Treasures

This is an exercise for a memoir writing class I'm taking. I'm so pleased with the results that I thought I'd share it with the world! The exercise was: write about your treasures. Here's what I wrote:


My treasures are many and varied. Some of them are material things, like my books or my rock collection, but most of them are spiritual. My material treasures are probably easier to write about, because I have words to describe them—so that’s where I’ll start.

I mentioned my books; I am more than an avid reader; my soul depends on reading. I am capable of going a day or two without a book, but I start to wither and die inside if I go too long. Reading is my heroin, and books are my fix. I don’t get the same reading high from magazines or newspapers. There’s just something about holding a book, with its glossy soft cover, corners slightly battered like an old tomcat’s ears, and the smoothness of the pages between my fingers, that soothes my soul. I regularly get too little sleep because I read in bed and lose track of time while I’m in the world of words on the page. I can escape any troubles in my life through the magic of books.

Other worldly treasures are a cup of tea on a rainy day (or any day, but there’s something even more special about tea when it’s raining), flowers blooming in spring after the long silent dormancy of winter, a breathtaking sunset, the world under a fresh carpet of snow the morning after a snow storm, and the booming power of a summer thunderstorm. Part of what makes these treasures for me is their fleetingness. I can enjoy the moment of my cup of tea on a rainy day, or watching a thunderstorm, knowing it will end. I know that this pleasure is for a finite time, but that I will get to enjoy it again someday.

My spiritual treasures start with peace—peace of mind, of soul, of emotion, and of body. This is one of the gifts I received from the journey of my stroke; the ability to experience peace in turbulent circumstances. Over the years since my stroke, I’ve come to lean more and more on God and trusting that He knows what is right and good, and that somehow, some day, I’ll see how His plan has played out in my life. During those dark moments, I can take a step back and be eager to see how this will end up blessing me and the world. God has given me the confidence that, despite the fact that I feel awful and I don’t think that what’s happening is a blessing, in the light of eternity it is a blessing and I will understand how and why when God leads me there. Knowing that He can use even my stupidest mistakes and poorest decisions to make blessings is a comfort, and from that I derive peace.

Peace leads me to joy. Knowing that, with God’s peace, everything will work out to the good even if it’s not in my lifetime, frees me to feel all-encompassing joy even in dull moments. I can look at the sky and feel awe at its scope and know that all is well. The joy swells up inside me, starting at my stomach, and pushes all my negative feelings away. And with that radiating joy surrounding me, I can share some of my peace with others. It’s a “vicious” cycle—I feel peace, which leads me to joy, which brings me more peace…

These are my treasures.

Memoir?

Okay, so I've been working on writing a memoir for a couple of months, but haven't really gotten anywhere. Anyone who knows me probably knows what the memoir will be about: my stroke. Why should I be struggling with it, though? I've told the story a million times, so it's not like I don't know what I'm trying to say. That of course, is part of the problem--I've told the story so often that I don't pay attention to the details of the story. I also play it down a lot, for several reasons. One of those reasons is that it always comes out sounding melodramatic, and I don't like melodrama. I invariably feel like I'm trying to out-do the person I'm talking to, a la "I've suffered more than you have!" which is never what I'm trying to say (unless I'm talking to Kara or Jane. But that's a different issue!) Also, it was 17 years ago--plenty of time for me to forget those details. And last but not least, it's boring for me (like I said, I've told it a million times. You can only remain interested in your own story for so many tellings!).

Right now I'm working with a concept of interspersing tidbits of the stroke story with fiction. I don't know how that will work out. In the long run, I want to communicate what I've learned & how my stroke shaped me. One of the things I learned is the importance of temporary escape (along the lines of going to my imaginary special place when the pain of PT got overwhelming), and I'd like to provide a bit of that by using some of my fiction along with my memoir. I just don't know if that will end up going over well--or, for that matter, how to work the fiction in.

So, someday, I hope to publish a memoir. I welcome feedback, questions, and suggestions--not to mention prayers for me to actually finish it!

Unanswered prayers?

I'm listening to a podcast sermon-type thing about "unanswered prayer" (from crosswalk), and it's driving me crazy. I don't have a problem with prayer being much more powerful when it's aligned with God's will and His plan; what I take issue with is the concept of "unanswered" prayer. God never leaves any prayer unanswered. I think what causes us to stumble over this is that we don't know what an answer is. God answers prayers in one of three ways: yes, no, or later. The reason some people think their prayers remain unanswered is that they don't hear the answer they want. They don't recognize a "no" as an answer to the prayer. And "later" is probably even worse--who wants to wait for God to answer a prayer? We want results NOW.

