A Day Is Worth 100 Words

The Conclusion

2008-01-20T16:52:00.000-08:00

Twenty-eight days. Or twenty-nine days, if you want to count the one I skipped, which I agree wouldn’t be quite ethical. Either way, it’s a February. A month. I did it. Almost, anyway. Close enough for me.

Did I learn anything from a month of writing a hundred words a day? Let me see. I learned that worthless internet is...well, worthless. I learned that I could usually write even when it was the last thing I wanted to do. I learned that I look at writing differently from most labeled writers. I learned that I can hide a little less when I write and tell the truth a little more. I learned that writing isn't enough. I learned that it doesn’t matter as much as I once thought it did.

Am I glad I did it? Sure. Would I recommend it to someone else? Absolutely, especially to someone who has more to write about than I do. Will I do it again? Probably not.

Day 29

2008-01-20T16:50:00.001-08:00

Babies and cats. Two of the best reasons to visit my family. Of course it’s always nice to see my family, but the babies and the cats are pretty special. My mom also makes darn good chicken.

We still have snow on the ground. It almost feels like winter. And now that it’s really winter, I’m dreaming of a night walking an empty beach under the full moon. I think I’ll go find a beach.

Another week begins. Work, lunches, band practice, LS, music transcription, living, sleeping, dreaming about living, living about dreaming, and seven days till another week begins.

Day 27

2008-01-17T18:58:00.001-08:00

And you dream of Columbus
with an ache in your traveling heart...

My heart got on a plane yesterday and flew south, betraying me--it knows I want to go north, away from the south. I am angry in my powerlessness. If I can’t even direct my own heart, what is there to be sure of? My hands are tied. Life could strip every scrap from me and still be in its right.

So do we learn to hold loosely and to value nothing, to protect ourselves from loss? Or do we simply spend our lives learning to grieve well?

Day 26

2008-01-16T16:42:00.001-08:00

He got here young, when the stakes were high. He won a little, and he should have taken what he had and gone home with the world. Instead he stayed long enough to learn that only what you get in the beginning is what you want to keep, that it’s only the first time one time.

Now it’s just a game, and the decks are stacked. The players all get in each other’s way. There’s no one to walk him home. His loss is everyone else’s gain.

He got here young, and now he’s leaving. But now he’s old.

Day 25

2008-01-15T15:43:00.001-08:00

It’s amazing how a conversation with an Italian cook can make one’s day. The food was good, too.

And now I have an unexpected free evening, a wonderful crazy idea to ponder before saying no, and a door that I’m not sure I want to open because I don’t know what’s behind it or how much it will hurt me or them to close it again if I don’t like what’s behind it. Maybe I should say yes. Maybe I should walk through the door.

Maybe it’s just today. Maybe I can sleep it off.

Wake up, child. Wake up.

Day 24

2008-01-14T18:02:00.000-08:00

If I ask, will you listen?
Do the words I say change the tune
of the song?

If I ask, will you hear?
And when I find for my asking your reply is
as if you weren’t listening at all,
will you explain?

If I ask, will you listen?
Will you teach me
the letters and sounds that make up
what it is I have longed for?

I can’t ask. Not this time.
I can only hope that when it is done
it will be seen that you knew my desire
better than I knew how to ask it.

Day 23

2008-01-13T17:43:00.000-08:00

“A man takes his sadness and throws it away, but then he’s still left with his hands.”

I find myself confused. I learned all the equations, but two and two don’t make four anymore. I find myself enraged, thrown in the middle with nothing to hold onto, like a child left behind. Everything I thought I knew doesn’t apply. I shake my fist in life’s face and yell, “No fair! You cheated.”

I have been here before. Then it was God himself who told me he was making something beautiful. Where do I find the strength to believe it now?

Day 22

2008-01-12T14:27:00.001-08:00

I took what was left and wrapped it up in crumpled paper. It was all I could find because everything else was gone. I walked to the bridge, down that little trail off of Bergam, and dropped it into the water.

“Gone,” I said to it as it floated away. “You are gone.” I didn’t say what I wanted to say -- “Take me with you.” It was a favor I had no right to ask. For someone else, perhaps, it was the right request. But not for me. I was never something that could keep you here.

Good-bye, then.

Day 21

2008-01-11T20:43:00.000-08:00

I wrote 100 words -- more, actually -- and then I erased them.

Day 20

2008-01-10T17:21:00.000-08:00

For you, I will write a little story. A story about rain and fog and the way you smile after you’ve forgotten my name. It begins with saying hello and ends with saying good-bye, but before you say you’ve heard it all, let me explain that you haven’t heard a thing. Who knows which of us it is saying good-bye, and who knows if it’s a given farewell or a taken farewell? Maybe we go on for pages, and maybe we’re just a sentence here on this one.

Stick around, if you like. Let’s find out how the story goes.

Day 19

2008-01-09T18:34:00.000-08:00

I’m taking a class on comparative cultures, as a broader background in the study of deaf culture, and one of our texts is a handbook of American culture for foreigners.

