'And the postman sent it just the same'
Concentric circles and portant work
Let me think out loud for a minute.
In high school, I played Rebecca Gibbs in a production of Our Town. Rebecca is the younger sister of the male lead, George, and yes, in 10th grade I was bitty enough to be convincing as an eleven-year-old. Rebecca’s most significant scene is a conversation with her big brother, looking out a second-story window at a fat round moon. Rebecca tells George about a letter her friend once received, addressed like this:
Jane Crofut
The Crofut Farm
Grover's Corners
Sutton County
New Hampshire
The United States of America
Continent of North America
Western Hemisphere
The Earth
The Solar System
The Universe
The Mind of God.
“And the postman sent it just the same.” Funny how all these years later, those lines are still imprinted on my mind.
A lot of days, Rebecca’s litany is exactly how I see the world: concentric circles, rippling outward. My innermost self, what I think of most often as ‘poet’s mind’ (which would be a whole nother post, I suppose); my body (one of the more annoying circles); my family; my home; my work; my circle of friends; my farflung communities; my city, my state, the West Coast, America, Continent of North America, Western Hemisphere, the Earth, the Solar System, the Universe, the Big Mysteries…
Yesterday I couldn’t bear to look much beyond the friends circle. I know the weeks ahead will be a gradual rippling-out.
I know there is so much work to be done. “Portant Work,” as three-year-old Beanie called it long ago when I found her balancing on her belly at the bathroom sink, feet dangling above the footstool, lathering her hands with who-knows-how-many pumps of soap, her face fierce with concentration. “Don’t erupt me, Mommy, I doin’ my portant work.”
When the Work feels as huge as it does today, the crowd of serious concerns flooding in, I know the only thing to do is pick a few concrete areas of focus, beginning with the innermost circle and moving my attention outward as far as I’m able.
A quiet moment in the dawn, watching the sunrise sift upward through the yellow leaves of my neighbor’s huge old Norway maple.
A bit of Welsh practice.
A conversation with my son about his upcoming audiology appointments: how long will it be before the new hearing aids arrive.
An egg scrambled in so much butter. A few kitchen chores.
A chapter of War and Peace.
A text to a friend. A reply to another’s email.
A thinking-out-loud post—this way we have of rippling out to connect with minds across the world.
Later maybe I can reach toward my own Grover's Corners, Sutton County, New Hampshire, The United States of America, Continent of North America, Western Hemisphere, The Earth…
Honestly, probably not today. Family, home, garden, friends, and this curious circle of internet community that somehow lives between or alongside my personal Grover’s Corners. Roseway, Northeast Portland, Portland, Multnomah County, Oregon, the United (if only!!) States of America.
Wishing you well in your own circles, as you contemplate your Portant Work.
P.S. to my treasured paid subscribers: I’ve turned off billing until January, and perhaps beyond. If you pay annually, I think that means the paused months don’t count towards the period of your subscription & the timeline picks back up when I turn off the pause. Thank you so much, as always, for supporting my work.
LOVE.
With you. ❤️