Sadly for us humans, God doesn't work that way. He's on an eternal schedule, not constrained by our deadlines and impatience. If I pray for a friend to be healed, but that friend remains sick, it's not that God ignored my prayer; it's that He said "no." If I pray for God to move a mountain for me, and it stays where it is, that doesn't mean that God hasn't answered, it means that he's either answered "no" or "later" (The secret for figuring out which? If there's no definitive answer, it's probably a "later".)

How do I know this? Aside from all the places in the Bible that talk about "waiting on God" (also here, here, here, here, and here, among others) and persevering in prayer, I've seen it in my own life. Any number of times, I've prayed for something for months (and occasionally years) without hearing back from God. Then--seemingly out of the blue--I'd get an answer that was beyond my wildest hopes.

So don't believe the nonsense about "unanswered" prayer! Maybe you just haven't gotten the answer you wanted. Just remember (this one's hard for me) God knows what He's doing, and he's smarter than us. Trust Him. Oh--and it's always worth the wait.

Some nonsense, just for fun!

I've written a few nonsense poems that I decided to share. I'm including each in a separate post to make it easier to read them individually. They've been hanging around for a while, and I haven't done anything else with them yet, so this seems like a good opportunity to "publish" them.

I had a lot of fun writing them, and I hope you enjoy reading them. Let me know what you think!

(And yes, this is how I'm using my linguistics degree. Useful, no?)

Ninny Nanny Nonny-sense

Wiggle waggle woggle wump
Fliggle flaggle floggle flump
Miggle maggle moggle mump
Ziggle zaggle zoggle zump!

Weezle wazzle wizzle warg
Feezle fazzle fizzle farg
Meezle mazzle mizzle marg
Zeezle zazzle zizzle zarg!

Widdle waddle wuddle wode
Fiddle faddle fuddle fode
Middle maddle muddle mode
Ziddle zaddle zuddle zode!

Iffle piffle tiffle tonk
Niffle diffle kiffle konk
Hiffle liffle ziffle zonk
Wiffle miffle biffle bonk!

Hiddy diddy biddy bud
Niddy middy ziddy zud
Piddy widdy fiddy fud
Kiddy jiddy giddy gud!

Wergle the Nergle

Wergle the nergle wanted to climb
To the top of the kergle of Miggledy Pime.
He waited for evening, as that is the time
When climbing is best at Miggledy Pime.
He got to the start of his kergley quest,
The bottom of climbing up to the Lerg nest.
For Lergs live way up on the zippedy-zest
Of tall kergle flondubs, above all the rest.
Wergle climbed up the high kergle kuzzo
And felt full of awe to see the nergles below.
From up on the Kergle, he saw them bestow
His evening climb triumph with a nergley glow.
he felt all a-flutter on seeing that sight
and knew he would always remember this night;
the night he found out that glowing was right
when all his friend nergles showed him their light.

Have you Heard of the Flerd

I'll post a picture of what I think a flerd looks like soon-kf

Have you heard of the flerd
Who lost track of his yerd?
(This particular flerd’s name was Jerd.)

He searched high
And low
And in-between
He looked far
And wide
But found not a bean.
Jerd asked for the help of his friends,
Merd and Serd,
Who enlisted the help of two more,
Zerd and Perd.
They looked and they looked,
These five flerdy friends.

They searched the whole world
From beginning to end.
Still they found not a sign
Of the yerd that was gone.
It was hiding—or lost—but no matter the cost
Jerd needed to find his yerd.
For without it, you see,
He couldn’t fliggameezee.
And a fleggameezeeless existence
Would just have no glee.
So Jerd and his flerd friends,
Merd, Serd, Zerd and Perd,
Continued the search for Jerd’s missing yerd.

“But what is a yerd?”
Did I hear you ask that?
Do you not learn of yerds in the place where you’re at?
Well, I promise to answer
Just what a yerd is,
But first we must check on
The flerds and their searches.
They still have not found it—
They exclaim, “Oh, confound it!
How could that yerd have left its flerd Jerd?
We must find it!
We must,
Or our quest is a bust.
For minus his yerd, our friend Jerd is half-clerd.”

