Olio for Friday

I'm jumping in, feet first, because I can't decide where to start. I may do like my friend Mary suggests and delete the first paragraph when I get warm. Or not. It's not that I'm not inspired, just scattered. So my Olio will be full of whatever's in the fridge, or my brain. I'm above the porch fan this afternoon, in the computer room to be exact, and as I read or type, I keep glancing out the window to check on the progress of the remodeling at the neighbor's house. The new neighbors have taken a well-loved house (lived in by the same couple for 25+ years) and re-loved it all over again. It's beautiful, although I liked the old version also. Ripped off the old wood and put up that Hardy board stuff that's faux wood, aka concrete. We're going to have to do the same thing here, but don't get me started on that--for us, it'll be like rebreaking a bone in order to set it correctly. Like I said, don't get me started on that. Back to the neighbor's house: I love to see someone take an existing house and transform it without tearing the whole thing down. Like when we reinvent ourselves. Any kind of major change is like that, and if we're kind to ourselves in the process, we can transform into the next stage without demeaning the stage we were in before. That seems to be way too many words for what I'm trying to say. I should attempt to write a haiku that condenses that thought, but feel too lazy right now.

House Like a Butterfly, Experiences a Metamorphosis

Ha! I surprised myself. That was going to be the title of my haiku, but then I decided to count the syllables. When I found 17, I said, Hey, Lazy Girl, you just wrote the haiku! So, I'm done. Gee, that was easy. Only it isn't really a haiku, because it doesn't have a season word in it. Maybe if I give the title a title, like "In Winter." I know, Kris, that's cheating. (Kris is the expert on haiku and other Japanese forms in my circle of friends.)

I told you this was going to be an Olio...

So, next is a diary entry. Dear Diary, Today I facilitated Wesley McNair's "The Future" for the second day in a row, and as I listened to the discussion and the written responses of the women in my two writing groups, I realized that I am in exactly in the place I need to be. Just like that. Now, I've realized that before, but today (and yesterday) the feeling sat with me longer. For a moment it felt like that little 11 x 11 room WAS heaven, and earth was on the other side of the door. To paraphrase McNair, "In the deep moment of my looking, there is no future, only right now, all, anyway, I will ever need." (If you didn't read the poem on this Wednesday's Writer's Almanac posting, here's the link: http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/programs/2008/01/21/#wednesday. And if it's been moved, look for it in the archives. Then take a line or phrase that resonates with you, and write from it. And here's a peek into heaven's door (taken in August of 2006) at some of my fellow angels: