Mysterious change in the air

The crows are causing quite a cacophony in my neighborhood this morning—making a mighty racket! They’re clustered, as if for a coffee klatch, in the treetops about a block from my house.

When I first heard their honking, I thought romantically, “Oh—the geese! They’re singing their song of change!” In my mind, I began waxing poetic about the changes I need to make in my own life, drawing inspiration from the chorus of migratory creatures outside my window.

But then I noticed that the stream of sound was not leaving. Either there were gobs of geese steadily streaming southward in my sky (something I surely needed to see), or there was something else afoot in the air. I slipped outside to investigate.

I looked up, and saw nothing—nothing except a thick cover of light gray clouds. I walked a bit, toward the source of the noise, and there they were: Dozens of black birds, most perched, some coming and going from the uppermost bare parts of two or three trees bearing the colors of autumn. “What on earth, do you suppose, can they be crowing about?!”

At first, I thought: “I will have to go ask an ornithological expert: my sister!” But then my misty-eyed tendencies reconsidered, and I again pondered the prospect that these chatter-beaks might be signaling something from which I could draw magical meaning: “It’s change that’s coming—oh, yes—only not the sort I might have guessed. Something different, something mysterious…and loud!”

“What could it be?” I wonder. (Oh, how good it is to wonder!)

Blathering blogette in a pink pok-a-dot jumpsuit

Now that I know you’re listening (via comments and stats), you won’t be able to shut me up—I’ll be a blathering blogette!* I’ll be “incorrigible,” a la Kurt, from The Sound of Music. 

Speaking of TSOM, my friend Mary tells me that the whole cast will be on The Oprah Winfrey Show tomorrow. I hardly ever watch TV, but the prospect of a few moments with Captain von Trapp might just motivate me to turn on the tube.

I met him once, you know—not the real CVT, but the actor, Christopher Plummer. It was 1994 and I wore a pink pok-a-dot jumpsuit for the occasion. My sister “Beulah” works for a radio station. Capt. Dreamy was set to visit, so B shamelessly abused her position as a peon and smuggled me in. We waited outside the studio and accosted our all-time favorite actor with eyes like saucers and breathy exclamations of respect and admiration. He put up with us for a whole 30 seconds before saying, “So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, goodbye.”

*OK, so the Wiktionary defines “blogette” as a small blog. But I’m using it here as a feminine form of blogger. (I like to make up words, especially when alliterative opportunities arise.)

P.S. The fact that Plummer is now an octogenarian does not diminish his beauty—and Get! This! When looking up his age on imdb.com just now (not that it matters), I found out we share a birthday! Well, “Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens!”

Our sloppy, earnest selves

I’ve been having a lot of “What Not to Wear” days lately, a consequence of rapid weight gain (via pregnancy), accompanied by my scale’s unprecedented stubbornness. Despite my halfhearted efforts to shed postnatal poundage, the needle refuses to budge. If I sound like a broken record, it’s because my Sunbeam analog weight measuring machine looks like one!

(I’m also experiencing an unprecedented case of blog inertia. It’s been so long since I’ve posted here that I now hesitate to disturb the peace. But I don’t think I’m ready to let A-Town die, so I’m shouting this “HELLO!-Hello!-hello-hello…” to echo in the blogosphere. It doesn’t matter if anyone is listening.  Sometimes the sole purpose of throwing a stone is to witness the ripple, a reminder to oneself: “I am alive. Here I am. Hello.”)

Getting back to the bad outfits, I’ve been cobbling together pitiful combinations of thrift store finds, not-too-huge maternity clothes, and the few faithful pieces of my year-ago wardrobe that still will accommodate my considerably expanded girth. The results ain’t pretty. The selection problem, paired with the schedule problem (getting the kids ready, myself ready, and the house ready to meet the challenges of our daily life, all before noon), gives rise to a clumsy tango of doing what needs doing, and being who we are: Our sloppy, earnest selves.

We’re facing the music with as much grace as we can muster. This is where God comes in. Where we are inadequate, God carries. Some days I feel perfectly capable and confident. Other days I relate heartily to the helpless infant in my lap. And God carries us both – God carries us all.

Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved,

clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.

Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances
you may have against one another.
Forgive as the Lord forgave you.

And over all these virtues put on love,
which binds them all together in perfect unity.

Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts,
since as members of one body you were called to peace.

And be thankful.

—Colossians 3:12-15