Is it all one Thing?

It's February.  I forgot to make a new folder for photos.  I wanted to do a newsletter.  I did not sleep well and felt a  good bit off,  kind of  a strange fog.  Forgot the woodstove door was still ajar,  got up around midnight,  said to myself wtf jude?  Started the fire again, loaded it up made sure the door was shut,  and then forgot to shut it down for the slow burn, out again this morning.  Blurry and grouchy, after a day of rain and now it's snowing,  and everything is frozen solid...I see the plow just came by and I know I am plowed in.  It's snowing and it will be -6 tonight.  Staying put.  I'll make soup.

I'll work on this one today, seems the wtf series began a while ago.

And maybe this one too. In fact, maybe art is related to wtf.  Maybe I am thinking about the two sides of everything.  And ourselves as the glue.

then, I crossed paths with this poem.

It filled me with a deep acceptance and sense of resilience.

What the Living Do by Marie Howe (in tribute to her younger brother, Johnny, who passed away due to AIDS complications)

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won’t work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It’s winter again: the sky’s a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through

the open living-room windows because the heat’s on too high in here and I can’t turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,

I’ve been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss—we want more and more and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a cherishing so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I’m speechless:
I am living. I remember you.

good morning

an old one...

by on
Categories: just going, Stray Selves Series, WTF • Tags: ,
64

64 comments

  1. Faith

    I’m not one to use the phrase, but wtf certainly seems so apropos to life these days. And really, it ties in to something I read earlier today “Let go of the idea that you are in control of anything.” We just need to show up and do the best we can, and learn to work around, over, or through the wtf times. I’m an optimist and I’ve seen things in my life generally really do work out in the end, no matter how much I bitch and complain as I go through whatever. I wonder how much wtf is a result of trying to control anything more than ourselves. (And that just made me realize that so many who want and try to control everything DON’T control themselves. WTF!!) LOL Reminds me of a long-time-ago coworker who often said “I can’t control what you do, but I can control how I react to it.”

    I like that poem, too. It not just what the living do. It IS living. All the ordinary moments, with all their highs and lows. I wonder why we sometimes think it needs to be more. ??

    And I’m still contemplating that definition of hell.

    Reply
    • jude

      Yes, ti all of it. How it all might happen. I want to a lecture given but a guy in a wheelchair that lost his legs in a plane crash, him looking us in the eye and saying
      It not what happens to you it’s what you do about it.
      Thought control is scarey though … hard to navigate. Not having the choice to react as you.

      Reply
  2. Liz A

    “this is the everyday we spoke of” … hell unleashed, while those who unleashed it are most likely oblivious to their complicity as they lap up the lies in their social media feeds … “hell is truth known too late” indeed

    Reply
  4. Victoria

    today, I looked at the metal sign my oldest brother gave me. It’s an old street sign “Victoria”, and it’s hung above my garden swing. He passed away a couple months ago. The poem makes sense to me. As deep sorrow often does in my life, I am filled with love for everyone. So just know, from my broken heart I send you and all the readers here my love.

    Reply
  5. sharon

    hey, jude! think about all the times you remembered to make a new folder, slept well ‘n closed the woodstove door. ha! maybe you’re doin’ better than you think! great poem. x

    Reply
  6. deb g

    Well I gave up and called the plumber this week. It was expensive but I am not afraid to run the washing machine, take a shower, or flush the toilet now. They also gave me a quote for under the kitchen sink as that was diagnosed as a separate problem…my brother fixed the leak but it’s been draining slow since he did that (a year ago) and I’ve been catching the water in a tub and dumping it outside or down the bathroom drain since then. True story. We just keep going.

    Reply
  7. Jen

    Living
    Breathing
    Yearning.
    Just Going…

    (I sketched a WTF face, but haven’t put needle and thread to it yet.

    I’ll go whisper to my seeds first.
    (I need a bigger greenhouse I quietly say to myself)
    Ha.

    Reply
  8. Lou

    Yes, I dont know what it is about January, its over, didnt seem long, moments of o.k., Ive got this. Then, no, nope, wtf back down the snake to general state of irritated and too tired. Trying to remember things and note that every day is a gift of life so use, it cherish it and live it. But at different times, I think that doesnt involve euphoria, just a day of getting through it. Soup cures many ills in my psyhe, the making and then putting it inside myself the warm act of nourishing, theres love in soup. I can so relate the the story of the fire. My last home, just a burner, in the winter all my moments were structured around tending the fire, door open, door closed, stacked up, sleeping to be woken, and the moment whe you realise you missed a beat and its back to the beginning. Cycling through life. Enjoyed the poem. Liking the wtf series, suits me very well right now Jude x

    Reply
  9. Netty

    No wonder you’re feeling groggy and “off” if you were sleeping with the stove door open, breathing woodsmoke, that stuff’s toxic.

    Reply
  10. Pam S.

    Thank you for that poem! I’ve needed that for days 🙂💙🕊
    stay safe and warm 🏡 You could set yourself an alarm on your phone to check your wood stove. 🔥

    Reply
  13. Lynda Merry

    Your words and works speak to me every day, but this one really planted. I’m always thinking about my son, and this poem really sums it up so perfectly. Four years later, I’m still having those kinds of conversations with him in my head. Poetry and art is like that – expression that uniquely makes sense to each of us in that moment. You deliver that so well every day. Thanks for sharing…
    Lynda💕

    Reply
  16. Priscilla

    Thank you for the artistic beauties and the poem. I think America might be waiting for the plumber she still hasn’t called. But here we are. I see you Jude, and I am very thankful for your presence. Keep stitching. 💞

    Reply
  17. Deb VZ

    Just read this on Jeanette Winterson’s Substack post…”imagination sees other outcomes…if we can’t keep our imagination alive we will die.” Her post and yours is what I needed this gray morning… perspective when it feels easier to just shutdown. Thank you.

    Reply
  20. moki

    The shedding skin moon of the Wood Snake today. Figure that’s why I’ve been so itchy🧧Kung Hee Fat Choy.

    The poem poignant, so beautiful. Thanks

    Reply
  21. Velma Bolyard

    january is always a struggle month for me, now that i don’t ski. used to be i’d be out as much as possible, swooshing the backcountry, sometimes with a certain border collie. now, it’s a daily 2+ mile walk, and gratitude for these legs which still walk me. also gratitude for owls in trees. for friends who make beauty with thread.

    Reply
  23. Suzanna

    Sigh. Such a beautiful poem. Inspired once more by you, I turn to embroider after a long absence. It is to celebrate Year of the Snake. And tomorrow is Groundhog Day, my favorite holiday, all about the Shadow. I think that’s the sea we’re swimming through now. Sigh. Stay warm. Sending love!〰️❤️

    Reply
  25. Heather Smith

    Yes. The WTF has been showing up here. Since your world fell apart on your birthday last year and the world outside seems upside down and so many people chose that. And you packed your life into boxes and moved into a curious house and then so much snow and cold and how did January last that long. What the Fuck is right. As long as we’re saying WTF it means we at least have one foot in the logical world and can see how strange it’s all becoming, we haven’t yet succumbed to the absurdity of it all.

    Reply

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