{"id":17470,"date":"2015-11-20T13:54:03","date_gmt":"2015-11-20T18:54:03","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=17470"},"modified":"2015-11-20T13:54:03","modified_gmt":"2015-11-20T18:54:03","slug":"recognizing-just-noticing-reasons-to-go-on","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2015\/11\/recognizing-just-noticing-reasons-to-go-on\/","title":{"rendered":"Recognizing &#8212; Just <em>Noticing<\/em> &#8212; Reasons to Go On"},"content":{"rendered":"<div class=\"intrinsic-container intrinsic-container-16x9\"><iframe loading=\"lazy\" style=\"width: 100%;\" src=\"https:\/\/player.vimeo.com\/video\/121208416\" width=\"300\" height=\"150\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen=\"allowfullscreen\"><\/iframe><\/div>\n<p class=\"smalltext\"><em>[Music video by Dr. How and the Reasons to Live, a band based in Harrisonburg, Virginia. All I really know about this is what the caption at Vimeo says: &#8220;featuring Maarten Vanhaverbeke&#8217;s cross-Canada cycling trip.&#8221; The band&#8217;s Bandcamp page is <a title=\"Bandcamp: Dr. How and the Reasons to Live\" href=\"https:\/\/drhowandthereasonstolive.bandcamp.com\/\" target=\"_blank\">here<\/a>. It describes the band &#8212; genre Americana &#8212; as &#8220;a joy ride that is unique to feel, great to see and awesome to hear. Imagine Yogi Bear finding his picnic basket. Yeah, that&#8217;s happiness.&#8221;]<\/em><\/p>\n<p>From <em><a title=\"whiskey river: 'Probability,' by Lia Purpura\" href=\"http:\/\/whiskeyriver.blogspot.com\/2015\/11\/probability-most-coincidents-are-not.html\" target=\"_blank\">whiskey river<\/a><\/em>:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong>Probability<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Most coincidents are not<br \/>\nmiraculous, but way more<br \/>\ncommon than we think&#8212;<br \/>\nit&#8217;s the shiver<br \/>\nof noticing being<br \/>\ncentral in a sequence<br \/>\nof events<br \/>\nthat makes so much<br \/>\nseem wild and rare&#8212;<br \/>\nbecause what if it wasn&#8217;t?<br \/>\nAstonishment&#8217;s nothing<br \/>\nwithout your consent.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Lia Purpura [<a title=\"The New Yorker (January 19, 2015): 'Probability,' by Lia Purpura\" href=\"http:\/\/www.newyorker.com\/magazine\/2015\/01\/19\/probability\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p>&#8230;<a title=\"whiskey river: Jamie Tworkowski, on our ongoing stories\" href=\"http:\/\/whiskeyriver.blogspot.com\/2015\/11\/if-youre-reading-this-if-theres-air-in.html\" target=\"_blank\">and<\/a>:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong>We are stories still going.<\/strong><br \/>\n<span class=\"epigraph\">(excerpt)<\/span><\/p>\n<p>If you&#8217;re reading this, if there&#8217;s air in your lungs on this November day, then there is still hope for you. Your story is still going. And maybe some things are true for all of us. Perhaps we all relate to pain. Perhaps we all relate to fear and loss and questions. And perhaps we all deserve to be honest, all deserve whatever help we need. Our stories are all so many things: Heavy and light. Beautiful and difficult. Hopeful and uncertain. But our stories are not finished yet. There is still time, for things to heal and change and grow. There is still time to be surprised. We are still going, you and I. We are stories still going.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Jamie Tworkowski [<a title=\"To Write Love on Her Arms (TWLOHA): 'We are stories still going' (excerpt), by Jamie Tworkowski\" href=\"https:\/\/twloha.com\/blog\/we-are-stories-still-going\/\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p>&#8230;<a title=\"whiskey river: Laura McBride, on the greatness of small things\" href=\"http:\/\/whiskeyriver.blogspot.com\/2015\/11\/it-all-matters.html\" target=\"_blank\">and<\/a>:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p>It all matters. That someone turns out the lamp, picks up the windblown wrapper, says hello to the invalid, pays at the unattended lot, listens to the repeated tale, folds the abandoned laundry, plays the game fairly, tells the story honestly, acknowledges help, gives credit, says good night, resists temptation, wipes the counter, waits at the yellow, makes the bed, tips the maid, remembers the illness, congratulates the victor, accepts the consequences, takes a stand, steps up, offers a hand, goes first, goes last, chooses the small portion, teaches the child, tends to the dying, comforts the grieving, removes the splinter, wipes the tear, directs the lost, touches the lonely, is the whole thing.