I read somewhere that about 8/9 of an iceberg is below the surface. That, I guess, is what makes it so potentially dangerous for ships at sea. I find this iceberg image to be a fitting metaphor for so much of what underlies human choice. Our actions and reactions, the conclusions we draw from a situation, the words we choose to speak – are consequences driven from a complex mixture of the immediate situation and our prior experiences. We are not WYSIWYG (What You See Is What You Get) creatures. Much is hidden below the acts or words.
“Let’s go into the forest!” yells my girl from her cozy seat in the wagon.
It’s fall, and the soaring hair of the trees is towhead, mass of yellow shot through with light. That I might be doing dishes seems a scandal.
“Pomme. Pomme,” rises the little voice of my one-year-old. Why he begs for scarred crabapples full of astringent bite is puzzling, but I can’t say no. I love that my kids see the woods as a place of food.
But we don’t eat the mushrooms. Sweetpea gently caresses them with a stick, and then Xavi reaches out with pudgy hand and lops a cap off.
There is a house on our street, typical of those in this South Valley, Albuquerque, neighborhood. Run down, with untidy yard, a broken window, it showcases two of our local culture's most prominent images: Our Lady of Guadalupe and a skeleton. I am fascinated and read them as poetry, like dreams—with endless and various meaning. This hallowed eve, I muse….
The Book of Job is one of the most distressing books in the Bible. Hence, a plethora of interpretations. So shocking is the perspective that some consider Job an entirely fictional character. Yet even if this is the case, it doesn’t solve the problem created by the Book of Job. There are tragedies and sufferings in this world more intense and complex than Job's. The issue is not whether Job really existed or if his suffering was real or imaginary. The main contention is about God: why did God allow such terrible things to happen?
My husband and I recently took a short trip to Truth or Consequences, a small city in southern New Mexico. The place won its name in a 1950 contest celebrating the 10th anniversary of the radio show “Truth or Consequences.” T or C is also known for its mineral hot springs (the main reason we went). But the effect of its unique name on tourism has faded. The streets are quiet, buildings crumbling and patched with rescued junk, bright paint fading.
A few weeks ago two of my friends got married. Marriages in general are joyous and celebrated occasions, but this one even more so. They had been married in every sense of the word, except legally, for years, standing by each other through raising a child (now a teenager), job changes, house remodeling, cancer—you name it—the usual challenges (and pleasures and comforts) of a married couple. But they did so without legal rights and protections.
I recently watched the French film L’Equipier. It tells the story of a young man who, in 1963, arrives on the small island of Ouessant, off the coast of Brittany, a province in western France. He is newly hired by the Maritime Commission to work on a lighthouse offshore. It is staffed in 24/7 rotation by a small team of light keepers, all locals.
We share a birthday, Bernadette Soubirous and I. She was born in the year of the Great Disappointment, 1844, in Lourdes, France. Hardly superstitious, but terribly romantic, this means much to me. I have no expectation that anything will come of visiting the sacred place where aquero (“that”), the small young lady, the Immaculate Conception, visited Bernadette. But with my husband Peter and his Roman Catholic parents, I make the pilgrimage.