· Americans are devoted to individualism and privacy.
· Americans believe everyone is equal, and therefore we are usually informal.
· Americans look ahead, not back, because the future is in our control. Change is good.
· Americans believe people are basically good and improvable.
· To Americans, time is money.
· Americans are direct and assertive.
· Americans admire action, achievement, and reward.

I am most certainly an American.

Day 18

2008-01-08T15:18:00.001-08:00

Happy are those who lose imagination –
They have enough to carry with ammunition.

Those are Wilfred Owen’s words, not mine, but let’s say that’s a hundred words up there. Just for today, thirteen words can be a hundred.

Day 17

2008-01-07T16:33:00.000-08:00

New nephew day! Of all the days to forget my phone.

My favorite Chinese restaurant has reopened as a different one, and I ate there today for the first time. Not much had changed; the lobby was rearranged, the food was a little different.

But Kadek wasn’t there with her happy smile when I walked in. Omang didn’t wave across the room or stop to talk about the book I’m reading. Jay didn’t bring my Dr. Pepper without having to ask. The new waiters are great, but they don’t do things like Omang and Jay. It's just not the same.

Day 16

2008-01-06T18:20:00.001-08:00

Four and a half hours between worlds. Stepping out of that and shrugging into this. Back again.

“The wisdom of winter is madness in May.” An Irishman I recognized but couldn’t name sang that today. Not to me; on the radio. I’m wondering whether I’m in winter or in May and which it would be if I had the choice. Maybe I’m the winter wisdom living mad in May. Hey, maybe that’s it. That’s what’s wrong.

This is what happens when I have to write a hundred words and don’t have that many decent enough to take out in public.

Day 15

2008-01-05T20:29:00.000-08:00

A young man, apart from the laughter, sat alone with his computer. Suddenly a girl sat down across from him and struck up a conversation.

I asked my cousin Jeremy if guys mind if a girl does that. “Uh, let me take another look at her,” he said.

When the girl finally got up to hug another fellow and leave, she invited the guy to join them. He declined.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Jeremy said.

She left. The guy sat a minute, then pulled out his phone and dialed. “Hey,” he said, “I changed my mind. I’ll come.”

He left happy.

Day 14

2008-01-04T07:02:00.000-08:00

My Christmas is befuddled.

The Martin Christmas was in November, all 100 of us, pretending we know each other across our distances.

My own Christmas was spent with him, belonging for twenty-four stolen hours to what could have been but never will.

Now it’s the Yoder Christmas. Our distances are perhaps greater than the Martins, but we deal with them differently. We hide less, laugh more.

Soon my family will have Christmas. A quiet day with a new niece or nephew, a few gifts, and collecting ourselves to smile shyly at each other, loving in our strange, silent way.

Day 13

2008-01-03T14:47:00.000-08:00

“Step out to the edge of everything…find the weathered spaces looking back at you.”

“Later on, the road is gonna break your world in two….”

It is the mercy of God that at every ending, every shattering, there’s solid ground still beneath our feet, blood still coursing through our veins. Like Charlie rocketing toward the ceiling in Wonka’s glass elevator, all we see is how much it’s gonna hurt.

My heart’s been broken already. My world’s been rearranged more than once. But when I rest from gasping for air, it is there –- life is not as small as it seems.

Day 12

2008-01-02T16:13:00.001-08:00

Snow on the ground, wind enough to freeze fire, a chill to shiver the soul -- yes, this is the way I like it.

It was a day of sweeping off the crumbs to concentrate on the plateful. A day to fill my place. A day to be at peace.

Tonight, eating chili at a table shared with three generations of the family next door, was a night to sit warm and glow happy, watching the wonder of a child, the healing of a man, the pride of a grandparent, and the joy of a lover just begun.

Today was rich.

Day 11

2008-01-01T07:20:00.000-08:00

I lay her out, like a corpse in a mortuary. Not a pretty thought, but not as bad as you think, though you'd have to know other things to know why that is.

Am I supposed to do this? Life’s to be lived, not stripped and examined. Without itself, life is unthinkable.

I think maybe I have shrunk with her. But no, I think maybe we have grown.

One thing I find as she dies and lives again – I would give anything for the freedom to ask and the permission to belong there. And I would stone myself for treason.

Day 10

2007-12-31T14:39:00.000-08:00

"I used to be afraid of the journey," she said. "I used to think arriving was the whole point. Used to think I’d only be somebody when I got there.”

“Yes,” he said. “What changed?”

“I can’t get there without the journey. I wouldn’t know it if I could. The value of the destination is what we share along the way, what we leave behind, what we find to take along. He’s not trying to just get us there; He wants to teach us to love it so we'll recognize it when we’re there.”

He took her hand and smiled.

Day 9

2007-12-30T10:24:00.000-08:00

I look round my words as I speak them, trying to see, trying to find something to let me know. Silence and suggestion prick my ears, past-earned wisdom ties my hands; that old fear of being trapped. Lies hide in truth, truth plays games with its followers -- we only end up blamed ourselves.

