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Group Writing February 9: Earth to Me!
In 1979, back when my parents were large in my life, my dad had a curious habit. Each evening as we sat in the kitchen after dark, the green linoleum tabletop reflecting the light of candles and kerosene lamps, he would stare off at nothing. In between the whine and squeal of the shortwave radio, we heard the evening news from Voice of America–boring talk, I thought. But there must have been something important in it, because I remember him often leaning against the kitchen counter glassy-eyed and doing a funny thing with his mouth. He’d pull his jaw from side to side and tap his top and bottom teeth together, and stare, and squint sometimes.
His habit made an impression on us. One day, my little sister stood on the porch working on her jaw moves. I vaguely remember asking my mom what my dad was doing. He was thinking about something, I was told. It didn’t make sense to me at the time, but I see now that he was in what’s called a brown study. We can get so engrossed in thinking that we shut out the activity in our environment and stop noticing what our eyes are seeing. The classic reaction to someone else’s reverie is to say “Earth to you!” Besides the rudeness of such a call, I wonder if it’s interrupting a productive process. Having time to focus and think deeply might help us sort out life, create things, and solve problems. I wonder whether our modern technology prevents us from “leaving earth” in our minds as much as we used to.
When I was a kid and there were no iPads to keep me busy, I busied myself thinking about ordinary objects. Almost anything could capture me, since I was little and it was so new. One day, it was a mango seed. We had eaten a wonderful juicy mango and I saw the seed drying on the back porch and lifted it up, staring at it in its yellow hairiness. I must have just studied seeds in school (being five or six) and I told myself this is the actual seed, the part you plant in the ground. I was engrossed in the moment, letting myself be incredulous at what I was seeing. I took in the shape, the hairiness, the way the fibers stood out when you held the seed up to the light.
My own hands and feet were another source of interest. If I held my fingers together a certain way, they looked like a little family. There was a tall Daddy, a Mommy tucked under his arm, a teenager, a cute little pinkie girl, and a chubby baby thumb. Toes could be imagined similarly. Then there was a trick I discovered I could do when sitting on a low wooden stool on the back patio: if I lifted my feet to a certain tiptoe height, my legs would start to tremble on their own. Different heights would produce different effects.
The tile on our bathroom floor, if I gazed at it right, looked like dozens of stubby little men running in long slanted rows. The name “Stevie,” if repeated over and over, would begin to sound meaningless, hypnotizing–yet the repetition brought out satisfying articulated noises that were wrapped around one another. When we talked, I concluded, we were just making noises that communicated something to us.
These days, I don’t spend a great deal of time staring at my hands and feet. Okay–actually, I still do sometimes. I look at my hands and think about the complexity of bones and joints and nerves and nourishing blood, impersonally doing their work so I can compose on a keyboard, carry firewood, wash dishes, read Readers Digest. People’s feet have personality in their shape (mine look honest and hardworking), and there is the diversity in foot sizes to think about. I’ve heard, too, that it’s difficult to function without one’s big toe. So that wide, squat appendage there really does something.
Ricochet causes reveries–about a post I will write one day, how I ought to reply to so-and-so, what introductory words will invite members to read on my group writing day. I mull over member posts, both past and present. I reflect on my past–contented evenings from early childhood, uncomfortable middle school years, and more recent unpleasant interactions that can cloud an optimistic mood. I think about conversations I’ve had with friends and try to clarify relational conflicts in my own head.
I think about the brain and its folds and electric signals. About the digestive system, how it’s one long tube that ends up extracting the nutrients from our food. And mysterious hormones that keep processes happening. How all this together results in bodies like smooth machines following our dictates, so versatile and precise we can use them for anything our minds dream up–if not directly, then through proxies we create. From there, a joyous, compelling verse in Romans stops me in my tracks: And do not present your members as instruments of unrighteousness to sin, but present yourselves to God as being alive from the dead, and your members as instruments of righteousness to God.
What do you ponder, when there are no technological distractions and no one to pull you out of your reverie?
