Kindness is an Abstract Noun

Kindness is an Abstract Noun

       they confuse your reader and take you down a circuitous path of too many words to describe rather than show

stick with a verb rather than string your reader onto a path of interpretation and anarchy

and please don’t engage in “nominalization” where you take a good hard working verb and turn it into an abstract noun

head down the road of vivid alive concrete verbs and leave the abstract words by the wayside

use sparingly—be aware of overuse

don’t be fooled into thinking that abstract nouns dwell in the land of clarity 

find the perfect verb but ignore those other meaning sappers— words that end in “ly”—

do you want to go weak or strong— concrete or abstract— rant about equality and hunger,— all abstract notions or write about the school that educates both Israeli and Palestinian children, or the 40 million people in the United States  who don’t have enough to eat, or or or...

         Never use abstract nouns when concrete ones will do. If you mean  More people died don’t say Mortality rose.     —- C.S. Lewis

I Wanted a Verb

I am the child who waited for a gift and unwrapped a pair of rain boots when they had hoped for a rag doll. Disappointment. A feeling of being duped. 

      For the past three years the pastor at the church I attend bought into the One Word phenomenon. Select a word, live with the word, grow with the word. Each year words are written on gold or silver stars and those stars are placed face down on the sanctuary floor. The congregation listens to the rules : no peeking, no exchanging. And the pastor says if the word goes against your grain it is probably exactly the word you need. “ You have won the jackpot.”

     Today, the day of the stars. I sang all the hymns—even the many I didn’t know. Ok I mouthed them because I can’t carry a tune. I kept looking at my watch willing the time to proceed rapidly. Today I’d pick my word. 

    Finally the call. Walk, don’t run — and pick up a star. I noticed that some people just bent down and selected any star— not me. I walked about looking for a sign, a magnetic pull, some sort of divine intervention before I made a selection. When it appeared as if I was on my own I selected a star and walked back to my seat. 

    Then, without any drumroll, I turned the star over. There in bold letters my word stared back— kindness. A fine adjective turned into a noun. I wanted a verb.

    The first year my word release tugged at me and every day for a year I included the 

word release in my blog entries. I hounded myself into thinking of all the ways release applied to me, to life. I unearthed news stories and spiritual biographies. 

    I wrestled with the word. The word took me by the hand, by the throat, through the past into the future. I painted, collaged, wrote poems, found myself drawn to the concept, to the philosophical understanding of what it means to actually release something. I was drunk on the implications of release. 

     My word for 2019— kindness. An adjective turned into a noun by the addition of ness. No verb for me. The  word on my star couldn’t survive without its suffix. Yes, I know that kindness is an important virtue. Yes, I agree we should all indulge in kindness to one another. And I admit to not always being a paragon of kindness, but a year of residing in the realm of kindness. It sounds like a year of being forced to watch Hallmark dramas or a year of reading goody good fiction. Kindness, civility are powerful and need to be practiced by everyone. Now that I’ve agreed...what comes next?

    How do you wrestle with kindness. I wanted a strong verb—

    When you add —ness to a noun you find yourself handling an abstract noun. Not substantial, not showing its sinews, lacking muscle. I reside in particulars. You can’t see or touch an abstract noun. I have nothing against abstract nouns — save to live with this one for a year. 

    Then again I can apply myself to Ness.

      Ness is a character, actually the protagonist, of Earthbound ( a game). According to WikiBound Ness comes from the town of Onett and he is both witty and gifted. 

      Ness carries a geographic pedigree: the village of Ness, Cheshire, England and Ness Islands in the River Ness, in Scotland

Ness Waterfall in Scotland and River Ness 

Ness City, Kansas

Ness Township, Minnesota

Mount Ness, Antarctica

Ness Lake, British Columbia, Canada

Of course there’s the Loch Ness monster

And there’s NESS New England Skeptical Society

As well as HMS Ness, two Royal Navy ships

Ness Award, annual award of the Royal Geographical Society

NESS a mission of the Near Earth Object Surveillance Satellite 

Things are looking up. I will kinda become a roving, without leaving home, investigator studying and reporting on places or groups that have used or gravitated toward ness. And in the spirit of kindness I promise not to indulge in too many words when reporting my findings. And if you must reply to this long and convoluted writing — do so in the same spirit. 

    

As a Young Mother

      Zip 20904  Ainsley Rd, Maryland

           Where

    I learned

both the love of the Bible and the

love of women

Childhood Zip Code

      10453– Bronx, New York

We

played hop scotch,

double dutch and jacks—

City kids 

Zip Code

      01754

Night

time when the sun dips beneath

my horizon I

mourn the lost light

Post-modern Traveler

Running on the tread-
mill I summon up distant
exotic landscapes

a Ritual

On Christmas morning
we break bread with friends and chat
over omelettes

The Real Meaning

It is easy to get so wrapped up in the particulars of Christmas— gifts, foods you remember, and new recipes that the why of the celebration takes a seat in the back of the concert hall. Years ago I lived next door to a family that didn’t trim a tree, hang a wreath, or even hang stockings. They did send out cards with biblical quotations. 

