to prune or not to prune

Over Labor Day weekend, we visited my parents and I was surprised to see the state of their peach tree. The branches, heavy with too many peaches, were bent over and hung to the ground with the tops of their branches brushing against the grass. It was at once comical and tragic. We spent a good part of an afternoon picking the bad peaches off the trees but there was still a considerable amount of peaches weighing the boughs down. I tried persuading my mom to pick off more peaches, but she was reluctant to lose the peaches that looked more promising.

After doing some online research and getting advice from a friend who's grown peach trees, I learned that some preventative measures can be taken before a tree gets to this state:
1) Pruning: cutting and trimming branches and buds
2) Thinning: proactively and preventatively picking off peaches as they are growing to space them out more

If neither measure is taken, then the result is what you see with my parents' tree: a fruitful but useless (and tired...and nutrients depleted) tree.

I can relate to that peach tree. More often than not, I am so focused on being productive, on staying busy, on doing too much because I'm unwilling to let go of all the good things. The result is that I'm tired, cranky, feeling depleted and producing half-ass fruit. Without taking time to actively prune or thin in my life, I too can bear a lot of fruit but at the expense of my well-being. And the fruit produced is not as good had I pruned and thinned.

I'm currently reading Necessary Endings by Dr. Henry Cloud and it's been reinforcing these notions of pruning and thinning in my life.
"Pruning is a process of proactive endings." (Cloud) In his book, Cloud notes that pruning purposefully cuts off branches and buds that fall into these three categories:
1. Healthy buds or branches that are not the best ones
2. Sick branches that are not going to get well
3. Dead branches that are taking space needed for the healthy ones to thrive

Life is a series of seasons and rhythms - whether I like it or not, endings are a natural part of that. I can either proactively prepare for, consider, and even initiate endings, or I can be in denial or even fight against endings. But the endings will happen anyway - with or without me kicking and screaming all the way. I've lived too many seasons like this overburdened peach tree - with all the good intentions in the world but none of the decisive action required to prune and thin towards health and sustainability. So in turning over a new leaf (haha, pun intended), this is a season that I'm challenging myself to practice pruning - in obligations, commitments and relationships.

Do you prune? How do you feel about pruning?

winter solstice

on this longest night of the year...a little reminder....


Prayer at Winter Solstice
- Dana Gioia

Blessed is the road that keeps us homeless.
Blessed is the mountain that blocks our way.

Blessed are hunger and thirst, loneliness and all forms of desire.
Blessed is the labor that exhausts us without end.

Blessed are the night and the darkness that blinds us.
Blessed is the cold that teaches us to feel.

Blessed are the cat, the child, the cricket, and the crow.
Blessed is the hawk devouring the hare.

Blessed are the saint and the sinner who redeem each other.
Blessed are the dead, calm in their perfection.

Blessed is the pain that humbles us.
Blessed is the distance that bars our joy.

Blessed is this shortest day that makes us long for light.
Blessed is the love that in losing we discover.


mood:  pensive

cups of coffee:  3

no such matter

Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,

And like enough thou knowst thy estimate.

The Charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;

My bonds in thee are all determinate.

For how do I hold thee but by thy granting,

And for that riches where is my deserving?

The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,

And so my patent back again is swerving.

Thy self thou gav’st, thy own worth then not knowing,

Or me, to whom thou gav’st is, else mistaking,

So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,

Comes home again, on better judgement making.

   Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter:

   In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.

- Sonnet 87, William Shakespeare

cups of coffee: a lot

mood:  ...........

consider the lilies

Consider the lilies of the field,
the blue banks of camas
opening into acres of sky along the road.
Would the longing to lie down
and be washed by that beauty
abate if you knew their usefulness,
how the natives ground their bulbs
for flour, how the settlers' hogs
uprooted them, grunting in gleeful
oblivion as the flowers fell?

And you - what of your rushed
and useful life? Imagine setting it all down -
papers, plans, appointments, everything -
leaving only a note: "Gone
to the fields to be lovely. Be back
when I'm through with blooming."

Even now, unneeded and uneaten,
the camas lilies gaze out above the grass
from their tender blue eyes.
Even in sleep your life will shine.
Make no mistake. Of course
your work will always matter.

Yet Solomon in all his glory
was not arrayed like one of these.

- Lynn Ungar, Camas Lilies


transitions. new chapters. moving on and growing up. all the while, considering the lilies.


cups of coffee: 1 hot, 1 iced

mood:  content

thinking of scaffolds

SCAFFOLDING

Masons, when they start upon a building,
Are careful to test out the scaffolding;

Make sure that planks won't slip at busy points,
Secure all ladders, tighten bolted joints.

