(Sound of phone ringing)
Creator’s office. How may I direct your call?
I need to speak to God, please.
May I ask what this is in regard to?
I need to talk to Him about someone very dear to me.
And where are you calling from?
Oklahoma.
(Muffled sound of hand covering receiver as operator addresses co-workers)
Pssst! Hey! It’s her again.
Her who?
The lady from Oklahoma. Her name’s Vicky, but up here we all call her old “KeepHerSafe.”
Why KeepHerSafe?
She always calls late at night and in the mornings and it’s always the same thing...”God, please keep her safe.”
Which one is she calling about today- ThunderGirl, Blondie, or Baby Mamma?
Probably all three. She’s like, “My Bonnie’s driving home from practice late again tonight, please keep her safe.” Or “Lord, Leenie’s in such a big city...will you please keep her safe?” Lately there’s been a lot of “You know Audrey’s pregnant, Lord. Please keep her safe while she carries this baby.”
Yeah, and I hear it’s a granddaughter, so that’s another girl for old KeepHerSafe to bug God about.
Oh, you know God- He loves it when she calls. Acts like it’s the first time. Listens as if she’s the only woman in the world He’s ever known who worries about her children. And He has the same answer for her every time.
Oh yeah, what’s that?
He says, “I know exactly where she is, Vicky, and she couldn’t be safer- for I hold her in the palm of My hand.”
(Back on the phone line)
KeepHerS...I mean Vicky, God will speak to you now.
God, it’s me again. It’s my mom, Lord. She sees the surgeon today to talk about the tumor they found. I love her so much. Father, please keep her safe.
Yes, I know exactly where she is, Vicky, and she couldn’t be safer- for I hold her in the palm of My hand.
November 24, 2009
November 13, 2009
the wall
It seems my creativity cup isn’t exactly running over lately. Not even trickling. If this is writer’s slump, from where I sit I see no end in sight. Of course I sit facing a wall, which makes sighting ends of any kind a little difficult, but lately I’ve been thinking that where I sit might be the problem. It would be an understatement to say my view does not inspire me. Facing a wall is fine for doing things like label printing, letter typing or email reading, but anything requiring a modicum of creativity- forget about it. While others are a quarter turn from some window with a view of falling leaves, scampering squirrels and students bustling to and fro, I look at the wall. The wall is painted an institutional mauve-going-tan-with-a-dollop-of-gray color and is positioned approximately 29 inches from my face. Despite our close daily proximity, I am not loving the wall.
On this wall hangs a fading print of mesas and hills like ones found in parts of New Mexico, Arizona and Colorado. (Mesa is Spanish for table. The largest mesa in the world is the Grand Mesa located in western Colorado.) The print of mesas and hills is signed and dated 1982. Titled “for Spacious Skies” II, it, II, is done in various shades of mauve along with some of those other washed-out canyon colors so popular in 1980’s southwest décor. Personally, I have never cared for mauve. By the way, did you know that when you say the word mauve it should rhyme with jove, as in “By jove, that is one ugly color! I wonder who came up with that?”? (His name was William Henry Perkin. He created mauve in 1856. Someone has written a biography about him. It’s called Mauve. Did you pronounce it correctly? There will be a test...)
But back to the picture on the wall. As it is just as uninspiring as the wall, I am also not loving the picture. For starters, there’s the mauve thing. Then there is the picture itself. Nothing bustling there. Just mesas and hills, one after the other, rolling into some distant nowhere with not even a snake, a rabbit, a howling coyote or even a hunched-back, flute-playing Kokopelli to break the monotony. To say this picture fails to move me would not be entirely true, as it almost continuously moves me to look anywhere but straight ahead. But not to my left, because “for Spacious Skies” II is part of a triptych, so there are two more hanging over there just as boringly nondescript as this one. If you don’t believe me, consider the fact that these pictures have hung together on this wall for 27 years in the wrong order and I’m the only one who’s ever noticed. SS II should be in the middle between SS I and SS III instead of over here on the end. As if it matters. All three are just begging for a car ride to Goodwill, or a swift and timely end at the hands of John’s brand spanking new Colt 45 model 1911 that he got for our upcoming 30th anniversary. Designed by John Moses Browning of Ogden, Utah, (there’s a book about him, too) the original model was selected as the official sidearm of the Armed Forces of the U.S.A. on March 29th, 1911. Although over the years the 1911 has been produced in a variety of finishes, I feel safe in saying none were mauve.
My point? Surely it's clear by now I don’t have one. Apart from the fact that I learned to pronounce mauve, say table in Spanish, and impress gun enthusiasts with my wealth of knowledge, I find this post as mind-numbingly dull to write as it surely must be to read. And that proves my point. I am so stymied by this stupid wall and its stupid picture that I cannot write another stupid word. My creativity, simply put, has hit the wall.
On this wall hangs a fading print of mesas and hills like ones found in parts of New Mexico, Arizona and Colorado. (Mesa is Spanish for table. The largest mesa in the world is the Grand Mesa located in western Colorado.) The print of mesas and hills is signed and dated 1982. Titled “for Spacious Skies” II, it, II, is done in various shades of mauve along with some of those other washed-out canyon colors so popular in 1980’s southwest décor. Personally, I have never cared for mauve. By the way, did you know that when you say the word mauve it should rhyme with jove, as in “By jove, that is one ugly color! I wonder who came up with that?”? (His name was William Henry Perkin. He created mauve in 1856. Someone has written a biography about him. It’s called Mauve. Did you pronounce it correctly? There will be a test...)
But back to the picture on the wall. As it is just as uninspiring as the wall, I am also not loving the picture. For starters, there’s the mauve thing. Then there is the picture itself. Nothing bustling there. Just mesas and hills, one after the other, rolling into some distant nowhere with not even a snake, a rabbit, a howling coyote or even a hunched-back, flute-playing Kokopelli to break the monotony. To say this picture fails to move me would not be entirely true, as it almost continuously moves me to look anywhere but straight ahead. But not to my left, because “for Spacious Skies” II is part of a triptych, so there are two more hanging over there just as boringly nondescript as this one. If you don’t believe me, consider the fact that these pictures have hung together on this wall for 27 years in the wrong order and I’m the only one who’s ever noticed. SS II should be in the middle between SS I and SS III instead of over here on the end. As if it matters. All three are just begging for a car ride to Goodwill, or a swift and timely end at the hands of John’s brand spanking new Colt 45 model 1911 that he got for our upcoming 30th anniversary. Designed by John Moses Browning of Ogden, Utah, (there’s a book about him, too) the original model was selected as the official sidearm of the Armed Forces of the U.S.A. on March 29th, 1911. Although over the years the 1911 has been produced in a variety of finishes, I feel safe in saying none were mauve.
My point? Surely it's clear by now I don’t have one. Apart from the fact that I learned to pronounce mauve, say table in Spanish, and impress gun enthusiasts with my wealth of knowledge, I find this post as mind-numbingly dull to write as it surely must be to read. And that proves my point. I am so stymied by this stupid wall and its stupid picture that I cannot write another stupid word. My creativity, simply put, has hit the wall.
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