The week before Christmas they sat around the living room and sang hymns and read the story— that is the biblical story of the birth of Jesus. They didn’t watch one of the many films that show on television —often depicting a maudlin story line that eventually turns out well because of the Christmas kindness of someone. 

Christmas Eve they all went to church services. Yes, the mother baked cookies and the Christmas Day meal was special. Yes, their four children dressed up as angels or shepherds and appeared in pageants. And yes they knew why they were dressed up with wings or staffs. 

So this Christmas as we do our Christmas scene puzzle— which may not be completed before 2019– may we remember what the pulsating lights, tinsel, and decorated trees really celebrate.

Another Way

Chasing the tail

of what remains undone

I forget that it is I who set

tasks, created end points

So what if my poems 

float about without context

or set in type, or fixed in a place

So what if half finished paintings

seek completion or letters wait

Why allow the calendar to dictate

Shall I cast off all moorings

and set off on an untethered life

Pushed into the New Year

I am behind schedule

I try to catch up 

Stay up later

Eat without tasting

Afraid that all I wanted

to finish before the bell

knells , the ball falls 

and dawn cracks the dark

will remain adrift

unmoored in the past

Our 1000 Piece Puzzle

look for the one piece

with half a red and green bow

it may fit right here

perhaps over there
if not here try it elsewhere
it will fit somewhere

End of Year

i am rushing 

rushing before the bell

rings, the curtain wraps

around an ending

the pear I began painting

remains half finished

waiting for a stem

my daily words to live by

bookmark marks a date

three weeks ago 

then a letter i intended

to answer remains

in the same place on my desk

the bank statements starting 

in 2013 bloat a three ring binder

and only a week to clean-up,

finish half done promises

A Christmas Tale

the lines grow longer 

 parking spaces at a premium 

cars inch along the roads

toward shopping emporiums 

to purchase too many items

 no one would buy in ordinary time 

christmas music fills the space

between shoppers carrying 

unwieldy packages

the closer it gets

the more frenetic the purchases 

credit cards flashed about

with wild abandonment

a child desires a particular toy

which is sold out everywhere

sending her parents

into a frenzy 

santa sits on his chair 

posing for photos

with children and dogs

one child cries 

when she spots

the space between

 Santa’s beard and face

she’s too young to learn about deception—

a birthday gone awry

Walking Around the Pond

the rain ate away soil and the water edged closer until only several inches remained— less than the width of my shoe   certainly i could tiptoe or allow that my waterproof hiking boots might get wet—but add the angle and the possibility of slipping into the water 

last week i had a foot wide space and it was dicey, but today only half of that space remained so i chose the safe route—

which brings up the question of age and risk, age and exploration, age and fewer choices

so then what new endeavors, new areas to explore— because without taking some risks, without being willing to fail you stand still and only watch

bring on the adventures —

So Sweet

What is it about a buffet that creates in me a yearning to sample every dish and then return for favorites? I watch a woman fill her plate as if this is the last meal she will ever savor. She looks up and says, “ I need to sample everything.” She’s not obese, or heavy, or overweight. I expect she usually watches what she eats. 

Before I went to this yearly Christmas open house I reminded myself of the culinary talents of the hostess. She always bakes delectable sugar filled delicacies with eye appeal. 

As soon as I spotted the table, which almost buckled under the heavy load of food, my eyes went to the four large cakes— each one enticing looking. Next to the cakes—a three tier platter of cookies. 

I gingerly walked around the table selecting a bit of this and a bit of that. Making a smoked chicken sandwich, selecting cheeses, veggies and dips and eschewing the sweets. While I  chatted with friends I munched on celery, strips of cucumber, red peppers, and an occasional purple cauliflower. 

On the way out I couldn’t help taking one chocolate wrapped bell. But now I am not patting myself on the back for my self-control. I am wondering why I didn’t acknowledge the truth of the holiday— indulging in sweets is an acceptable part of Christmas get togethers. Now I’ll never know how that chocolate covered cheesecake tastes— the one someone who afler one bite smiled and said, “ This cake is the  ambrosia of  the gods.”

Becoming

      The Hebrew word להתודע 
       is a reflexive verb, 

       meaning "to make oneself known." 

