, one crater, one cliff at a time.