And yet all this comes down when the job's done
Showing off walls of sure and solid stone.

So if, my dear, there sometimes seems to be
Old bridges breaking between you and me

Never fear. We may let the scaffolds fall
Confident that we have built our wall.

- Seamus Heaney


cups of coffee:  1 1/2
mood:  happy

men vs. boys

mindy kaling's book is a delight: funny yet surprisingly profound at certain turns. i loved the chapter on 'men and boys', finding myself resonating with some of her revelations and confessions. here's a great excerpt:

Until I was thirty, I only dated boys, as far as I can tell. I'll tell you why. Men scared the shit out of me.
Men know what they want. Men make concrete plans. Men own alarm clocks. Men sleep on a mattress that isn't on the floor. Men tip generously. Men buy new shampoo instead of adding water to a nearly empty bottle of shampoo. Men go to the dentist. Men make reservations. Men go in for a kiss without giving you some long preamble about how they're thinking of kissing you. Men wear clothes that have never been worn by anyone else before. (Okay, maybe men aren't exactly like this. this is what I've cobbled together from the handful of men I know or know of, ranging from Heathcliff Huxtable to Theodore Roosevelt to my dad.) Men know what they want and they don't let you in on their inner monologue, and that is scary.
Because what I was used to was boys.
Boys are adorable. Boys trail off their sentences in an appealing way. Boys bring a knapsack to work. Boys get haircuts from their roommate, who "totally knows how to cut hair." Boys can pack up their whole life in a duffel bag and move to Brooklyn for a gig if they need to. Boys have "gigs." Boys are broke. And when they do have money, they spend it on a trip to Colorado to see a music festival. Boys don't know how to adjust their conversation when they're talking to their friends or to your parents. They put parents on the same level as their peers and roll their eyes when your dad makes a terrible pun. Boys let your parents pay for dinner when you all go out. It's assumed.
Boys are wonderful in a lot of ways. They make amazing, memorable, homemade gifts. They're impulsive. Boys can talk for hours with you in a diner at three in the morning because they don't have regular work hours. But they suck to date when you turn thirty.

- Mindy Kaling, Is Everyone Hanging Out With Me? (And Other Concerns)

my mantra now that i'm comfortably situated in my mid-30's: "date men, not boys."


cups of coffee:  3

mood:  relaxed

*hope*

this year, my final thesis draft week (aka crunch time aka crazy town) happens to coincide with holy week.

which makes this poem all the more appropriate.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers 

By Emily Dickinson

 

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

 

 

march was quite a doozy....looking forward to april, where changes are in the air!

 

 

cups of coffee:  working on first

 

mood:  fatigued yet hopeful

all that is gold

“All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.”

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

river of gold, instagram, me

cups of coffee:  2

mood:  pensive

 

inexpressible

Though you have not seen him, you love him. Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory, obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.
- 1 Peter 1:8-9

i'm weary. please, Lord, let this be true today.


cups of coffee:  a lot

mood:  tired in so many ways

data, data, data

'data' is the magic word these days as every industry is trying to validate what they are doing and why. and the whole idea of impact measurement is like a golden ticket in the non-profit art world...except it's not always the right kind of ticket.

this is the crux of my master's thesis: the disconnect between what data can measure and the realities of how art can benefit communities. it's not just about trying to measure what might be immeasurable according to current criteria and metrics; it's also about providing organizations with the right questions and tools that a) actually prove useful and can be consistently utilized over time and b) enable them to understand how to gauge their own program effectiveness and communicate that information to funders in a way that's coherent.

it's like i'm swimming in these issues, to the point where i can't stop thinking about it. i am obsessed.

measuring impact is a hot topic right now, and here's a great recent post by david brooks in the nytimes about why data collection and interpretation can be not only inaccurate but actually insufficient:

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/02/19/opinion/brooks-what-data-cant-do.html

love this quote:
"One of the points was that data is never raw; it’s always structured according to somebody’s predispositions and values. The end result looks disinterested, but, in reality, there are value choices all the way through, from construction to interpretation."- David Brooks

at the end of the day, it's not just about the answers you seek but the questions you ask (or don't ask).


cups of coffee: 3

mood:  nerding out

blessed

my dear friend grace posted this poem on her blog - a much needed read and reminder during this present time of madness for me. i love dana gioia's work; he has such a way of bringing profound truths to life with simple words and lucid imagery.


