A morning on the EL

I got a seat on the EL this morning, but cringed when an obviously mentally ill man got on the train and stood right in front of me. He had three teeth, wore dirty gloves and an ancient winter coat. He was clutching a Dunkin Donut's bag. Like many mentally ill people, he was muttering to himself...a running commentary. "Oh, brother, I thought. Just what I need on a Monday morning. This is exactly why I hate riding the EL. This guy is making everyone uncomfortable."

Those around him moved away, but I was stuck in my seat. So I just stared ahead and tried not to provoke him.

"The loud speaker's at just the right level. Sometimes it's blasting.....I have my jelly donut here, but I can't eat it...it would be too much chaos...it would slop all over...and they never put napkins in the bag....the little boy wanted a donut, but his mother wouldn't let him....maybe it was for religious reasons. Those polygamist women in Texas....they're strange...what's the deal with them...."

After a while, I started laughing. Everything this guy was saying was sort of...true...and funny.

I looked up at him and he looked at me. I smiled. "You're making me laugh" I said to him. He smiled back.

Now he had an audience. I was sad for him, but also still a bit wary. I didn't want to encourage him too much. What would he do?

"I talk to myself", he said "because I live alone. I've lived alone for 50 years....except for my two cats...they're fixed...the male cat, he didn't like that...he's a mean one, he weighs 30 pounds and has diabetes. I've had him since he was 7 months old....he's still 49% feral....and 51% he listens to me....he's mean though...but I believe there's good in everyone...even animals...."

I realized that maybe he wasn't mentally ill. He was just lonely.

This went on for the rest of the el ride. The guy's voice was getting louder. Now he was speaking directly to me and I could tell the other riders were uncomfortable that I was encouraging this guy. They moved even further away from him and shot me some dirty looks.

"Before I had them fixed, I had to duct tape the doors closed so the male cat couldn't get to my female cat. But one day I came home and he had pushed that door open....even though I had used 2/3 of a role of duct tape!....but I got them fixed because that helps the cat population and the smell....

He got off at my stop. "You're getting off here, too?" He asked. I nodded and smiled.

I hurriedly got of the train and was walking in front of him. I half-way turned around and said "Have a nice day."

"Hey, maybe I'll see you on the train again." He said.

"Yea, maybe" I said.

Then I walked down the stairs and into the April rain.

Partying with the Writers of Faith

I spent the weekend with other writer friends at the Festival of Faith and Writing at Calvin College and my parched soul was filled to the brim. I think we writer-types (even those of us who don't feel like writers sometimes), go around feeling odd in a world of normal, and when we get together for these gatherings it's like coming home, or finally finding others members of our odd tribe. We discover maybe we aren't so weird after all, and that all of our quirks and insecurities and ways of thinking are just a part of being a writer. That all of us, even those who are successful and have published books and go on book tours and speak at festivals, have doubts and fears and insecurities. That writing doesn't come easily, even for the most talented.

I think in the past few years, as David and I have settled into marriage, that I've forgotten parts of myself. It's so easy to lose yourself in marriage. To get caught up in every-day life and paying bills and working and hopefully helping the other person become what God has created them to be. This is all fulfilling, and more so than I ever thought. But to put words on paper and write truth and craft the stories that happen to rattle around in my head is what I feel called to do. I try to deny it, and forget about it. It's too hard. I'm not disciplined enough. I'm afraid of failure. But, as writer Mary Gordon reminded us this weekend, "To be a writer is to fail and fail again."

I saw friends there I haven't seen for a few years. Had wonderful conversations about faith and writing and God. Listened to authors speak about their writing. I wish I could have brought you all along. Here are tidbits I can at least share with you:

"Christianity isn't about what you think, but it's embodying the faith. 'Blessed is the one who hears the word and does it.'" -- Scot Cairns (poet)

"Sometimes we pray just by doing what needs to be done." -- Kathleen Norris

"The storytelling impulse is a saving grace -- it reminds us that we are made in God's image." -- Kathleen Norris

"Sunday morning got hijacked by the scientists." -- Rob Bell

"Faith is to trust your instincts to be true to your calling." -- Elizabeth Berg

"Beauty is born in play." -- Katherine Patterson

"Three things are needed for beauty: Integrity, harmony and brilliance." -- Katherine Patterson

"In truth-telling is great beauty." -- Katherine Patterson

I now look like Jane Fonda in Klute

I went to get a long-overdue haircut on Thursday. For those of you who know me well, you know I inherited a lot of hair-anxiety from my mother. You see, my mom had very fine, thin hair that caused her much grief. She tried everything to get her limp locks to do something...anything. She permed, colored, curled and sprayed. She tried different gels, mouses, curling irons, and shampoos. She was never satisfied.

From the time I was 12, my mom started giving me home perms. She projected all of her hair anxiety onto us girls, saying things like "We'll always need perms to give us 'body'". So I just assumed I was destined for a life of perm rods and frizzy hair. It also meant I kept my hair short and layered -- because "our hair is just to thin to grow long." I will spare you the pain of looking at photos. When David saw these old photos of me, his comments were "You look like you have an afro", and "You look like a cartoon character."

Thanks honey.

I gave up perms long ago. I no longer have a white-girl afro. And thankfully, my hair anxiety is mostly gone.

But I had to laugh when I walked in the door Thursday night after getting my hair cut and the first thing David said was, "Hey, you look like Jane Fonda in 'Klute.'"

So yes, people, I have a 1971 hooker hair cut. Just the look I was going for.

Searching for the sun in Dallas

We came to Dallas for a few days to visit David's parents, and secretly hoping to see the sun again. Is it still there? Does anyone know?

Instead, we've been sitting in the family room of David's parents' nearly-empty house looking longingly through the sliding glass doors to the overcast skies and the pool in the back yard. I'm trying to imagine what it would be like to sit by the pool soaking in the sun after the longest, drearies, snowiest winter in history. But alas, my dreams of the sun are only dreams.

The only time I saw the sun this weekend was when we ventured to the Dallas Museum of Art for the J.M.W. Turner exhibit. Light and sun appear in most of his paintings...which are amazing. I really have no words to describe the exhibit. It was overwhelming. It's the largest collection of Turner paintings ever exhibited in one place and after a while it's "beauty overload". He's one of the first landscape painters and through his use of light and color and sky portrayed a sense of the "sublime". He also wrote poetry and in his later years (early -mid 1800s) started painting more impressionistic -- before there was anything called "impressionism". The only reason I know all of this is because I saw the exhibit with David, who used to write about art for the Tribune, and his friend, Stephen, who's an artist. These two guys know art...and I often feel a bit ignorant around them. I stand there looking at a painting, trying to come up with at least an intelligent question to ask. Mostly I just stand there admiring the painting while I listen to the two of them talk. It's like having my very own art tutors.

We are flying back to Chicago tonight (after having our flights canceled yesterday), and it's supposed to be sunny in Chicago tomorrow. We'll see. I may have to hang on to my memories of Turner's paintings to remind me that there is still something called "the sun", and that it's yellow and warm -- and sublime.