<\/p>\n<p>What is most beautiful is least acknowledged.<\/p>\n<p>What is worth dying for is barely noticed.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Laura McBride [<a title=\"Google Books: 'We Are Called to Rise: A Novel,' by Laura McBride\" href=\"https:\/\/books.google.com\/books?id=mVRXAgAAQBAJ&amp;pg=PA197#v=onepage&amp;q&amp;f=false\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p><!--more--><\/p>\n<p>Not from <em>whiskey river<\/em>:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong>Corn Picking 1956 &#8212; Afternoon Break<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-word;\">I needed a heavy canvas jacket riding the cold red tractor, air<br \/>\nan ice cube on bare skin. Blue sky over the aspen grove I drove<br \/>\nthrough on the way back to the field, throttle wide open, the<br \/>\nempty wagon I pulled hitting all the bumps on the dirt road. In<br \/>\nthe high branches of the aspens little explosions now and then<br \/>\nsent leaves tumbling and spinning like coins tossed into the air.<br \/>\nThe two-row, tractor-mounted corn-picker was waiting at the<br \/>\nend of the corn rows, the wagon behind it heaped so high with<br \/>\nears of corn their yellow could be seen a mile away. My father,<br \/>\nwho ran the picker, was already sitting on the ground, leaning<br \/>\nback against the big rear wheel of the tractor. In that spot out<br \/>\nof the wind we ate ham sandwiches and doughnuts, and drank<br \/>\nhot coffee from a clear Mason jar wrapped in newspaper to<br \/>\nkeep it warm. The autumn day had spilled the color gold every-<br \/>\nwhere: aspen, cornstalks, ears of corn piled high, coffee mixed<br \/>\nwith fresh cream, the fur of my dog, Boots, who was sharing<br \/>\nour food. And when my father and I spoke, joking with the<br \/>\nhappy dog, we did not know it then, but even the words that<br \/>\nwe carelessly dropped were left to shine forever on the bottom<br \/>\nof the clear, cold afternoon.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p>(Tom Hennen [<a title=\"Google Books: 'Darkness Sticks to Everything,' by Tom Hennen\" href=\"https:\/\/books.google.com\/books?id=WjhQu6oMaxwC&amp;pg=PT143#v=onepage&amp;q&amp;f=false\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p>&#8230;and:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong>Ode to a Maintenance Man and His Family<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Renato O. Jones, you maintain my beliefs<br \/>\nAnd service my thoughts when they cease to function.<br \/>\nYou repair the ailing equipage of the present, transform<br \/>\nThe past into flowers around the shuffle-board court<br \/>\nWhere there were none before. You speak<br \/>\nThe melodious languages of countries that bask<br \/>\nIn the sun, employ vacuum respirator as though<br \/>\nIt were rod or staff from the garden of Paradise.<\/p>\n<p>You anoint windowpanes with Windex and kneel<br \/>\nIn concern for stains on the carpeting,<br \/>\nas men knelt in ancient cathedrals where their voices<br \/>\nMurmured in prayer. You restore me with dance-steps<br \/>\nFrom harbors you knew: Shanghai, Marseilles, Trinidad,<br \/>\nAnd how many others. The songs that you sing<br \/>\n(As you unclog drains or retrieve lights when bulbs<br \/>\nFlicker and fail, or weave copper patches into the webs<br \/>\nOf damaged screen doors) are magical with the music<br \/>\nOf names of your family: Carmelita, Christopher, Dissere,<br \/>\nAlex and Mark, and Kevin and Kenneth and Kerwin.