Prayer at Winter Solstice
by Dana Gioia

Blessed is the road that keeps us homeless.
Blessed is the mountain that blocks our way.

Blessed are hunger and thirst, loneliness and all forms of desire.
Blessed is the labor that exhausts us without end.

Blessed are the night and the darkness that blinds us.
Blessed is the cold that teaches us to feel.

Blessed are the cat, the child, the cricket, and the crow.
Blessed is the hawk devouring the hare.

Blessed are the saint and the sinner who redeem each other.
Blessed are the dead calm in their perfection.

Blessed is the pain that humbles us.
Blessed is the distance that bars our joy.

Blessed is this shortest day that makes us long for light. 
Blessed is the love that in losing we discover.


cups of coffee:  1 so far

mood:  insane in the membrane
 

thankful

For each new morning with its light,
For rest and shelter of the night,
For health and food,
For love and friends,
For everything Thy goodness sends.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson
 
seems poetically appropriate in a way that i would lose blog posts from the last 7 months right before thanksgiving. in combing my memory to recount the events of the last half year, i have been astounded by the amount of blessings and provisions. there is so much to be truly grateful for.

since a picture is worth a thousand words, in the place of replacement posts, here is a photo gallery of just some of those things from the last 7 months for which i'm thankful. 

 

cups of coffee:  2

mood:  my cup overfloweth

l'amour

meditating on some great quotes by c.s. lewis on love:

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”
― C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves 

"A woman's heart should be so close to God that a man should have to chase Him to find her" - C.S. Lewis 

and listen to this magnificent piece of music: "oblivion" by astor piazzolla.

sheer eargasm.

cups of coffee:  2

mood:  sunny days! 

a poem a day

april is national poetry month! celebrate by reading a poem a day with this handy dandy link:

http://www.poets.org/page.php/prmID/345

you can even get a mobile version for on-the-go:

http://www.poets.org/page.php/prmID/404

here's one of my personal favorites from good ol' yeats:

When You are Old
by W. B. Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.


"but one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, and loved the sorrows of your changing face...." that is how i'd like to be loved....


cups of coffee:  2

mood:  busy busy 

be still

another great devotional, perfect on this day between good friday and easter, between utter despair and mind-blowing hope.

from streams in the desert:

“Their strength is to sit still.” (Isa. 30:7) KJV.
In order really to know God, inward stillness is absolutely necessary. I remember when I first learned this. A time of great emergency had risen in my life, when every part of my being seemed to throb with anxiety, and when the necessity for immediate and vigorous action seemed overpowering; and yet circumstances were such that I could do nothing, and the person who could, would not stir.
For a little while it seemed as if I must fly to pieces with the inward turmoil, when suddenly the still small voice whispered in the depths of my soul, “Be still, and know that I am God.” The word was with power, and I hearkened. I composed my body to perfect stillness, and I constrained my troubled spirit into quietness, and looked up and waited; and then I did “know” that it was God, God even in the very emergency and in my helplessness to meet it; and I rested in Him. It was an experience that I would not have missed for worlds; and I may add also, that out of this stillness seemed to arise a power to deal with the emergency, that very soon brought it to a successful issue. I learned then effectually that my “strength was to sit still.” –Hannah Whitall Smith
There is a perfect passivity which is not indolence. It is a living stillness born of trust. Quiet tension is not trust. It is simply compressed anxiety.
Not in the tumult of the rending storm,
Not in the earthquake or devouring flame;
But in the hush that could all fear transform,
The still, small whisper to the prophet came.
0 Soul, keep silence on the mount of God,
Though cares and needs throb around thee like a sea;
From supplications and desires unshod,
Be still, and hear what God shall say to thee.
All fellowship hath interludes of rest,
New strength maturing in each poise of power;
The sweetest Alleluias of the blest
Are silent, for the space of half an hour.
0 rest, in utter quietude of soul,
Abandon words, leave prayer and praise awhile;
Let thy whole being, hushed in His control,
Learn the full meaning of His voice and smile.
Not as an athlete wrestling for a crown,
Not taking Heaven by violence of will;
But with thy Father as a child sit down,
And know the bliss that follows His “Be Still!”
–Mary Rowles Jarvis

for in stillness there is strength, in rest there is restoration....


cups of coffee:  1 1/2

mood:  o happy day!

timing

my devotional today, from streams in the desert:


