Poetry & Pushpins

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Poetry & Pushpins

Tag Archives: New York

Urban Snowstorms and Sweet Ohio Red Wine

28 Wednesday Jan 2015

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Pushpins (Daily Life), The Creative Life

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countryside, cozy apartment, Midwest, New York

The snow swirls and curls outside the window, I cock my head and watch it gracefully move in the late afternoon sun. Its presence is soft, muted, and gentle as it winnows through the straight streets and tall buildings of New York’s Upper East Side. By tomorrow morning, the city will be covered in a deep snow.

Being from the Snow Belt of Northeastern Ohio, snow is a winter inevitability—its manifestation involving salted roads and large expanses of forest and farmland, covered in a cold sea of solid white. But this is my first urban snowstorm. The first time I’ll seen snow embrace the busy, lived-in world of a big city.

I look away from the window and back to the laptop that sits on my lap. On a small side table to my left, is a hot cup of tea, Joseph Campbell’s The Power of Myth, and a glass of sweet Ohio red wine. I always bring back a few bottles of sweet Ohio red wine when I visit my family in the Midwest. I’ve yet to find a red wine that matches its tasty contradictions: light-bodied but rich, delicately sweet but sensuously grounded. But at this moment, I enjoy not for its contradictions, but for the sense of consistency its ruby presence gives me. Though buildings rather than trees tower outside my window, my snow rituals haven’t changed that much. In Northeastern Ohio, I too would weather out a snowy afternoon with a cup of tea, a good book, an interesting writing project, and a glass of sweet Ohio red wine.

Inspired, I hold my glass up to the window and absently swirl around its contents. The wine seems to be dancing with the snow. What a mismatched couple they seem to make:  Red and white, liquid and solid, town and country, all moving before my eyes. But are they really so poorly matched? For even in contradiction there is consistency. Won’t this snow melt, evaporate, and rain down upon the vineyards of the Hudson Valley, or even those of Northeastern Ohio, depending on the weather patterns? Won’t future clusters of grapes benefit from this snow’s liquid nurturance, and swell full of flavor and life? And won’t a Midwestern girl enjoy an afternoon of snow, even if her landscape is tall, squared buildings rather than expansive, rolling farmland?

The answer is yes, for even in contradiction there is consistency.

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The Dark: Children’s Books and Adult Experience

30 Wednesday Jul 2014

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Literature, Pushpins (Daily Life), The Creative Life

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books, friendship, New York, writing

For his third birthday, I bought my honorary nephew The Dark, Lemony Snicket’s newest book for children. Before the purchase, one of my dearest friends and I stood by the children’s book island in the middle of the Strand, a famous New York city bookstore. Though the city, with its ever lively pace, still moved around us as shoppers and tourists, we were suspended in the quiet, honest loveliness of the story. Huddled over the book’s crisp, yet textured, drawings of oranges, ambers, blues, and blacks.

We took turns reading each page out loud to one another. The story went something like this: Laszlo was afraid of the Dark, but that was okay because the Dark, who lived in the basement, stayed out of Laszlo’s room. But one night, when his night light burned out, the Dark visited him. This encounter taught Laszlo that: “…without the Dark, everything would be light, and you would never know if you needed a light bulb.”

By the story’s end and with our shoulders touching, my friend and I were both quietly crying.

After reading a few more children’s books to each other, we wandered around the store’s remaining floors (Three to be exact). I suppose the experience was impressive, but my senses dulled towards the towers of books that towered above us. My mind was still with Laszlo, slowly re-feeling its way through his encounter with the Dark. Yes, the book was for my nephew, but the more I thought about it, the story was also for me.

I am not a young child, afraid of the dark in my bedroom—that doesn’t mean my adult life has not had its share of darkness. These past five years have put me in places and experiences where I have seen (with much surprise and sadness) how pain, fear, anger, and loss can wind around a person, hiding them from themselves and disordering and dissembling every important relationship they have. It’s horrible to watch. It’s even more horrible to be on the receiving end of its desperate grip.

God, “…without the Dark, everything would be light, and you would never know if you needed a light bulb,” is such a powerful line for me. When the Dark visited me, its presence hurt. But, its presence also tuned my senses to quickly see and deeply experience life’s blessings and joys—proverbial light bulbs—whenever they enlightened and enlivened my messy little bundle of experience and truth.

Apparently, The Dark helps my honorary nephew fall asleep. That’s what his mother told me yesterday. This knowledge makes me smile. We all have little stories that we tell ourselves, to make us strong, to make us brave, to help us not be afraid of the dark. I’m glad The Dark is such a story for him. And, I hope its wisdom will continue to walk with him and to strengthen him for the rest of his life.

Advent and Undergrounds

04 Wednesday Dec 2013

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Pushpins (Daily Life), Religious Exploration

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Advent, books, England, New York

Waiting in American lines makes me anxious. The New York City subway system always reminds me of this. When the train pulls in, people huddle on line in bloated, snake-like waves. There is barely enough room for those in the soiled cars to squeeze out before a large wall of flesh counter-shoves its way into the daily commute.

How can I be calm when those subway doors open? Especially when thoughts begin to shove for precedence in my brain. Thoughts like:

“Ugh, I hope we all move faster, I don’t want to be crushed by the doors.”

“Seriously? They seriously expect more people to fit into that car? I should have brought some Crisco with me.”

“Wow, I think I just got called a freckled whore in Welsh. And I don’t have freckles.”

The experience becomes even worse when I am with someone. Then, I end up worrying about the safety of my companion. Heaven forbid if you get separated by those automatic doors…

How can I be calm when those subway doors open?

Those stuffy, sweaty New York tunnels make me pine for the London Underground. There, when a train pulled into the station, people neatly lined up on either side of the car door, giving fellow passengers a wide birth to alight. If someone bumped into you as you silently moved from platform to car, they would quickly mutter “sorry.” Of course, “sorry” could have the same connotations as the f-word, depending on the inflection–but, even in their annoyance, my fellow passengers contributed to a traveling environment that was quiet and respectful. I never felt anxious in the London Underground. Unlike New York, I got to experience waiting for my train without anxiety or fear.

For most of my life, I wait like I am on line in a New York subway rather than in the London Underground. Questions like these daily plague my mind:

“Am I saving enough money?”

“Am I advancing professionally in a timely manner?”

“Am I choosing my friends and lovers wisely?”

Yet, in the midst of swirling anxiety and fear I know that I am not alone. Others struggle with this as well. Henri Nouwen once wrote that it is hard to give up control of our lives and allow for God to define us, “trusting that God molds us according to God’s love and not according to our fear.”

What a beautiful thought: defining our lives by expansive Divine love and hope rather than by jostling fear and anxiety. Thoughts I find comforting to ponder this first week of Advent. I must wait this month not in fear of my life’s constant questions, but in peace. For it is the very act of God made flesh that creates a quiet space for renewal and redemption on earth.

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