Contradictions

Oak dresser drawer cracked openOn an Ash Wednesday—long before we knew sugar could hijack our bodies—I kneel with my classmates at the marble altar railing, feel the priest’s thumb mark the sooty cross on my forehead, and hear him murmur in Latin, “Remember, man, thou art dust and unto dust thou shalt return.” For six weeks I sacrifice what is dearest—Heath bars, Hershey bars, Milk Duds, and Black Crows. Candy. For forty days we four Kennedy kids do not eat it, but we do stash it. In the hallway, in the scarred top drawer, we line up our candy. Abstemious child that I am, daily I sacrifice, and daily I count my treasures.

cup of coffeeToday’s theology says that sacrificing sweets may not be the best preparation for death and resurrection, but I hold to old ways. Candy, for the most part, holds little appeal, but doing without peppermint chocolate in my coffee? Now, that is denial of the highest form. Once more, for six weeks, I drink my coffee straight, counting the days when I can scoop a rounded teaspoon of Stephen’s Candycane Cocoa into my caffeine.

purple clothLent’s color is purple, the hue of triumph and defeat, death and resurrection. Six weeks set aside annually to let bruise and dignity, darkness and elegance share a common table. In the delightful Hailstones and Halibut Bones, Mary O’Neill writes of purple’s conundrums: jam and a pout, air without light and violets in spring.

Years ago, my wise mentor, Sister Theona, read aloud T.S. Eliot’s “Ash Wednesday”: The desert in the garden the garden in the desert.  She would look up, as if to say. “Do you hear this delicious wisdom?” Wanting to please, I nodded, the rhythmic words resonating, the meaning far beyond me—except for the poet’s repeated prayer, like a cup brimming with contradiction:

Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still.

For the next forty days or so, I will hang out with Old Testament passages, aware of my purple shirts and the purple crocuses, hoping to face the truth of my falsehoods, trying not to care too much, even about the foaming chocolate coffee to come someday soon.

Color Me

Green is my favorite color, so why are my only green possessions a tote bag, earrings, and a striped hoodie? Years ago, I got my “colors done.” After draping me in scarves and fabrics, the lady said, “You are definitely a summer.” My closet then is a combination of soft, cool shades of pink, blue, and purple. The color to avoid? Most shades of green.

I still love green best. This past week, another color test appeared. What color is my unconscious self? Good, I thought, now is my chance to prove I am a person of serenity, intelligence, and independence. The results? I am Gold. I should have been tickled that my psyche is gold–magnetic and charismatic. In fact, I am a Lioness. Purrrr. But Gold. Gold? I want to be Green.

hailstones-and-halibut-bonesBesides memories, a book encouraged my affinity with the color green. While teaching primary school in the 1960’s I first read Mary O’Neill’s delightful Hailstones and Halibut Bones. Of all the book’s color poems, I liked green best: green is lettuce and shade, moss and grasshopper, peppermint and jade, and the “fuzz that covers up where winter was.”

So, I cannot be green either in my wardrobe or my unconscious, but I can write about green treasures. Here is my take on the color, with a grateful nod to Mary O’Neill.

 

CliffsGreen is March, April, and May,
And earrings I wear on St. Patrick’s Day.
Green is Moher and moss-fringed cliffs,
View of the Blaskets from our tourist skiff.

Green is spinach, cilantro, and thyme,
Peppers and scallions, water with lime.
Green is Christmas, velvet, candy cane,
Rain running down my window pane.

Green 1Green is the park where I go for a walk:
Grasses and yarrow, and no human talk.
Green is the hum of a tranquil path
Bending around where birch leaves laugh.

Green are my pencils, shades light to deep
I use to color on nights I can’t sleep.
Green is the color of dresses not bought.
Green is my passion for what I am not.