Sitting, part 23

in which Megan sits and sees a view during Lent 2011


I am sitting on the back porch, and a spider just walked right past me on a web strand that I hadn’t seen. I don’t even know how far it goes. It starts here, on the loveseat. Does it reach four feet away, to the patio chair?


Sweetheart, when did you build this? And why here, where it’s likely to get broken?


(You know, don’t you, that all spiders are honorably female, because of Charlotte.)


Now I’m stuck. I can’t move without breaking the web. Guess I’ll have to sit here all the live long day.

Sitting, part 22

in which Megan sits and sees a view during Lent 2011


Five Cuties. I’ve eaten five Cutie oranges while sitting on my back porch.


Each of my puppies is laying in a sunny indentation in the ground. Clover has one leaf stuck to her ear, another to her butt. She yawns.


No clouds. No wind, except that made by my lovely new ceiling fan. On the eighth day, God made ceiling fans (at least in Texas).


I sip cool papaya-passionfruit green tea.


A black butterfly sucks from the white blossoms on the photinia bush. Wait–there are two of them.


An orange butterfly, down in the dirt. What’s down there, honey?


I will not wax eloquent on our recent bug invasion. They’re enjoying spring, too, I guess. Birds, get to work! Stop talking and go forth and eat bugs!


John’s gonna buy grass this week. I’m going to literally sit and watch it grow.

Sitting, part 21

in which Megan sits and sees a view during Lent 2011


Honestly, I never even thought of sitting today. Oh well.

Sitting, part 20

in which Megan sits and sees a view during Lent 2011


What is this creature crawling on my chair? Like a grasshopper, but smaller. Not green–the same color I’m painting my kitchen (khaki).


He stops.


The puppies run. He stays put.


One-half an inch long. Two antennae. Slender. Four legs? Body like a check mark.


He moves along this broken loveseat, from the back to the arm.


What does he eat?


Who would eat him?


“Hello. I’ve never seen you before. Do you live here? Because I live here, too.”


He looks at me. Rocks back and forth. Tests the chair with his foot.


He falls. I’ve lost him.


A praying mantis? Maybe just a falling prayer.

Sitting, part 19

in which Megan sits and sees a view during Lent 2011


10:37 a.m. Sitting on the back porch. There are white blooms on the red-tip photinia. My old boss–the one who went to prison–loved those. And lantana.


I finished my grief journal today, thanks be to Sally. God bless her up, down and sideways–please!


I’m still in my pj’s.  I just ate a family-sized serving of jasmine rice, salted cashews and Craisins because that’s what I’m craving on this day, the last day of my period.


I’m nicer to myself when I’m sick. I go slower. I stop sooner. I take time to watch “The Office” with my son. What if I just said, “I’m sick” all the time? Obviously, my immunity sucks. I’m highly susceptible to cancer. Why not? Why wait? Embrace illness now!


My head hurts. I don’t care. My uterus hurts. Oh well.


“It’s a perfect day. The temp is mid-’70s, humidity 60 percent. It’s a perfect day. Not a cloud in the sky and I can say without fear of dissent. It’s a picture-postcard perfect kind of [spring morning]. It’s a perfect day.”


(thank you, always, “Phineas & Ferb”)

Sitting, part 18

in which Megan sits and sees a view during Lent 2011


Perhaps I should abandon any attempt at original prayer. Everything I was praying about turned, like a prism, so I could see it from another angle. Now, I guess I’m grateful. Puzzled, but grateful.


God says, “For the last three years, you’ve been going Boom-Boom-Boom-Boom-CRASH.”


Thankfully, I’ve had sabbaths to crash on. But I don’t think I’m supposed to continue that pattern.


Perhaps that what this Lent is about.

Sitting, part 17

in which Megan sits and sees a view during Lent 2011


Five little birds are gathered in my front yard. We blew out the garage last night, so our yard is full of all sorts of fascinating debris: dryer lint, string, twigs. A feast for those five little birds. Or treasure for their nests.


Gather up.


Store up.


Eat up.


Fill up.


I offer this day to those five little birds, who know abundance when they see it and dig in.

Sitting, part 16

in which Megan sits and sees a view during Lent 2011


I came out hear to sit, but my son found me and came out to talk with me. Then John came out and found me. Even my daughter came out here when she realized no one else was in the house.


Is this what you want, Lord?

Sitting, part 15

in which Megan sits and sees a view during Lent 2011


Forget meditating. Its raining! And lightning and thunder for the first time in six whole months.


The sky is yellow as it dakens.


The lightning doesn’t stop.


The thunder sounds like planes taking off and landing. That’s how I figured out it was thunder. No real airport around here.


A leaf flutters down.


The sidewalk is wet. The driveway is wet. The new roof has new drip-streams. The car will be washed clean.


A streak of electricity, like a finger. The sky is flickering, like the power is about to go out.


It’s still raining as I write this. Harder!


I’ve been so dry, Lord. And now you come and pour, pour, pour. You keep flicking the lights on and off and on and off and on and on and on. You won’t stop.


Almost no dark now. Constant lightning. Closer now.


Let it rain.

Sitting, part 14

in which Megan sits and sees a view during Lent 2011


The clouds are tinged pink against a light denim blue sky. To the right, the sky is white-blue. Clouds already fading to salmon.


Now the clouds have lost all color so I can’t see where they end and the sky begins.


The kids are going inside, one by one.


The trees look tired. New growth pushes off the like oak leaves. I smell the yellow pollen.


Today, my daughter said, speaking of her summer schedule, “I’m not as strong as I think I am.”


Me, too, honey. Me, too.