Published in Group Writing
Lovely post, Sawatdeeka. I don’t know if I spend less time simply reflecting. I may daydream a bit, but I don’t think my mind works as creatively as yours. I tend to reflect through my writing, putting words on paper, exploring an idea from a simple outline, doing my research. In some ways those are mundane activities, but they can lead me to different ways of thinking. Words, fingers to keyboard, flowing sentences–that’s where I go.
Well my friend – when I read “green linoleum tabletop reflecting the light of candles” – I knew I was in for a wonderful journey. Indeed this was. T’hank you. Wow.
I have so much regret and sadness for the young today who spend so much of their lives engaged with the non-reality offered by the digital age. I, too, spend hours there daily, but always turn to the dirt and trees and spheres overhead for the connection with heaven and the mysteries of this great green earth.
That is part of why I enjoying hunting so much. Time spent alone, with nature and no interruptions is a great time to really think. On second thought, it isn’t just something I enjoy. It has become something I need.
Thanks, Susan. I don’t know about creativity–I just have hours of the day to myself, since I work from home.
There is something about putting words to paper that helps to understand what you really think and know. It’s a productive mode of thinking.
Thank you. I’m so glad you enjoyed it.
I believe strongly that today’s special tech generation needs a lot less tech. Young children especially need to play, think, and talk to adults.
I actually have to discipline myself to sometimes do my work around the house with no accompanying music or podcasts. It’s almost like we want to avoid being left alone by our thoughts these days.
Oh I get this really well. M wife sums it up to me like this, “You spend too much time in your head.” Great post.
Thank you, B.W.
Maybe I’ll need another post sometime to talk about the opposite need–to talk aloud through things with a good listener. Sometimes when I live too much in my head, I’m only getting my own perspective and losing track of all the factors.
I would also love reading that post! But sometimes the most interesting conversations are with ourselves.
I think about projects, about things I wish I could do if I had the time and money. I wonder about people, and try to cast my mind back to remember what I can of their faces and voices. And I dream.
Here’s a question I contemplated asking while I was folding clothes just now:
What would have sent my dad into such a brown study listening to the news in 1979/1980?
Lovely post; isn’t “reverie” a great word? (Says so much more than “dream.”)
You asked what we ponder. I tend to consider the “roads not taken” (with apologies to Robert Frost) in my life. What if I hadn’t made that decision and that choice? Where would I be? How different would I be? What if I had turned a different direction at that critical juncture – where would the path have led? I don’t consider any of these abandoned roads with regret. I just…ponder…
When I have time to think, and once I’ve thought through the issues of the day and determined that we are totally hosed, my mind has time to settle and I kind of meditate.
I think a lot about body-mind-spirit, and what I need to do to strengthen each singularly and each in its ability to strengthen and support the other. I have a 35-45 minute commute each way to work, but it’s mostly a straight line with few turns, stoplights, or stop signs. So I can think. I’m very grateful for this.
I also have a question (which on reflection is maybe rhetorical): Would the topics covered by VOA 78-80~ish even be considered appropriate for polite society today? I mean, back then, VOA talked about the inherent rights of man, the importance of representative democracy, and the necessity of battling evil collectivism.
Wonder what they’re putting out these days?
When I was a kid I remember doing things like walking across the living room carpet and touching a doorknob so I could experience (and think) about static electricity. I would also put my two forefingers together and bring them up close to my eyes to see a third finger appear between them. (I still do that). When I was sick and couldn’t go to school for two weeks my mom helped me do science experiments, like putting a candle in a saucer of water, then lighting the candle and putting a glass over it. As the candle went out the water level rose inside the glass, and I had proved to my own satisfaction that air was made up of one-fifth oxygen. Sort of a leaning toward the scientific side, but that was natural as my dad was a scientist. I am always impressed by your writing style, by the way.
For me it’s partly to discourage others from interrupting me (I’m terrible at ignoring my surroundings and wish I could do that better), but then when I am by myself I have to remember that I don’t have to have something in the background.
Thanks for the post!
