“Why do people in church seem like cheerful, brainless tourists on a packaged tour of the Absolute? … Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies’ straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake someday and take offense, or the waking god may draw us to where we can never return.”

from Annie Dillard, Teaching a Stone to Talk: Expeditions and Encounters

More about the sunset, and a poem

The sun just set, at 5:01 (in Boston, that is) — the first time since November 6th that sunset has been after 5 p.m. I am watching the pink and blue glow of the sunset on the icicles across from my window as I write.

And here is a poem by Maya Angelou that I was thinking about today.





Phenomenal woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
‘Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Analemma

This is the time of year, for me at least, when winter starts feeling overwhelming. I should clarify — winter feels overwhelming to me the moment the first cool breeze signals the end of summer. Autumn is my favorite season, but it is surrounded by my two least favorites, and there is a bitterness to the passing of time that I feel most acutely in autumn. I try to enjoy summer, but the humid heat of New England causes a particular kind of throbbing migraine, with black spots in front of my eyes that resemble a lunar eclipse. And I try to be cheerful about winter, but each afternoon around 3:30, the realization that the sun is dipping toward the horizon causes my heart to sink. I am surprised every time, like a child who is told to do her homework, even though this happens every day. “Not again?!” Somehow I thought today would be different. I don’t know where my spirit gets this fruitless hope.

Maybe because the days are getting longer. The one redeeming thing about winter (alright, there’s Christmas and hot chocolate and snow angels and all of that, too) is that the second day is longer than the first, and so on. The earth sneaks in the shortening days while I am too busy basking in the blazing glory of yellow oaks, red maples, and dry, 60 degree days (in heaven it will be t-shirt weather during the day and just chilly enough to snuggle into a sweater at night) to notice, and by the time the last leaf has fallen and the “wind-chill factor” starts requiring knife metaphors we are inching slowly back toward the sun.

But too slowly. Sunset will not be back to 5 p.m. until February 3rd in Boston, and for a 6 p.m. sunset we have to wait for daylight savings time on March 13th. It is not even January 13th yet. That is a long time to wait. But still much better than the previous daylight savings, would have been April 3rd. To all the early risers who would have preferred to keep that hour of sunlight in the morning, I apologize for my joy. Unnervingly, Congress, “retains the right to revert to the prior law should the change prove unpopular or if energy savings are not significant.” So you may get your hour back after all. But for now, it is MINE.

Another way I obsessively watch the progress of winter is by the historical average daily temperature. Today, for Boston, it is 37. On January 12th, it drops to 36 for the rest of January. The first two weeks of February, when the sunset is crawling past 5 p.m., it lingers at 37 and 38. By the end of February, it is up to 42. Of course this has very little to do with the actual weather (and completely ignores the biting Boston winds), and any given day in February may well be colder than any given day in January. But they are numerical evidence that January and February follow a pattern toward warmth and light.

Here is some more evidence, and the word of the day: Analemma. An analemma is, “a curve representing the angular offset of a celestial body (usually the Sun) from its mean position on the celestial sphere as viewed from another celestial body relative to the viewing body’s celestial equator.” What this means is that if you take a picture of the sun every day (or every n days), in the same location, at the same time every day for a year, then superimpose those images, the sun will make a figure eight. Here is one done in Veszprem, Hungary by Tamas Ladanyi (copyright his).


analemma Hungray

Click here to see the picture on the APOD (Astronomy Picture of the Day) website, run by Robert Nemiroff and Jerry Bonnell.

Scrabble

A quick post, and one neither edifying nor particularly informative, but :: I just played my highest non-seven-letter-using word in a scrabble game, QUAHOG, with the H on a double letter and the Q on a triple word. It was very exciting.

This post is just to clear my throat. I hope to be blogging more frequently again in the days to come. If you are reading this on facebook, the real post is at tenthousandplaces.org.

I HAVE seen Saudi Arabia

Sixteen years later, I finally looked it up and I wasn’t imagining it, I could see across the water from Dahab, Egypt to S.A. I found this pretty picture on wikipedia.
dahab.jpg

The Gulf of Aqaba is about 15 miles wide at this point. At the time I had no idea how wide the the Gulf of Aqaba was or if it was possible to see across it. I thought maybe I was seeing an island. Here it is on a map.

I’ve always wondered about that. I’ve also seen Jordan across the Dead Sea, which was really cool, and Lebanon through a gate which had Isaiah 2:4 written on it: “They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore.”

Mary Oliver

A poem by Mary Oliver I’ve read before, and read again today and liked, even though I am deeply unsatisfied with my ability to give a good answer.

The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?