Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Found, Day 42



One woman
carried a set of wind chimes
through the big box store
from the far corner
where she found them,
carried them through
aisles of fluorescence
and plastic
and too much of everything
(all cheap,)
and the air around her
turned delicate,
fragile.
It turns out
the sound of cheap
acrylic and aluminum
is anything but cheap
and the thing she carried
in her hands
was exactly the magic
she’d thought it was
and as she consulted
with the pharmacist
about the medicine
that made her little boy
feel worse not better
the air around her was charged
with light and color unseeable,
with the sound of fragile hopes
scattering, spreading bright all over the place.






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Monday, March 30, 2015

Found, Day 41


1. This picture is several weeks old. Last time I looked at it I saw what I didn’t capture, and it was worthless to me. Tonight I looked again and saw what I captured.

2. I know a girl, who, when she was very young, had trouble with her speech. Actually, her vowels, and the pitch and rhythm of her words, were perfect. The problem was consonants—many of them gave her trouble. She became good at substituting easier for harder: ds for js, for example. But she also learned to substitute whole words in order to avoid the ones she had trouble saying clearly. You could see her working, sometimes, around what she knew she couldn’t pronounce. Her language was richer for it. I miss it, sometimes, even while I’m thankful for how clearly and easily she now speaks.


These are forms of found I have fallen in love with.




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Sunday, March 29, 2015

Found, Day 40


I love the colors in this window so much—not just the colors, though, but the way they work together, the way they gather light and seep into a kind of unity. And bear with me—I couldn’t get a good picture, so I distorted my blurry picture even more to make it match, roughly, what the colors seem to do in real life. And do you see the six pink squares at the bottom? There is no other pink anywhere else in the window, and I wonder about this. The color does something, I just haven’t decided what. For now, it speaks of mystery, and surprise, and something tender. Which fits.




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Saturday, March 28, 2015

Found, Day 39



So it was one of those days spent running from one thing to the next. And so much stuff I intended to take care of that got nowhere near touched. It was both frustrating and full of small graces. Which makes it kind of a normal day, I guess.

There must be thousands of ways, every day, to find your own heart. And lose it, and find it again. Mostly in small ways, and hidden, even while they are the points upon which entire worlds turn. 




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Friday, March 27, 2015

Found, Day 38


This morning the sound of a robin going crazy broke through the dark, through the morning blear, and found me. Oh, new day. Tired, but still—




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Thursday, March 26, 2015

Found, Day 37



They file out onto the risers, settle into their spots, and immediately search the audience for their people. That is the most important moment of the night, you know—when she finds you in the crowd, and waves and waves, and smiles and smiles. The second most important moment is every other time that she finds you, locks eyes, smiles like she’ll never stop.




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Wednesday, March 25, 2015

Found, Day 36

Many years ago, before he learned to walk, a young young boy refused to crawl. His mother tried to teach him. Concerned people, after all, had promised her that if he did not learn to crawl he was sure to have learning disabilities. As often as she could, she set him carefully down on the floor on hands and knees. She tried to show him how his arms and legs could move. But like a Weeble he had to be upright. No sooner than she had him properly arranged, he would right himself and scoot across the room on his rear, propelled by one leg and one arm, face pure joy and open, upright to the world where it belonged. She finally resigned herself. He might just have to have a learning disability.

But he didn’t. And he did learn to crawl—soon after he got comfortable walking. It was no big deal, at all.

Over and over she saw this about him—when the idea was his, he was pure motivation and energy. But only if the idea was his. She was not sure this was how things were supposed to go, but the truth was they weren’t going to go, any other way. She learned to be a planter of ideas (and a setter of rules) and she tried to remember to step back for the rest. This was anything but a graceful dance. But when she remembered—


She found herself sitting today on someone else’s couch, listening to her boy rehearse with his accompanist for the upcoming contest this weekend. Pretty much every step of this singing thing has been his initiative. She thought about these things, wondering at it all. This boy—




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Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Found, Day 35



The picture does not do it justice. That window this morning was bright, jeweled with rain. Cold, freezing rain, yes—but that did not make it less beautiful.

If it’s not already, this should be a benediction, a blessing, a toast: May something stop you in your tracks, surprise you, catch you off-guard today. And may you carry that with you as you go.




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Monday, March 23, 2015

Found, Day 34


Middle brought me the tiniest purple flower today while I was tuning violins for the Violin Project. She found it while walking over from the middle school and presented it to me with reverence. I set it down on a shelf nearby where it found good company next to two handmade ceramic figures—a cat with a green collar and a father penguin with a baby on his feet—that needed a safe place to rest before finishing their trek home from school.

Because of the children in my life I have become a Sharer of Treasures. This is a position of honor, and nobody asked if it is deserved. I just one day found myself here. But in this place of honor I hear about the best (funniest, grossest) parts of books, I see the proudest-of pages of homework and artwork and projects. I peruse and contemplate untold riches: new shoes, plastic cupcake rings, agates, stories about baby brothers and sisters, knock-knock jokes. I know these things differently than I did when I was a child. Yes, I see them with adult eyes. Somehow, though, this second glimpse into childhood balances things out, and I see their value increase, not decrease. I see them as they are.




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