practice
practice
I spent the evening
singing harmony
with a pick-up gospel choir—
songs I didn’t know
parts I didn’t know
offering me the
gentle reminder
that listening comes first,
then you sing.
Peace,
Milton
practice
I spent the evening
singing harmony
with a pick-up gospel choir—
songs I didn’t know
parts I didn’t know
offering me the
gentle reminder
that listening comes first,
then you sing.
Peace,
Milton
The end of March carries much significance. These are the days of March Madness when we watch basketball more than any other time of year. These are the days that mark at least the promise of Spring. These days are the gentle base path to Opening Day of the baseball season. And these last days…
we walked tonight at sunset just in time to see the fading sun reach across town for an old building and bask it in the splendor of what was left undone home now my kitchen smells like that sunset full of sorrow and stories while the singer reaches for what is as true as…
I spent the day in the yard installing the arbor and planting the climbing roses I got Ginger for her birthday. As I sat in the back yard, resting before finishing dinner, I thought of a poem I wrote as we settled into the house on Trinity, preparing for Ginger’s parents to move in with us….
Late Monday afternoon, Ginger and I drove to New Haven so I could have an MRI. The asymmetrical nature and rapidity of my hearing loss over the last year caused my audiologist to send me to an ENT doctor, who decided to do the scan just to make sure we weren’t dealing with tumors or…
it’s the name I found when I went looking for what happened on Wednesday of the Week we’ve labeled Holy — using capital letters as though there were some sort of scripted suspense instead of a simple day of preparation for Passover, for supper together, and the selling of one friend by another. No cloaks….
I am fortunate to be driving across Texas just as the bluebonnets are blooming. Here’s where they took me. among the wildflowers the old pickup rolled to a stop on the shoulder of the two-lane road the gravel spoke underneath the worn boots of the workmen who walked to the front of the truck that…
That’s got to be the first commandment in preaching: listening comes first.
It certainly has a nice ring to it! [reminds me of a poem I wrote once — one of the 5 or 6 that *I* remember as being quite good, even to my over-analytical extra-critical self-deprecating Self — that started out with “if feelings were first/ then who [& how?] did the naming come about?/ & who/ was there/ to listen to/ the names?”
You’ve been on my mind quite a bit lately, Milton. I surely miss the times we found to hang out, and I would rejoice to spend some time with you, as our time together always felt to me like BOTH of us walked away with our spirits lifted, or (at the least) we parted ways a little lighter confident that our friendship blossomed in the knowledge that we tried to take some of each other’s burden. I sense that you would welcome any “burden carrying” that your friends could arrange — wish I could be there for you, ol’ buddy.
Just know that there’s at least one Atlanta-based “best read line cook I know” who is periodically praying for you, always with a smile on my face.
Much love,
Mitch
Best description of discernment…ever. May I use it with attribution?
Of course.