                     —Rabbi Rachel Barenblat

hidden within an outer husk

beneath a sheath built up

over years — built out of

silence honed from invisible

secrets requires excavating 

amid strata until clear 

of blockage

Unresolved

         “ambiguous loss”

                  Pauline Boss

        

to find a phrase 

a few words to describe

an immigrant’s loss of country

a person lost in dementia’s labyrinth 

a family separated by the past

a child estranged

Rituals

we revived a Christmas ritual and purchased a puzzle— one with 1000 pieces, small pieces, quirky pieces that deceive and a picture that offers a challenge but we’re determined to finish by  Christmas in part because that’s what we always did and rituals by definition follow similar patterns but we changed because originally we set the puzzle up and invited people over Christmas Day for a brunch and then a walk in the woods or around a pond except if the weather— as it was one year— too frigid and too windy to leave the warmth of a house and a chance to place the last piece of a puzzle

now and for a number of years we go out for brunch with friends and then take a walk and that too has become a ritual 

Shopping for Music

Once upon a time you bought a record player and plugged it into the outlet— put on a record and music. Then you moved up to CDs and  inserted a disk, fiddled with some dials — and music. Then you moved up and two big speakers, amp and pre-amp, changer—and the music. Then you pulled back and settled for an all in one—plugged your cord into an outlet, settled an iPhone into a designated spot, fiddled with a music stream station or your own playlist —and music.

Now there’s Bluetooth and some complications. Now you bring your unit home and attach to your router ( first figure out where to plug in), download the application for your unit, follow the directions on your iPad screen, settle on a music provider, select how compressed you want the music ( or what your unit can handle) and hope for sound. 

And there’s help—$120.00.

Roll Call

Looking through an old, but not ancient, Christmas list I find three names that I shall erase. They no longer occupy houses or read cards or plan Christmas menus. I cross out addresses that no longer receive mail, but don’t erase  names and addresses. There’s something too final by blotting out a name. 

Reading a name conjures up the person. Someone you knew, perhaps someone you would have liked to know better, or someone with whom you shared a history. 

Looking through an old, but not ancient, Christmas list I find people I once knew, but now I barely can conjure up their face even though I can recall small specifics. 

Then there are the names of people I don’t recall. There are no intact memories.

I write unsent letters —in ink or in silence. 

Just Say a Blessing

It takes too many words

to explain how the world 

rotates or why the horizon

line keeps moving further away

It’s best to stand in awe

and be grateful you’re not

dizzy or falling off the edge

Sometimes science 

stands in the way 

Reading Scripture

ancient place names

confound my tongue

i find myself slurring

past the syllables

or in the act

of creation

All Lit Up

My next door neighbor added to her Christmas display. She’s drawn to snowmen—inside and on her front lawn. Of course there’s Santa and white trees lit with lights as well as reindeer and a large gold star. At night everything blinks. 

Another neighbor festooned all her bushes with syncopating lights. Yes, there are bulb studded candy canes and sleds. Thus far I haven’t spotted any blown up figures or almost life sized figures holding music and singing carols. But it’s early.

Our house is still waiting for the yearly wreath and two gaudy bows hanging on the outside lights. Thus far no one in the neighborhood has a crèche outside.

There is one house with a menorah. Yes, the candles blink.

Modernity

I’m a day 

behind myself

doing what I 

meant to finish

yesterday —

hurrying to catch

up to today 

before tomorrow

intrudes

The Bookstore

The tea I ordered three weeks ago languishes in an unmarked place unknown to anyone. They say it is in transit. What does that mean? On the way. Stopping off somewhere. Opened and brewed. No one has said—“delivered”. And the word lost hasn’t been spoken. 

How many packages disappear into space— unknown and never found? This is what happens when we turn away from small stores and consume our goods by googling what we want or checking online purveyors of goods. 

How do you check the feel of a sheet or if that sweater is scratchy? We will depend upon descriptions written by people reared in the language of promotion and advertising. 

 Years ago when I moved from Maryland to Massachusetts not only didn’t I know anyone, but my favorite bookstore owner no longer was  near by. But I did find a bookstore run by an incredible woman who turned her small home into a bookstore. A small wood sign— Books— hung on the side of the front door. Rather than a bulky cash register she preferred a ledger and a desk drawer with wooden dividers for different denominations. She liked paper money, but didn’t turn you away if you used a credit card. 

I happened upon her store when I was out investigating my new environment. Within a few weeks I became a regular customer buying poetry books that had sat on her shelves for years— judging by the prices. Once she learned that I taught school she introduced me to Peter Elbow. Reading his books altered the way I taught writing. Over a period of five years she encouraged me to dip into previously unexplored areas and genres. 

She was reticent about her background or her age. But in time I heard about her missionary parents, growing up in China, and the book she kept in her house in New Hampshire. She had a number of guests visit— “over the years.” Her living room had some comfortable chairs, a fireplace, and bookcases. In the evening, “ after we talked ourselves out we read.” 

The book was for her guests. She encouraged them to write about meaningful things and especially about the books they read. 

