there are some prayers tucked in the palm, in the creases. they get this way from holding my hands over my mouth from the shock of it, or the boredom yawn, or just trying to keep things from flying out my mouth when it gets out of control. And like the beads of sweat that collect there and then maybe shards of glass we are most afraid of sticking there, I think I might wipe them off but am afraid to cut small lines across lines and ruin the prints. I've been thinking about them breaking away from the lines stretched open across the taught skin, or rubbing them until they dry and peel like glue and I am bloodied by the friction.
The possible escape of these prayers reminds me of super hero hands shooting webs or balls of fire, maybe even turning anything into something else on contact. And the way kids put the kiss in their own hands first in order to blow it just a little farther, or maybe as a warning signal. And then expect you to catch it on your cheek or wherever it may land, the nose, perhaps, and clap over it so it sticks.
It still feels awkward to fold my hands when I pray, almost just a lonesome pose. I was taught to hold hands. I like the feel of stretching out arms and then clasping like a promise, or sliding palms across the table and just barely touching fingertips... I really like that. But anything to keep them still, I suppose.
Now, though, I touch the children on their heads and hands and cheeks and arms--you know how it is-- and they put their little hands flat on my shoulders to get my attention if I am sitting, or even just a poke (though it isn't allowed) on my arm and I think it isn't attention they want but before I get at that thought properly a little lightning snaps between us and we connect like we both get the joke about the banana not peeling well. I can't help but think that tiny boogered finger knows exactly where God is and how to point to Him and how to get His attention, and even open up the palm to land a kiss there and blow it right in His giant face while I stand here shrugging my shoulders and clenching my fists at the same time.
Of course there is the scar offer: to open up my hand and press it over where water came when we expected blood.
But it is tempting, and a fairly strong reflex, to keep my hands to myself over an offer like that.
Noviembre 2005 Archives
There ought to be a box on the preappointment questionnaire for teachers to mark because I seem to get the same illness once a month. I have recently stopped calling the advice nurse--I have quit the usual doctor appointments to satisfy my hypochondriac drive too, you can see how unserious this has become.
But tonight I decided not to play pharmacist on myself. I made the call to ask if
it is okay to take tylenol sinus nighttime
and guiafenesin at the sametime...
and what if,
say I have this friend who likes to take sudafed but she isn't sure if the guiafenesin has worn off...
But immediately I am rushed through the halls of on hold to the appointment nurse who makes quick work of the usual maladies and she tripped me up... I answered wrong: one yes to tight something or other passageway, and no, she didn't say bronchial, I am a highly trained hypochondriac, I would have caught that one.
And now I have The Appointment for them to tell me there isn't anything anyone can do.
Shock notwithstanding, I look to my husband, the man who earlier replied to my request to finish my beer later by telling me to take it and drink it while I pedal the elliptical. He is now quietly singing along with his computer in preparation, as he says, to give me an ear whoopin this Sunday when I hear the worship band (I said: but how about if I just worship instead if I'm still alive?) and now, I continue while I have his attention, I have to go to the doctor but, for once, I'm not sure why
oh, he says, you've probably got the bird flu.
Thank you, Thanksgiving, damn it, are you even a holy day?
which reminds me: I will post thanksgiving day football pictures (Turkey bowl pictures, that is) as soon as they are available--Juliana is not superwoman, she is super and she is a woman but without that annoying patriotic hipster leotard so just be patient.
the temptation: is to assume we're friends, or maybe even family too, since you have by now seen pictures of my giant nose, my hairy husband and my cat who was accidentally colored outside the lines, and hope that you won't take the following comments too hard and suddenly lose faith in my abilities to cope.
but spending a day with family... that is, chatting and eating food (just think about what chewing actually is and how much I hate eating) with family (please read: the people who have had a serious role in messing you up for certain and for good) is just not my ideal.
but God knows He has a plan to get me through it, and you too (probably) so that is the encouragement I have for you tonight, after two fingers of Jagermeister.
oh, and last night, in bed, Martin was telling me about an ant colony living in someone's answering machine--just remember: it could be worse.
definition of resplendent
Resplendent Quetzal
Pharomachrus mocinno costaricensis
Photography © Mason Fischer, All Rights Reserved
Courtesy International Expeditions, Inc.
"Quetzal is derived from the Aztec words for birds feathers, precious and beautiful. The size of a small, pigeon-like bird, the male owns an amazing meter-long tail along with a short head crest, and red breast. Although the female is duller in color and with no tail plumes, both sexes head, back and wings are emerald green. This allows the bird to blend with the foliage of the cloud forest where it lives.
... Its diet consists mainly of wild figs, avocados, insects, small frogs and lizards. Drinking water is obtained from the base of bromeliads. When the bird detects an intruder, it will sit motionless for long periods of time. When further threatened, it will let out an alarm cry, that is a harsh weec-weec sound accompanied by quickly flicking its tail feathers like a fan every second."
During courtship, the males will perform spiraling skyward flights, then dive back to the canopy. Between March and June, paired quetzals use rotten tree stumps for nests, in the lower part of the forest canopy but never on or near the ground; favoring those stumps with holes made by other birds or animals. They usually produce two eggs that are light blue in color. The work of nest building, incubation and care of the young are shared by the pair. The area around the nest tree is protected by the male sounding a two-toned whistle which he repeats every 8 to 10 minutes in the morning and again at dusk."
http://www.costaricaexpeditions.com/gallery/wildlifegalle/quetzal.html?1
Salinger was right, you can't just turn your back on poetry, as if it isn't everywhere.
