Everything takes time. It takes time to drive from one place to another in rush hour traffic. It takes time to clean a messy room, organize a messy drawer, paint a worthwhile painting, or simply bake a cake.
Everything takes time. Some things take more time than others. It takes longer for a redwood tree to grow than for a bamboo shoot. It takes longer to recover after going on a Magic Mountain roller coaster ride than it does to recover after “It’s a Small World”. It takes longer to eat “Uncle Joes” cauliflower liver casserole than it does to eat “Aunt Sue’s” apple crumble pie.
Understanding how to hula takes time. Learning how to do the foot work, the hip swing, and the hand motions all in one graceful controlled sweeping effort is something that can’t be mastered during the first lesson. There before me were children in grass skirts their little hands and feet moving perfectly in syncopation. Later, there was an older lady in her 60’s, gracefully swaying to the ukulele tune. This can’t be so bad can it? Look at these people. If that older lady can do this, if those young children can do this, then so can I. And so I did. I stood in my square eyes forward, body straight willing and ready to move. I was doing well and surprisingly doing exactly what everyone else was doing, until the music started. That was when things started to get a little awkward. “Kaholo” the instructor specified, suddenly everyone went to the right, then to the left. I headed backwards toward the back wall in order to conceal myself. I was kind of getting the hang of things until I noticed everyone around me was getting shorter and shorter. The big skirts swayed back and forth hiding the dancers bending knees. I figured that if they can get that short than I’m getting that short. So shorter I got except that I stopped and they kept going lower and lower. My legs were crying out telling me to stop. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that the older ladies were gracefully nearing the floor. I figured pushing myself further would result in a literal fall to the floor which is somehow different than being near the floor. One is more attractive than the other. Fortunately they rose up and we were all the same height again. I glanced at my dear friend next to me and we exchanged knowing smiles.
Yes,
Somehow it all was an inspiring and moving experience.
Giving me visions of what I could be...
a couple of days from now.
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a whim of variety, an impulse of miscellaneous, an assortment of notions, and a varied fancy of yonder impressions
About Me
- RS
- I live in this state, down the street around the corner, on the right, in the neighboorhood with the tree lined street in my peach colored house with the lawn and the flowers and the small car in front. If you happen to pass by you may find me out watering and if this is so feel free to wave hello and I'll probably offer you some cold lemonade and oatmeal cookies and we could talk about the weather and such.
Thoughtful Thought of the Moment
It requries a grander heroism to stand and wait and not lose heart and not lose hope, to submit to the will of God, to give up work and honors to others, to be quiet, confident and rejoicing, while the happy, busy multitude go on and away. It is the grandest life "having done all, to stand".
From J.R. Miller in Streams in the Desert
"It isn't the thing you do, dear
It's the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you the bitter heartache
At the setting of the sun;
The tender word unspoken
The letter you did not write
The flower you might have sent, dear
Are your haunting ghosts at night.
The stone you might have lifted,
Out of your brother's way,
The bit of heartsome counsel
You were hurried too much to say;
The loving touch of the hand, dear,
The gentle and winsome tone,
That you had no time or thought for,
With troubles enough of your own.
These little acts of kindness,
So easily out of mind,
These chances to be angels,
Which even mortals find-
They come in night and silence,
Each chill reproachful wrath,
When hope is faint and flagging
And a blight has dropped on faith.
For life is all too short, dear.
And sorrow is all to great,
To suffer our slow compassion
That tarries until too late.
And it is not the thing you do, dear,
It's the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you the bitter heartache,
At the setting of the sun."
-Adeladie Proctor
From J.R. Miller in Streams in the Desert
"It isn't the thing you do, dear
It's the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you the bitter heartache
At the setting of the sun;
The tender word unspoken
The letter you did not write
The flower you might have sent, dear
Are your haunting ghosts at night.
The stone you might have lifted,
Out of your brother's way,
The bit of heartsome counsel
You were hurried too much to say;
The loving touch of the hand, dear,
The gentle and winsome tone,
That you had no time or thought for,
With troubles enough of your own.
These little acts of kindness,
So easily out of mind,
These chances to be angels,
Which even mortals find-
They come in night and silence,
Each chill reproachful wrath,
When hope is faint and flagging
And a blight has dropped on faith.
For life is all too short, dear.
And sorrow is all to great,
To suffer our slow compassion
That tarries until too late.
And it is not the thing you do, dear,
It's the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you the bitter heartache,
At the setting of the sun."
-Adeladie Proctor