The collection of books in her store — or what had once been a parlor and living room— included philosophy, poetry, history, fiction she considered worthwhile and essays. Then there was a shelf of odds and ends. That’s where Peter Elbow’s book on writing resided.

Locals often ordered books, but a day might pass and only one or two people showed up.  That never bothered her. Often after a day of teaching I stopped in to chat. Her friend who sometimes came over with sweets told me that my book friend was close to ninety. 

She died six years after I first walked into her store. The sign came down and the books were boxed up and disappeared. Within a month the house that was a bookstore was renovated and an insurance company hung out a shingle. Since then a realtor, a women’s dress shop, and a antique store have occupied the space. No one really settles in and stays for long. I expect that her soul is still there suggesting books and writing down your name and what you purchased.

Early Winter Reading

I’m looking at my collection of reading and all I can say is— it’s eclectic. There’s Sun After Dark by Pico Iyer. I actually wanted to take out his latest book, but that meant a wait so I borrowed this earlier book where “...he invites us to accompany him on an array of exotic explorations...” 

But this isn’t a usual travel book because of the questions Pico poses: “ How do we reconcile suffering with the sunlight often found around it? How does the foreign instruct the traveler, precisely by discomforting him?  And how does travel take us more deeply into reality, both within and without?”

I found the following book in a display of new books— The Dinosaur Artist by Paige Williams. This is a true - crime story that involves a dinosaur eight feet high and twenty-four feet long, a bidding war, “an international custody battle” and “ a sometimes murky, risky business populated by eccentrics and obsessives.”

The Modern Hebrew Poem Itself was published in 1965 so it can no longer contain the truly contemporary poets. It is written for the non- Hebrew reading English reader. Each poem is written both in Hebrew and an English phonetic  transcription. The reader is instructed to read that version aloud to absorb the sound of the poem. There are English approximations. The translation and here they quote “  Robert Frost  —are discussed into English.”

 “The commentary offers a literal rendering of the poem and an extensive prose commentary.” 

And into this mix I’m engrossed in a lightweight saga of a small town and its citizens. There are twelve books in the series and each book is akin to eating penny candy and delighting in the experience. Nothing is required of the reader— save a cup of tea and a bit of time. 

Early Winter

a cold wind

wraps a shawl

around my shoulders

Monday Morning Walk

I’m not a truly adventurous spirit although I do read of people engaging in death defying exploits. My hiking exploits skip areas where I’m apt to run into “ wooly mammoths” or gruff bears. I avoid snakes— even those whose venom is non-lethal. I do enjoy heights; however, I can’t imagine myself on a high wire crossing over an expanse of space with nothing below.

Today, when walking around Walden Pond , I knew that our recent rains—downpours —eroded parts of the path closest to the water. Previously the path, in some areas, was only a foot wide before the water edged onto solid ground. Everyone else took the higher dry wood path for most of the pond’s circumnavigation, but I love being close to the water. It never occurred to me to alternate between the two paths. After all I was communing with Thoreau and his pond. ( It’s a pond that takes 30 to 40 minutes to circle )

The first foot wide place was reduced to a dry area two inches wider than my hiking shoe. In order to avoid the water I held onto the bushes on my right. That area lasted for six feet. Three quarters around the pond a second close encounter with the water— more precarious. A foot wide dry area at a fifty degree ( or thereabouts) angle toward the water. If I went in it meant a solid drenching. I held fast to the flimsiest strands of a bush. At one point I lose my balance and grabbed a handful of strands and advanced slowly.

Once on dry ground I picked up my pace knowing I’d be the last person of our seven to arrive back at our meeting place. When I arrived— only a minute or two later than the previous walker—two of the women said that they were watching me straddle between dry and wet terrain. One woman said, “ I was thinking of how to keep you warm if you fell in.” Another asked me if I did the entire path that ran close to the water. “Yes.” But I did add that I’d wait for spring before I do that again.

So next Monday when we meet I’ll walk both paths. Did I say that after crossing each of those narrow places I imagined each as the passage over a  giant crevasse — or a mountain trek over fast running streams?

Adventures sometimes are small and gain stature in the realm of the imagination.

One Word

     Four years ago I found my first word on the sanctuary floor. Words written on silver cardboard stars and placed facedown. My selection— random or drawn to the word. 

      Just yesterday I found a book that purported to offer a way to select one word. This word when  you follow their suggestions will alter your life.

     Yes, I’m skeptical. The first year my word— release. I did think that the word was appropriate. Yet, it’s a bit like a fortune cookie or an astrology reading. You can, without too much effort, read yourself into a word. 

     But the following year my word appeared to fit. Then the third year my word, once again—on target. On December 30th the sanctuary floor will be filled with stars and I’ll walk up and select a star without knowing the word.

     Random?

                or drawn to a particular star? 

Correspondence

catching up on letters

written to women i’ve 

never met who live

in places unseen

and imagined

through words

written in ink