If Anne Lamott was my friend

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If Anne Lamott was my friend I would make her tea when she came by unannounced. I would not offer cookies because I would have already eaten them myself after the kids were in bed the night before. She’d be understanding about that because “who needs more cookies anyway, right?” she’d quip, smiling. Still, I’d feel bad about it.

I’d spread honey and butter on toast to make up for it. It’s no cookie but it’ll do.

The tea turns out pretty good. The conversation, even better, except for that five minutes in the middle when we both go to dark places. I’d feed some insecurities, she’d feed some insecurities. They’d race around the room a while as we watch- helpless, astonished, afraid. We’d wonder in those moments if the world is worthwhile, if the fight is merited, if the struggle productive, if we are worthy participants at all in this whole “life” thing.

I’d offer more tea, more honey and butter on toast to make up for it. It’s no cookie but it’ll do.

The insecurities fade a little, stopping and swaying like sleepy toddlers resisting bedtime- wobbly, woozy, whining. They stop short around the kitchen island one last time, buckling at the knees not because we have convinced them that they are tired but because the sun has shifted, their circadian rhythm winding down, heartbeat slowing,

rising,

slowing,

and then an exhale,

and then closed eyes and then we carry them softly to the couch. They will awake. They always do. And we will walk alongside and we will nurture and we will hope they feel better, do better, mature into whatever healthy insecurities grow into later. Successful lawyers or professional football players, maybe.

 

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Come to the darkside, we have cookies…

I admit it.  I’ve become addicted to Twilight.  The book series written by Stephanie Meyer centers around an “ordinary” 17 year old girl who falls for a brooding hunky vampire.  At first blush it may seem a plot for a paperback romance but I think what sets this apart is that Stephanie Meyer is a very good writer.  The characters are complex and conflicted, they are three dimensional.  I like that in a story.

But now I’m addicted and I’m not the only one so I’m wondering what that’s all about.  What IS it about the “dark” that draws us in? I suppose this is an age old quandry;  people who profess to follow the light move toward darkness.  I dunno, it’s sexy I guess.  It’s human, it’s imperfect, it’s tremendously flawed…maybe it’s just easier to connect to those traits, to feel comforted somehow by them.  

There is something about it; choosing the burger over the salad, the candy bar over the carrot stick, the beach over the sermon.  Or maybe it’s not only about choosing the things that are bad for me.  I’ve long been a proponent of balance…everything in moderation.  In reality, without the dark then light really ceases to have meaning.  The light is only the light because of the contrasting darkness, yes?

I have no idea where I’m going with this.  I just know that now I really want some cookies.

talk amongst yourselves.