Author: Maria Johnson

finally, I put my feet up and relaxed

The beautiful part about not bringing work home and  having gotten that insanity under control is being able to enjoy the weekends the way they are meant to be enjoyed. In no particular order, I bring to you the highlights of my weekend:

  • cooked
  • ate
  • spent time with friends
  • saw goofy movies
  • read
  • wrote
  • prayed
  • cooked some more
  • went to Mass
  • ate some more
  • shed a tear or three over a moving poem
  • did a human amount of laundry (1 dark 1 white)
  • enjoyed some sidra (no, I didn’t throw it)
  • prayed some rosaries
  • listened to some good music
  • listened to some loud music
  • made a little music
  • drank a lot of coffee
  • read some more
  • wrote a poem
  • had some tea
  • laughed a lot
  • and finally, put my feet up.

did you know I’m on a podcast sometimes?

It’s a new episode of Catholic Weekend and I got to play with Captain Jeff and Steve Nelson. This afternoon we discussed some random stuff about eating meat on a Friday in Lent because it was the Solemnity of the Annunciation of the Lord, and we also had some serious conversations about Steve’s mission trip to Haiti last week.

If you’ve never listened to this show, or you’ve never listened to a podcast, you can listen straight from the website. Just click PLAY. Or if you want, you can download it and listen to it later. If you like it, or like the idea of listening to shows on demand when you want, then look at some of the other shows that are featured in reviews or in the directory.

I discovered A Good Story is Hard to Find thanks to a review by Sean McGaughey.

 

in which I expound on green things

the afternoon sun through our Japanese maple

In the green and gallant Spring, / Love and the lyre I thought to sing, And kisses sweet to give and take / By the flowery hawthorn brake.

~Robert Louis Stevenson

I love spring. Especially after the time change annoyance passes and life settles back into the semblance of a routine.

Except for pollen, I enjoy everything about this lovely season.

It seems like the sun shines brighter than ever although it could be that after the gray dreariness of winter, just turning on the sunshine is bright enough.

There’s something so satisfying in feeling the warmth of the son on my skin, warming me all the way through. (hey! did you see that typo? I’m leaving it in! teehee!).

I love the suddenness of the blooms. One day everything looks gray, and bam! the next time I pay attention the Magnolias are in full bloom, the cherry trees are pink and lovely, and even the blasted Bradford pears look pretty if I remember not to get too close.

I especially love the green. It is a baby green. Fresh. Alive. New. By the time summer arrives the greens are a mature, dark, mellow color, but now they are screaming new life in a way that gets my attention.

That first realization of the green around me heralds the beginning of spring better than any date on a calendar. It happens at different times, always unexpected. It is the suddenness of it, though, that renders me speechless.

I wonder how long spring has really been around me before I recognize it. I don’t like the thought of being so busy or distracted that I don’t have the time or inclination to notice the beauty that surrounds me. It gives me pause.

And then I get over it and revel in the beauty of the green.

civic duty and all that

I had jury duty earlier this week. Very exciting. Got far into the process and the trial was gonna start later in the week, and suddenly, the case was settled.

Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person I know who takes this seriously, as in, I am proud to serve and don’t try to find some lame excuse to get out of it. Or worse, lie or misrepresent myself so I don’t get picked. I am appalled when I hear people say things like that.

I am proud to be an American, and acutely aware of the awesomeness of my citizenship. It wasn’t an accident of birth but something I had to earn, which makes it all the more precious.

I don’t walk around wearing an American flag pin, or spout vitriol at anyone who doesn’t love this country (although it hurts me to hear it) but I fly the flag on my front porch, and I vote in every election (and do my homework first), and I recognize the awesome responsibility and duty to serve on a jury.

I seem to get called an awful lot. Which is weird, when you think about it — the lawyers either love or hate teachers. Either I sit uncomfortably in round after round of questioning, or they dismiss me immediately. I guess it depends on what they need.

This particular case was in criminal court and looked interesting, from what I could glean…the defendent was a little on the creepy side…a fantastic inspiration for a character in my current Work-in-Progress, a story of murder and intrigue.

In fact, now that I think about it, the dude looked an awful lot like Steve Buscemi. Ha. Not that I had made up my mind about the guy or anything. 🙂 Really. I didn’t.