“And when forty years were expired, there appeared to him in the wilderness of Mount Sinai an angel of the Lord in a flame of fire in a bush, saying, I have seen the affliction of my people which is in Egypt, and I have heard their groaning, and am come down to deliver them. And now come, I will send thee into Egypt” (Acts 7:30, 32, 34).
That was a long wait in preparation for a great mission. When God delays, He is not inactive. He is getting ready His instruments, He is ripening our powers; and at the appointed moment we shall arise equal to our task. Even Jesus of Nazareth was thirty years in privacy, growing in wisdom before He began His work. –Dr. Jowett
God is never in a hurry but spends years with those He expects to greatly use. He never thinks the days of preparation too long or too dull.
The hardest ingredient in suffering is often time. A short, sharp pang is easily borne, but when a sorrow drags its weary way through long, monotonous years, and day after day returns with the same dull routine of hopeless agony, the heart loses its strength, and without the grace of God, is sure to sink into the very sullenness of despair. Joseph’s was a long trial, and God often has to burn His lessons into the depths of our being by the fires of protracted pain. “He shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver,” but He knows how long, and like a true goldsmith He stops the fires the moment He sees His image in the glowing metal. We may not see now the outcome of the beautiful plan which God is hiding in the shadow of His hand; it yet may be long concealed; but faith may be sure that He is sitting on the throne, calmly waiting the hour when, with adoring rapture, we shall say, “All things have worked together for good.” Like Joseph, let us be more careful to learn all the lessons in the school of sorrow than we are anxious for the hour of deliverance. There is a “need-be” for every lesson, and when we are ready, our deliverance will surely come, and we shall find that we could not have stood in our place of higher service without the very things that were taught us in the ordeal. God is educating us for the future, for higher service and nobler blessings; and if we have the qualities that fit us for a throne, nothing can keep us from it when God’s time has come. Don’t steal tomorrow out of God’s hands. Give God time to speak to you and reveal His will. He is never too late; learn to wait.
–Selected
“He never comes too late; He knoweth what is best;
Vex not thyself in vain; until He cometh–REST.”
Do not run impetuously before the Lord; learn to wait His time: the minute-hand as well as the hour-hand must point the exact moment for action.


hmmmm. timing is everything.


cups of coffee: 3(!)

mood:  quiet, quiet

lenten poem

lovely and true words to start the day, via mockingbird:

A gracious Sabbath stood here while they stood
Who gave our rest a haven.
Now fallen, they are given
To labor and distress.
These times we know much evil, little good
To steady us in faith
And comfort when our losses press
Hard on us, and we choose,
In panic or despair or both,
To keep what we will lose.

For we are fallen like the trees, our peace
Broken, and so we must
Love where we cannot trust,
Trust where we cannot know,
And must await the wayward-coming grace
That joins living and dead,
Taking us where we would not go–
Into the boundless dark.
When what was made has been unmade
The Maker comes to His work.

- Sabbaths, II
Wendell Berry


cups of coffee:  1, so far

mood:  spring-ing!

rounding the bend

this year for lent, i decided to give up alcohol, dating and chocolate. now that we're rounding the bend into the second half of lent, the cravings and itch i once felt have settled (more or less) into a compliant new mode of operating. i'd be lying if i said i didn't miss all three things, but it also holds true that i feel great without them.

lent is one of my favorite seasons: i love inflicting a certain sense of self-deprivation, testing my will, meditating on the suffering Christ endured on mankind's behalf, and rejoicing in the wholeness and satisfaction i can experience in Christ. it's a relief to name and abstain from certain default coping mechanisms and crutches. it's freeing to break cold turkey from old patterns and seek to replace them with new patterns.

a couple of years ago i discovered this great online lent devotional website, and i've been using it ever since. today's reflection talks about new life and God's renewal of all things. what a wonderful reminder as we pass the halfway mark of lent: the woe and darkness felt at the beginning of this season is moving into hope and gladness. the light is near, joy is tangible and all things new are rearing their heads.

You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;
    you have loosed my sackcloth
    and clothed me with gladness,
that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent.
    O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever!

(Psalm 30:11-12)


cups of coffee:  working on 1 right now

mood:  hopeful

the mean reds

 Holly Golightly: You know those days when you get the mean reds?
Paul Varjak: The mean reds, you mean like the blues?
Holly Golightly: No. The blues are because you're getting fat and maybe it's been raining too long, you're just sad that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?

- Breakfast at Tiffany's

cups of coffee: 2 + 1 cup hot chocolate

mood: ..............

ancient paths

"Stand by the roads, and look,
and ask for the ancient paths,
where the good way is; and walk in it,
and find rest for your souls."
- Jeremiah 6:16

cups of coffee:  1 + several cups of green tea

mood:  rested