<\/p>\n<p>Each day you say to me &#8212; not in words but in the eloquence<br \/>\nOf your presence &#8212; that infinite patience with mankind is everything.<\/p>\n<p>(Aug.-Sept. 1990)<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Kay Boyle [<a title=\"Copper Canyon Press: 'Ode to a Maintenance Man and His Family,' by Kay Boyle\" href=\"https:\/\/www.coppercanyonpress.org\/pages\/util\/email_poem_to_friend.asp?bid=1103&amp;pid=317\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p>&#8230;and:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong>Lesson 2: Learning Mudras in Bhutan<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">Here, in this room of Bhutanese Elders,<br \/>\nI learn to catch my breath again, allow my fingers<br \/>\nto be shaped into lotus-flower offerings<br \/>\nto the sky. And when I can do this 108 times without<br \/>\nguidance, the woman behind me&#8212;cataract-beset,<br \/>\ntoothless, wrinkled&#8212;who\u2019s been picking stray flecks<br \/>\nof fleece off my back, touches me in a way you can\u2019t;<br \/>\ngives me the food she hasn\u2019t eaten all day, the words<br \/>\nshe hasn\u2019t spoken. So afterwards, it is almost easy.<br \/>\nTo walk outside where the young monks are chewing<br \/>\ngum in the sun, listen to them scatter down stairways<br \/>\nlike sparrows, point to the opening of space through<br \/>\nwhich I mean to escape. I want it to be graceful,<br \/>\nas she was, feather touches on your jacket and a jewel<br \/>\nin your hands. But when the light hits us from behind<br \/>\nthe granite cliffs, all I can muster is to lie with you<br \/>\non the monastery floor, guide your fingers to the door-<br \/>\nways of my weary heart, so you can feel it too&#8212;<br \/>\nthe ocean that travels with me; how it gathers and breaks,<br \/>\ngathers and breaks; like love, how it stills, then parts.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p>(Tishani Doshi [<a title=\"Google Books: 'Everything Begins Elsewhere,' by Tishani Doshi\" href=\"https:\/\/books.google.com\/books?id=s6QaaWaMpHYC&amp;pg=PT18#v=onepage&amp;q&amp;f=false\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>[Music video by Dr. How and the Reasons to Live, a band based in Harrisonburg, Virginia. All I really know about this is what the caption at Vimeo says: &#8220;featuring Maarten Vanhaverbeke&#8217;s cross-Canada cycling trip.&#8221; The band&#8217;s Bandcamp page is here. It describes the band &#8212; genre Americana &#8212; as &#8220;a joy ride that is [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","h5ap_radio_sources":[],"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"activitypub_content_warning":"","activitypub_content_visibility":"","activitypub_max_image_attachments":3,"activitypub_interaction_policy_quote":"anyone","activitypub_status":"","footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[183,247,1393,74,5,251,4159],"tags":[3250,3760,4221,4222,4223,4224,4225],"class_list":{"0":"post-17470","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-everyday-life","7":"category-ruminations","8":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","9":"category-music","10":"category-06_writing","11":"category-poetry-writing_cat","12":"category-essays","13":"tag-lia-purpura","14":"tag-tom-hennen","15":"tag-jamie-tworkowski","16":"tag-laura-mcbride","17":"tag-tishani-doshi","18":"tag-kay-boyle","19":"tag-dr-how-and-the-reasons-to-live","20":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-4xM","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17470","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=17470"}],"version-history":[{"count":15,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17470\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":17485,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17470\/revisions\/17485"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=17470"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=17470"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=17470"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}