I find what I was looking for. Not what I hoped, but what I feared. An empty cup held out, a smile without eyes. Moments with no following. A hand to hold but not to take.

Thank you, I say. Thank you.

I can leave now.

Day 8

2007-12-29T12:33:00.001-08:00

I guess I’m here again.
I thought the ride was over,
But like a man in love I’m circling the block,
Hoping for another look.

I guess I’m used to it.
I know what isn’t true now.
But even the unreal draws blood;
Even what I learn not to see
Hurts, hurts, steals life from me.

I dread the hope I cling to,
And when I cry it is more for weariness --
When that is gone I’ll feel the pain.

I know the process, let’s begin.
Maybe this time will be the last time.

Maybe this time will be different.

Day 7

2007-12-28T18:57:00.000-08:00

We were talking about what we’d give our lives for, about what it would take to love so much that there is no price limit. She said she had loved like that.

“I found out what it’s like to fight with everything I have for something worth dying for -- and lose.” She said that. She was talking to me.

“So – what do you mean, lose?” I asked.

“I lost,” she said.

“But you said it was worth dying for, that you gave everything. You’re still alive.”

“I lost,” she said again. “There was nothing I could do. Everything wasn’t enough.”

Day 6

2007-12-27T16:03:00.001-08:00

“They’re back to not feeding us again.”

“I really need to unload on you.”

“This is the easy part. Now comes the hard part.”

“Tomorrow is a comfortable shoes, stand in line sort of dress day. I hate that it has to be you.”

“I just wanted to say hi and thanks for listening to me on the phone.”

“Hope in the Lord, for I shall yet praise Him.”

“That a Feast? Cookies and a drink?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I can go back home and get it if you need it before this evening.”

“How did I end up with two?”

Day 5

2007-12-26T15:01:00.000-08:00

It started with snow on the ground and a rainbow in the morning clouds. Beautiful.

I see a desert land, happy now in its sand and heat -- a desert that once believed in rain, once held hope of downpours. Faith was once a virtue, feeding the flowers that grew from clay. But the rains never came. The desert cracked, grew brittle. The flowers died. Clouds passed, but the desert learned not to look up. They never brought what was promised.

But today there is thunder. Something in the silent heart begins to breathe. A cloud appears. Is it the rain?

Day 4

2007-12-25T13:12:00.000-08:00

“One April day...I’ll turn to you and I'll say, 'I’ve always loved you in my way...'”

That’s what Christmases should be made of -- memories of Aprils and words, wrapped up in paper and placed under a tree, little mementos of what has gone before, giving back to what we’ve been given, staking hopes on promises made and kept in days past. Planting stones to remember us by, taking time to smile and see what we have always had, sipping joy from hands we trust. Looking up at the end of the day, not saying good-bye because no one is leaving.

Day 3

2007-12-24T08:37:00.001-08:00

The fragments of our lives – these pieces we cling to – stand, innocent, the lies we build in honor of the truth. We fear the loss of us, scrambling to scoop the sand and mold the doors and desperately proclaim to all, “Come see!” This art of life, this blindness, this reaching in the dark – and still we fear the loss.

Lord, we cry for rescue. Take our sandy hands in yours, collect us from the scraps strewn upon the carpet of ourselves. We wait, unshapen now, for your defining. You are the potter, and we the work of your hands.

Day 2

2007-12-23T09:44:00.000-08:00

“I hurt,” he said. “Hold me. I need to cry.”

“Hurt?” she said. “I can’t help you there. I have known pain, and I have learned that it is the ultimate loneliness. No one can take it away; no one can share it. You can write it down on paper, sing it to a crowd, or scream it at the heavens, but the hurt remains. And the worst pain of all is realizing, after the stab is over and you find breath again, the pain was only the result of your own mistake. You hurt? I cannot help you there.”

Day 1

2007-12-22T17:14:00.000-08:00

“If you miss the train I’m on….”

I was reading Shakespeare today and thinking that he had a better grasp of art than many artists do now. His art points to something more; it captures you while directing your gaze on. That kind of beauty in art inspires, not just entertains.

Inspired. That’s what I want my life to be. Not just entertainment, not just a story, not just random acts that end up making me me – I want it to be prompted, stirred by something. I want my pockets to bulge because there is something inside to make them.

The Challenge

2007-12-22T16:55:00.000-08:00

Inspired, of course, by http://www.100words.com, this is a test. Can I do this? Could I write 100 words a day? The next session on the website doesn't start till January 1, and since I always seem to miss the starting day, I figured the idea is worth using here.

The rules:

1. There are no rules.

2. Rule 1 isn't true.

3. You must write 100 words each and every day, during each day (not tomorrow writing for yesterday), for a whole month. 100 words exactly; no more, no less.

4. Once you've posted each 100 words, no editing is allowed. Life is better the first go, anyway.

5. Only if you complete the whole month will your entries be posted.

Should I follow the rules? (I hope I didn't miss any.) We'll see. I might create my own.

The challenge begins.....