A Found Writing Prompt is a True Gift

My friend Alana was writing about experiencing synesthesia during choir rehearsal. The basses sounded like mud, or sand, another voice like caramel, another like aluminum foil. Friends asked questions about the condition, and about her perceptions. Her examples were unexpected. She gave me permission to use this line as a writing prompt:

I realized my talents when I noticed that Whitney Houston sounded like tomatoes.

While we don’t all have synesthesia, we all make odd associations. If you write nonfiction, you could examine some of yours. If you write fiction, you might use one of these strange associations to help show certain facets of a character. If you write poetry, the associations you make would be a fresh juxtaposition.

For my part, I realized that I associated perfumes with colors, in that I would coordinate my perfume with the color of the clothes I was wearing. When I wore brown, I wore Chanel Number Five. Arpege went with beige. Tea Rose Oil went with light colors, while lilac went with blue. I never questioned it until I read Alana’s post.

I didn’t realize how deeply ingrained these associations were for me until they were questioned. But recently I was at a graveside service for a friend’s mother, and the sun was hot. Everyone there was properly dressed, but under the canopy set up by the funeral home where we all were standing for the shade, there was a miasma of accumulated light fragrances — sweet citrus and flowery things that one spritzes on in the summer. For a moment, I was scandalized. This was, after all, a funeral. But, what did I expect? Incense. Damask rose. At the most, lavender. (Now, I myself was wearing essential oils, rose geranium, to be exact, but that was as a form of insect repellent, and, further, it worked. Or perhaps there were no bugs.)

That’s when it occurred to me that probably nobody else thought this way. Men and women who took the time to wear proper suits and sleek black dresses would not deliberately do anything untoward when they went to apply scent. To the best of my knowledge, no one had judged me for what I wore.  It would scandalize no one if I were to have applied, even, Baby Love, Wind Song, or anything that Avon sells in a sculpted glass bottle. Why was I judging them? Where did this idea come from? That is, indeed, essay fodder.

Help yourself to my prompt. What thing occurs to you that is other than normative, that mixes senses, that conflates unusual objects, and, more importantly, why? It is a point of demarcation, both in our own lives and in the lives of those whom we invent, when we realize and then question something we have always thought of as fact.

 

Speaking at the St. Herman’s Conference

I am late posting this, but my talk is up, and it is pleasant to remember winter in July! My husband and I spoke at a youth conference for Orthodox Christian teenagers and young adults, 43 of them, with seven adults. It was a very great honor. The conference was dedicated to St. Herman of Alaska, a missionary saint who came to Alaska from Russia in 1793 both to serve the Russians who lived there and to minister to the natives, many of whom became Orthodox.

While the St. Herman’s Conference has been well established on the East Coast — I met my husband at one in 1980 — the midwest St. Herman’s Conference is relatively new. I spoke at the first one in 2008, when there were closer to 20 of us, and it was a joy to see how it has grown. The diocese now has a program to encourage the youth to sing in their parishes, and several of them conducted pieces for the services we sang together.

Each conference has a theme. The purpose of this gathering was to bring people together to discuss friendship, the internet, and God. The kids came from everywhere — Chicago, Alaska, Oklahoma, Texas. They listened attentively, asked sharp questions, shared their lives and problems, and learned to sing the services together. They played in the snow on snow tubes and in a human Foosball game, volunteered for four hours at a homeless shelter, and got to know each other over all- you-can-eat fish tacos and bowling after. We ended the services at the St. Herman parish in Hastings, where our friend Fr. Michael Carney is rector.

My talk was on how to “curate” your thoughts before sharing them on the internet. I could not have given this talk before the studying I did for my MFA in Writing. I had to learn to curate my collection of thoughts and experiences, to share them in the best light and with the right juxtapositions, before I could speak to the youth about what to share and how so we can lift each other up and support each other rather than tear people down though our online participation.

The camp where the conference was held is a place of great natural beauty. The dining hall overlooked a frozen lake, and the sky above was a study in blues and greys by day, infused with orange and pink at sunrise. I had thought of Michigan winters as bleak, because I looked at the snow on the side of the road. When you stand in nature and look up, everything changes.

A bishop friend says, “Private prayer is important, but it is only in the services of the Church that we find spiritual regeneration.” And online contact is important, but it is only by meeting face to face that we truly become close. The internet helped us to organize, but of incalculable value was the face to face contact we made, forging new friendships and deepening old ones.

The world can be so cold, both physically and otherwise. It is essential that we make every effort to overcome it, banding together to share and to spread the warmth.

Finally Summer

Supper was ready, but we were not yet ready to eat.

We went for a walk to celebrate the last of the light of the almost longest day, then came across the concert on the green, first time I ever went, even though we’ve lived here seventeen years now.

The Frank Porto band was playing in the gazebo, and singing some great numbers — “Close to You,” “Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog,” “Sweet Caroline.” We had been sitting on a bench across the street, and I put my head on his shoulder and sang the lyrics since we were too far for him to hear.

Then we crossed the street and were closer for the last few songs, ending with “YMCA,” and it was over and we sauntered toward home talking of everything and nothing. The sun was setting, and people were folding their chairs and rounding up children.

As we passed the corner he pointed out the Tree of Heaven and told me its history — tall, distinctive, invasive, pervasive — and we inhaled its scent, and I dropped my head and smiled and he lifted his and did the same, and it was night, and we were almost home.

Transitions — Listening to the Elephant

Transition is the hardest part of labor for a reason. I am working on making changes, and they haven’t come to fruition yet, so this is the sweaty grouchy part where I do LaMaze breathing and rant a lot. Remembering the four beautiful outcomes of transitions past (hi, guys!), and trying to remember to breathe.
Deep cleansing breath, then off for Morning Prayers and to tackle life anew. Already, all of today’s decisions feel good.

When I was seventeen my late, and great, Uncle Joe let me sit in on his interview with Blackstone the Magician, who had an elephant in his act. Uncle Joe asked Blackstone something unexpected. He asked him how they know that a stage is safe for the elephant to walk on. Do they have a structural engineer travel with them, or what?
Blackstone said, “The elephant knows.”
Joe asked him to clarify.
Blackstone said, “The elephant knows what can hold him and what cannot. We bring the elephant to the stage early in the rehearsals, and the elephant starts to put his foot down. If the elephant won’t step on the stage, we don’t use the elephant for that venue. The elephant knows what can support him and what cannot.”
Today I listened to the elephant voice in my head, and did not step out to do something where I felt unsupported.
It felt like loss.
And also it felt good.
Truth does that.

Marching orders.
Yes to this.
No to that.
Maybe to so much else.
But let the yea be a yea and the nay a nay.
And breathe.