So they continued to look
And to search
And to seek,
But of that yerd they discovered
Not one single peek.
At last they agreed, they must stop for the night,
And continue tomorrow on their flerd-finding fight.
But alas, still the next day,

And week

Month

And year

The end of their quest still did not draw near.
They fin’ly admitted that they didn’t know
Just how to get that yerd to show.

So they went to the experts;
Jerd, Merd, Perd, Serd and Zerd
Consulted the ones
Who knew how to find yerds.
The yerd-finding experts in the world of the flerds
Knew at once where Jerd’s long-missing flerd would be found.

They said, “Go all the way back
To where you began.
Then go back even farther,
As far as you can.
Then you will recall
where you last saw your yerd.
As soon as you know it,
You must think very hard
Of just what your yerd is,
How it looks,
What it says.
Hold on to those thoughts
As you capture your yerd,
And keep them in mind
As you find your yerd-rhyme.
And then, my dear Jerd,
You will know at all times
Just where, how and when
To locate your yerd.”

And so Jerd and Merd, Perd, Serd, and Zerd
Went back to the place
Where Jerd lost his yerd.
All five of the flerds,
Minding the import of fliggameezee
Looked around, up, and down
Then did as the yerd-experts said to.
The flerds went one step
Farther back from here,
And Jerd, who all this time
Had been missing his yerd,
Said, “I see it! It’s here!
Right before where I left it
When I had it last year!”

It was true, there it was—
Barely glowing, the long-missing yerd.
It pulsed and grew brighter;
The nearer Jerd got,
The harder it glowed—
It was practically hot!
It flashed and Jerd smiled.
“It missed me too!”

The flerd friends all cheered,
And their yerds glew too.
Now all of the flerds
Had their yerds
In their hearts.
And that’s what a yerd is—
It glows in your heart.

More Musical Meandering

I really enjoyed this. It reminds me a lot of the Pachelbel Rant I posted about in June. All the best ideas are stolen from someone else--the same goes for music!

Phonology gone crazy

Anyone familiar with the Capitol Steps will enjoy their Lirty Dies routine. I first heard Lirty Dies in my Exceptional Phonologies class a couple years ago. Listen to this one (there are a bunch; if you like this one, you'll like them all). If you're confused, it's all about switching onsets. It happens to all of us (we call it a "slip of the tonuge" or a Spoonerism), and it's a lot of fun to hear it done deliberately--and in such a funny way!

Let me know what you think of these--it could be that I'm the only one who's a big enough dork to think they're hilarious.

Books, reading, and language

I wrote a couple of posts several months ago (this one and this one) about linguistics and and reading, and I've been thinking about the relationships among language, books, and reading a lot lately. What makes a good book? What makes a great book? What makes a book that becomes a classic? Why are we still reading Shakespeare after 400 years? What makes a bad book? Is there a difference between a book that's fun to read and a book that's good to read? Some classics are hard to read and, frankly, boring--so why are they classics? I honestly think that to some extent some books are considered classics because we've always been told that they are. (Moby Dick, anyone? Not to disparage Melville--well, okay, I hate Melville and I would prefer not to read any of his work ever again)

It's subjective of course, but I have my theories about reading. Some of the "boring" classics are still good reads (okay, I'll admit that Moby Dick might be worth reading. If you have the stamina. And the ability to skim large passages.) because of the insight into language that they provide (and the brain exercise!). The reason that Moby Dick feels boring to me is because it uses the language of its day, and mid-19th century English tends to be very...well, drawn-out might be a good description. Some of the sentences last for pages, and in a story as detailed, involved, and long as Moby Dick, that can be intimidating. I'm all for reading modernized versions, summaries, and so on, but you lose a lot of the flavor of the original piece that's integral to why it became a classic in the first place. (My technique is usually to read the summary/modern version/whatever first, then read the original. That way I actually understand what the story is about and I get the edifying effect of reading the original classic. More work, but more benefit to me.) Think about reading the King James Version of the Bible. The language is beautiful, but it's hard to understand! So, if I read the same passage in the Message version and in the KJV, I get more out of both; the beauty of language and understanding.

One note--in the era in which the KJV and Moby Dick were written, there wasn't anything special about the language--it was the standard of the day. People talked and wrote like that. Heck, read some Chaucer in the original Middle English--it's not even the same language we speak today--it's largely unintelligible to us. Some of the benefit of reading them comes from seeing where our language has been.

I'll write more about all this later, because I have more considering to do...