I’ll be honest, though, I’m kinda sorry we were dismissed. I was looking forward to observing the process up here in this county. I served on a couple of juries in Miami, and that was entertaining, though not as entertaining as the woman sitting next to me. She spoke, at nauseum, about her husband’s hobby: showing mules.

I don’t get out enough.

Day 30

Day 30 – A picture of someone you miss.

I miss Soldier Sally but so proud of her service!

Do you know that less than 2% of the population of the United States is in the military? Pray for our fine men and women in uniform (especially this one…and her hubby)

Day 28

Day 28 – A picture of something you’re afraid of.

Another doozy of a prompt. Okay, so what am I afraid of? What’s the real challenge in the topic? Am I afraid of death? My own? My loved ones? Um. Yes. And no. Not something I want to think about most days, but something very real.

Somehow, though, that’s not it. Even if you were to add up all the years of awakening in the middle of the night in cold sweats fearing for my childrens’ safety. (am I the only one to ever get up to check on little ones’ breathing? I bet not. Do I dare publicly admit I haven’t necessarily stopped? I take the fifth.).

So what scares me?

Financial ruin? Nah. Been there. Done that. Money is just…money.

Public speaking? Spiders? The Boogeyman?

No. No; ha! Nope.

Could I possibly be afraid of failure? I think that’s a little closer. As in, I won’t do something in case I fail. In case I look like a fool. In case everybody laughs. In case I suck and now the whole world knows what only I thought.

Maybe.

Frankly, the real fear is probably a fear of success. What if I do something and succeed, and it was a fluke?! What if I can’t replicate the success. What if after being good then I suck. That would be pretty bad.

Well, if you know me even a little bit you know I’m talking about writing. On the one hand, something that has consumed me in one way or another since I was a kid. On the other hand, something I have actively avoided committing to for just about as long as I’ve known I had to write.

What a head case, right? I mean, I have a blog, for crying out loud. I write all the time…some good stuff creeps in every once in a while, mostly silliness and a good time for my entertainment, more than a few clunkers, and a mish-mash of non-committal nonsense. So what am I afraid of?

I am afraid of my own voice.

There. I said it and nothing terrible happened. Of course, I haven’t hit the publish button either, so for the moment this is just between me…and me.

And God. Oh, and evidently I did hit the publish button, so you, too.

Most days I feel I am an adequate writer. Some days I totally miss the mark. And sometimes I write something and I say, “Wow, I don’t know where that came from; it was clearly the Holy Spirit.” Those are the days that I find the fear most challenging, when it seems they should be the most freeing.

Lately I’ve been working extra hard on this fear of writing. I’ve been working on accepting that it’s a precious gift from God. And that realization has me playing a little with semantics. You see, while I admit this fear, it isn’t paralyzing. It isn’t something I avoid.

I think what I need to do is substitute the word “awe” for “fear.” It makes better sense to me.

Awe is about reverence and respect. I feel better about it already. I respect the written word. I have nothing but respect for people who do it day in and day out, and manage to do it consistently and effectively. To write and move people, now that is an awesome gift. To do it for the glory of God, isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?

And that’s what I’m afraid of…not fear of embarrassing myself, but fear of failing to use this gift to glorify God, to brings others closer to God through my own experiences and sharing, to somehow squander a gift that has the potential to be awesome.

Because God is awesome.

endless holy cards

Last night in a spontaneous and random status update on Facebook, I announced that I had a ridiculous amount of holy cards stuck everywhere. I was astounded by the response.

Evidently there needs to be a 12-step program for holy card hoarders, huh?

Whatever. I’m not breaking the habit any time soon, so forgetaboutit. They are everywhere, as bookmarks, little reminders, spontaneous little signs of joy, and reminders to pray.

Still, it does amuse me to find them in totally random places. Like the other day, I was looking for some sunglasses in those nifty hideaway tiny compartments in my husband’s good ol’ boy pick-up truck and when I popped the little door the Divine Mercy prayer card fell out. His distress was palpable…”put that back please,” he said, like I was gonna help myself to it.

Oh. Well. I must have a reputation for doing that, then. Oops.

Perhaps that explains why today, after yesterday’s cleaning session and discovery of all things holy cards, I found a new stash…this one just fell out of a journal that I’m not even using. We can talk about my collection of empty journals another time.

Thirteen cards fell out. Thirteen! In just a little journal. I need an intervention 🙂

Are you this ridiculous?