This conversation is part of a Group Writing series with the theme “Earth”, planned for the whole month of February. If you follow this link, there’s more information about Group Writing. The schedule will be updated to include links to the other conversations this month as they are posted. Please sign up if you haven’t already, there are several open February spots!
I begin to ponder all the decisions made or not made, the events attended or not, the births and deaths of Family and Friends, growing up, meals eaten and skipped, literal roads traveled or not (“I wonder if I would be Here at this exact point in time and space if I actually made the green light at 5th and Main at 3:57 p.m. on June 12, 2003?”), every single solitary moment of My Life when I find Myself driving behind the horse’s ass that is doing 57 mph in the left lane. I think,”really? It’s all led to this?”
The activity we surround ourselves with prevents us from much of the wonderful “lost in thought” activity you describe. I know I find myself focused on a task and impatient when I can’t find one, rather than just sitting back and thinking.
Thank you for the wonderful post.
Great post!
When I’m not pondering how someone is wrong on the internet ;-), I’m often thinking about the nature of man and God — why we’re here — what is the meaning/purpose of suffering? I love to follow down the thought-trails of wise men (and women), whether contemporary or ancient. These can be expressed in Biblical passages (studying Psalms right now), in other texts, or even radio and podcasts. Some of my favorites are Larry Arnn, Dennis Prager, VDH, D.C. McAlister, …
I find communing with Nature isn’t so much about thinking. Just a couple mornings ago, there was a magnificent moon-set/sunrise with the mountains to the west turned rosy pink and the eastern sky shades of apricot and aqua. A small group of clouds cradled the moon as it sank toward the mountains. I “thought” about running for my camera (and trying to figure out the best settings) to capture it, but ultimately I just decided to stand still and wonder in God’s creation.
This post is a reminder to me to more often do what you did, enjoying the moment, instead of losing the it fiddling with technology.
What do I ponder? Well, presuming upon “the kindness of strangers”, I will tell you:
I am outside a lot, always, and when I am , I live in my body–at this time of year, the rhythm of ny cross-country skis. I revel in the glories of the woods, sunrise and sunset, the familiar trails and contours of my land, my family’s land for three generations now.
And at times like this moment, in front of the fire–
I think of occasions I have planned and executed. Dinners, parties! These are my jewels! If I’m lucky, there’s another on the horizon, and I dream it up, dream it into existence. The guests, the food, wine, every event of the evening, weekend, day…
These times are love made visible, the horn of plenty.
But–
while I used to wake at night and think, “No end in sight!” as I slipped back into slumber–
Now, sleeping or waking
not wanting to do so
I ponder first, and only with great difficulty and resolve put from me the thought of
the END.
Yes, there are challenges in my life, but I don’t regret choices I’ve made.
Here’s a vintage sample.
Edit Add: Yeah, I could see how a five-year-old could find it boring and meaningless.
I remember when we discovered this by accident our first winter back in the US after years away. I was just talking to someone about this recently. It was in a carpeted church, and we went around rubbing our feet on the floor and touching things and people. That must have been obnoxious. We explored it less as a science phenomenon and more of a social one.
I could see a kid doing that.
She sounds like a great mom. I was never the happy-to-do-experiments mom. I admire those ladies from afar.
Thank you!
Starting a podcast is a signal for family members to need something from me.
Do you find it hard to visualize faces, especially of those closest to you? I find it’s hard for me to conjure family members’ faces.
Sorry–that was me.
There was a member post that resonated with me about having so many activities to choose from and not knowing what would be best. Your statement ties into that. Sometimes, we should do “nothing,” which could be thinking, praying, etc.
Beautiful verse.
I’ve been grappling with- what is the meaning of suffering for those who don’t know God? He can use it to bring people to Him–but that isn’t always the result.
This all sounds wonderful. Especially the skiing part.
WC, know exactly what you’re saying but from the opposite direction.
I’m in the FL Keys, and on the water, and some of the most stop-in-my-tracks-and-just-appriciate-the-beauty moments have been at night. The moon upon the water, everything monochrome but highly lit, outlined.
That’s when I’m truly grateful, and truly humbled.