By Accident

I've had a very hard time finding something to read. I have thousands of books in my bookstore and none of them were calling to me. Maybe it's because it's summer. Maybe I have too many choices. I've started a handful of books and then put them down. I'm sure they're good, but I'm just not interested. Then I picked up a book by Iris Murdoch called "An Accidental Man." I've read several others by her (The Sea, The Sea and The Unicorn) which I thoroughly enjoyed, so I started in. And I loved it!

It's a strange book. Basically, it tells the story of a man who just lets life happen to him. When things go wrong, he shifts the blame. When things go right, he takes the glory. There are dozens of characters in this book -- I almost needed notes to keep track of who was who. Each person revolves around the main character, touching him directly or indirectly, but never realistically. He just sort of "is." The dialogue is fast-paced and witty -- the driving force of the narrative.

I liked the book because it made me think of all of the interactions we have with people. Sometimes our encounters are brief and insignificant on the surface, but have a lasting impression. Other interactions are long term and intimate, yet suffer for lack of understanding or compatibility. The smallest events can have a huge impact on the course of our day. Or we can try for years and years to make changes and seem to fail miserably. There is a myriad of reasons why some relationships "work" and others don't. In essence, we need each other to fill certain roles.

And sometimes, the most profound moments of our lives happen "by accident."

My Loft

I need to tidy up the organized chaos in my loft. On the surface is everything that no one knows where to put--luggage, camping gear, holiday decorations, wrapping paper, children's memorabilia, broken furniture, computer cords, and old bank statements. Underneath is my bookstore, which is now closed because I am going on vacation.

Every six months, I make an effort to find a place for everything and put everything in its place. But some things just won't be put away. Like the blue & gray stoneware bowl that my husband loves. We got it at our landlord's yard sale. My husband doesn't know that. He thinks it's a family heirloom. The bowl is too big to use for serving food and too small to use as a swimming pool. There's no way to store it, so I finally put it on top of the kitchen cabinets where it's supposed to look like decor, but doesn't match anything else on display. I've tried to give it to the Salvation Army three times, but as soon as it goes to the trunk of my car, my husband goes on alert.

"You can't give that away!"

"Why not?"

"Because I like it!"

"What are we going to use it for?"

"I don't know. Something."

"What?"

"It's special."

"Why?

"I don't know. I just like it. Please keep it."

I have to get a chair and climb up on the fridge to put it back.

Then there's my "special papers." These are not deeds, titles, contracts, wills, or journals. These papers are cute sayings, inspirational stories, classroom handouts, and refrigerator mementos that I can't throw away. They are not filed because I don't know how to categorize them. I haven't read them since the first time, but I'm planning on using them for a speech I might give someday. Or I might need them to inspire someone else. If I throw them away, I'll never, ever remember what they said.

And, of course, there's my Christmas Countdown Santa statue. He was so cute on the Wal-Mart aisle. So hard to store after the holidays. His arms are too wide for a bin; his belly is too fat for the box he came in. No shelf is tall enough. He gets knicked when I lay him flat. He just stands in the corner all year -- I think his 25-day countdown should be extended to 365 since he has no place to go!

At least one day out of the year, the loft looks pretty good. I can walk in a straight line without stepping over something. That's also the day when someone calls and says, "I used to have . . . Do you know where it is, Mom?"

Fashion Magazines

I went to Safeway to pick up cat food and a prescription. The line at the pharmacy was longer than I expected, so I picked up the closest reading material -- a fashion magazine. This is what I learned: 1) It's okay to change your birth name if you beg your parents long enough; 2) babies need $36 silver slippers and a faux fur when they go out at night; 3) reality TV shows are the best place to tell your spouse you are not in love so you can both be happier a lot quicker; 4) Rudy Huxtable has never been on drugs; and 5) I need a new filmy, polk-a-dotted, black dress for my spring collection. Wow! I gave myself one big, fat pat on the back for getting something right -- I'm definitely living "in the world" and not "of the world."

The Lord Looks On the Heart

The Bible is the bestselling book of all time. Today in church we learned about 1 Samuel 16:7 from a group of Seminary kids who had to answer the question: "If God looked into my heart, what would He see?" Some of them answered, "Love, understanding, and courage." But one boy said God would just see "a stupid kid." He went on to say that through the encouragement of others and through prayer, he finally realized that if God looked into his heart, He would actually see a young man who wants to do good. I appreciated his honesty. Sometimes it feels like we're all a bunch of "stupid kids" trying to figure things out in this world. And when it comes right down to it, it is the love we have for one another that keeps us going. It takes great courage to be understanding and forgiving, to forget our personal struggles and keep moving ahead as a "light unto the world."

Singin' in the Rain

The rain came fast and hard today. I was on my way out the door to run errands when it hit. I had a Wal-Mart bag full of returns in one hand and my planner, purse, keys and sunglasses in the other. I didn't want to look for my umbrella, so I grabbed a K-Mart bag out of the pantry with my pinkie and slung it over my head a la mother's rain bonnet. As soon as I opened the screen door, the wind whipped the bag out of my hand and the water pouring out of the rain gutter soaked my head. I let out a scream and ran down the stairs where the waterfall flowing off the deck soaked my back. I threw everything into the front seat of the car and cursed the day I moved to Hawaii where nothing is ever dry and the mildew grows like flowers.

The potholes on my dirt lane were filled with brown mud. I looked over at the construction site in my front yard and realized how sad it all looked uninhabited and surrounded by boards, paint and sawhorses.

When I pulled out into the street, I noticed a woman in her late forties riding a bicycle. She certainly wasn't hurrying with her head ducked down trying to shield herself from the rain. Far from it! She was dressed in a brown, canvas safari hat, huge sunglasses, a rust-colored tank top and shorts. She was slowly zig-zagging down the street like a little girl singing to herself. And she had a huge grin on her face -- enjoying every last raindrop with complete abandon!

Angle of Repose

My favorite books is Angle of Repose by Wallace Stegner. It is the story of an elderly, disabled professor who is researching the lives of his grandparents in order to understand their relationship. His grandmother is an educated easterner, while his grandfather is a mining engineer who dreams of pioneering the West. Their story is one of conflict and compromise that ultimately settles into a situation they can both live with. At times heartbreaking, it is a realistic portrayal of the challenges of raising a family, earning a living, and loving a spouse.

When I think of the "angle of repose," I imagine a pile of loose rocks and sticks tumbling down a sandstone hillside. The rocks may roll or ricochet, the sticks break in two or somersault end over end. Perhaps they run over each other or get caught in a crack or on a ledge. But eventually, the debris reaches a point of rest. All of the individual pieces are positioned in a mosaic of equilibrium.

Does this angle even exist in human relationships? Or are we in a constant state of flux? How do we work from within the debris to create a comfortable repose?

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Just a funny side note: For some reason, my kids and I were talking about what we want to have in our coffins when we are buried. I mentioned that I would like a good book in case I get bored. "Better tell us which one you want, Mom!" Without even thinking about what I was saying, I told them, "The Angle of Repose." No pun intended.

Writing, Riding, and Righting

I ride my bike at least ten miles a day. I haven't been able to do this for the past year and a half, so it feels especially good now. Riding helps me clear my head, strengthens my muscles, and, hopefully, helps me shed a few pounds every month. And I get to see the island!

I also try to write every day. Writing helps me figure out what I'm thinking. It shows me the things that my mind and heart dwell on.

Together, riding and writing, help me "right" myself. Physical strength and mental strength help me deal with everything the day has to offer. Without it, I feel a little tilted to one side.