{"id":19564,"date":"2017-08-25T06:41:09","date_gmt":"2017-08-25T10:41:09","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=19564"},"modified":"2017-08-25T13:25:27","modified_gmt":"2017-08-25T17:25:27","slug":"the-big-moments","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2017\/08\/the-big-moments\/","title":{"rendered":"The Big Moments"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Image:<\/a><\/p>\n

[Image: “Disappearing Act,” by Lulu Lovering<\/a> on Flickr<\/a>. (Used here under a Creative Commons license; thank you!) Apparently this is a self-portrait; the photographer says, “This morning instead of a thunderstorm, it was a very billowy fog that was brushing up against the windows. Even though it was just beginning to be light, I tumbled out of bed and ran around the house trying to find my snuggly parka and tripod and remote. Then I made a quick dash out the back and tried to play it casual for the passing cars as I ran along the road a little ways to the big field where the fog was sitting in clouds on the ground.”]<\/em><\/p>\n

From whiskey river<\/em><\/a>:<\/p>\n

Last Day on Earth<\/strong><\/p>\n

If it’s the title of a movie you expect
\neverything to become important – a kiss,
\na shrug, a glass of wine, a walk with the dog.<\/p>\n

But if the day is real, life is only
\nas significant as yesterday — the kiss
\nhurried, the shrug forgotten, and now,<\/p>\n

on the path by the river, you don’t notice
\nthe sky darkening beyond the pines because
\nyou’re imagining what you’ll say at dinner,<\/p>\n

swirling the wine in your glass.
\nYou don’t notice the birds growing silent
\nor the cold towers of clouds moving in,<\/p>\n

because you’re explaining how lovely
\nand cool it was in the woods. And the dog
\nhad stopped limping! — she seemed<\/p>\n

her old self again, sniffing the air and alert,
\nthe way dogs are to whatever we can’t see.
\nAnd I was happy, you hear yourself saying,<\/p>\n

because it felt as if I’d been allowed
\nto choose my last day on earth,
\nand this was the one I chose.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Lawrence Raab [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

I choose to believe that there is nothing more sacred or profound than this day. I choose to believe that there may be a thousand big moments embedded in this day, waiting to be discovered like tiny shards of gold. The big moments are the daily, tiny moments of courage and forgiveness and hope that we grab onto and extend to one another. That’s the drama of life, swirling all around us, and generally I don’t see it, because I’m too busy waiting to become whatever it is I think I’m about to become. The big moments are in every hour, every conversation, every meal, every meeting.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Shauna Niequist [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

Waiting for God<\/strong><\/p>\n

This morning I breathed in. It had rained
\nearly and the sycamore leaves tapped
\na few drops that remained, while waving
\nthe air’s memory back and forth
\nover the lawn and into our open
\nwindow. Then I breathed out.<\/p>\n

This deliberate day eased
\npast the calendar and waited. Patiently
\nthe sun instructed the shadows how to move;
\nit held them, guided their gradual defining.
\nIn the great quiet I carried my life on,
\nin again, out again.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(William Stafford [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Not from whiskey river<\/em>:<\/p>\n

Serving with Gideon<\/strong><\/p>\n

Now I remember: in our town the druggist
\nprescribed Coca-Cola mostly, in tapered
\nglasses to us, and to the elevator
\nman in a paper cup, so he could
\ndrink it elsewhere because he was black.<\/p>\n

And now I remember The Legion—gambling
\nin the back room, and no women but girls, old boys
\nwho ran the town. They were generous,
\nto their sons or the sons of friends.
\nAnd of course I was almost one.<\/p>\n

I remember winter light closing
\nits great blue fist slowly eastward
\nalong the street, and the dark then, deep
\nas war, arched over a radio show
\ncalled the thirties in the great old U.S.A.<\/p>\n

Look down, stars—I was almost
\none of the boys. My mother was folding
\nher handkerchief; the library seethed and sparked;
\nright and wrong arced; and carefully
\nI walked with my cup toward the elevator man.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(William Stafford [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

Every gathering has its moment. As an adult, I distract myself by trying to identify it, dreading the inevitable downswing that is sure to follow. The guests will repeat themselves one too many times, or you’ll run out of dope or liquor and realize that it was all you ever had in common. At the time, though, I still believed that such a warm and heady feeling might last forever and that in embracing it fully, I might approximate the same wistful feeling adults found in their second round of drinks… Up and down our street the houses were decorated with plywood angels and mangers framed in colored bulbs. Over on Coronado someone had lashed speakers to his trees, broadcasting carols over the candy-cane forest he’d planted beside his driveway. Our neighbors would rise early and visit the malls, snatching up gift-wrapped Dustbusters and the pom-pommed socks used to protect the heads of golf clubs. Christmas would arrive and we, the people of this country, would gather around identical trees, voicing our pleasure with worn clich\u00e9s. Turkeys would roast to a hard, shellacked finish. Hams would be crosshatched with x’s and glazed with fruit—and it was fine by me. Were I to receive a riding vacuum cleaner or even a wizened proboscis monkey, it wouldn’t please me half as much as knowing we were the only family in the neighborhood with a prostitute in our kitchen. From this moment on, the phrase “ho, ho, ho” would take on a whole different meaning; and I, along with the rest of my family, could appreciate it in our own clannish way. It suddenly occurred to me. Just like that.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(David Sedaris [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

You know how everyone\u2019s always saying seize the moment?\u00a0I don’t know, I’m kind of thinking it’s the other way around, you know, like the moment seizes us.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Nicole [source<\/a>])<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[Image: “Disappearing Act,” by Lulu Lovering on Flickr. (Used here under a Creative Commons license; thank you!) Apparently this is a self-portrait; the photographer says, “This morning instead of a thunderstorm, it was a very billowy fog that was brushing up against the windows. Even though it was just beginning to be light, I tumbled […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":19567,"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":"William Stafford, David Sedaris, et al, on 'The Big Moments'","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":[183,247,1393,250,5,251,4159],"tags":[1345,3547,3680,4378,4585,4586],"class_list":{"0":"post-19564","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-everyday-life","8":"category-ruminations","9":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","10":"category-art","11":"category-06_writing","12":"category-poetry-writing_cat","13":"category-essays","14":"tag-william-stafford","15":"tag-lawrence-raab","16":"tag-shauna-niequist","17":"tag-the-moment","18":"tag-david-sedaris","19":"tag-boyhood","20":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/08\/disappearingact_lululovering_thumb.jpg?fit=640%2C427&ssl=1","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-55y","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19564","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=19564"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19564\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":19572,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19564\/revisions\/19572"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/19567"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=19564"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=19564"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=19564"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}