9/11, The Prayer of Jonah, and My Big Pan

Last updated on: September 11, 2015 at 9:23 am by Anne Kennedy

9/11, The Prayer of Jonah, and My Big Pan 2015-09-11T09:23:10-04:00 Anne Kennedy

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It’s been a long week. Thought it might be worthy of some scattered takes.

One
I believe that today is the anniversary of 9/11. I’m pretty sure this is so because our library books are due. Had a moment of sadness, when the librarian said, “these will be due back on 9/11.” Expected us both to pause with furrowed brow, and nod at each other in understanding. But neither of those things happened. She continued on gazing at her computer screen, and I stared at her and then down at the heads of the children. Spent the rest of the day (this was three weeks ago) wondering if we’ve really gone so far past as to no longer need moments of nodding recognition. And also, what should I say to the children this year. Some years the date goes by and I don’t say anything because I don’t know the date of every day, one day flows out of another and I miss the importance of every day. Other years we discuss the whole thing. So far they’ve never seen any of the video footage, mostly because I’m afraid, what with every single movie they’ve ever watched, that they would think it was cool. But at some point, for the older ones at least, I think we should watch it, if I can bear it myself.
Two
Spent the week shuffling around in the no man’s land between those two great warring opposites, Hope and Fear–in the way that everyone was so afraid after 9/11, but also hopeful, and weirdly desirous of a future. The hope part seems to have dissipated and floated away into the exhausted hazy yonder. Fear is doing well enough on its own to drive us into the whatever lies ahead. But the over clouding fear part, this week, for me was muddled together against the possible hope and dawning wonder that maybe my children will learn something this year. Discovered, after the languishing summer, that they remembered stuff, that they were ready to work, were even apparently interested in learning. The online classes for Elphine look like the magical long dreamed of Perfect Thing that I have many years been praying for. In fact, after all the years of flailing and trying and freaking out, I’ve just spent two calm weeks, methodically and sanely moving the children through the work that I hoped we would actually do. It’s been extraordinary. Small, perhaps, from the outside, but monuments if you were to see it from the inside. And it makes me wonder, as I sit in my shoes and I wonder, if maybe there is hope and a future. Maybe the roiling ugliness of our modern landscape, maybe God is coping with it, maybe he will pull us, and me, ever more away from the brink of Sheol.
Three
This is the first time we have properly done school since the Institution of Luncheon. That probably has some small something to do with my over all stronger belief in the goodness of God. For ever and ever I’ve rushed into the kitchen at noon and desperately tried to slap some sandwiches together, children crying and angry, me with my blood sugar lying there on the floor practically dead, chaos pressing down and shaking us altogether in a frenzy of hungry sadness. But no more. Now, because of luncheon, we get into our work long before nine (as opposed to the ten or eleven of former times), we work hard all morning, we Break The Back Of The Work (that means we get through all the most important stuff and if something tragic happened and we didn’t come back to it, we would still have succeeded), and then at noon, I, yea I, who have eaten a breakfast and fortified myself midmorning, I go into the kitchen with my blood sugar well under regulation, I pour out a tiny tumblerful of wine, I chop onions and garlic and, gathering my soul into that hopeful and cheerful place where creativity and rest kiss each other, produce such complicated meals as Spaghetti and Meatballs, Fried Shrimp and Catfish and Plantains, Fish Gently Simmered in a Béchamel with a Hint of Brie, Chicken Coaxed Along In Green Thai Curry Paste and Coconut Milk. And some other things I forget. Every day I go in and just cook something, you know? For Real. And then, because we have all worked, we all sit around and actually eat the real food that is really there. It’s the most extraordinary thing (those are technical culinary words).
Four
Which leads me to relay my strongly held feelings about meatballs. Everywhere that meatballs are under consideration, there always follow a trail of words like ‘breadcrumbs’ or ‘matzo’ and other carbohydrate laden foods that my husband will ask about, as he wanders through the kitchen. His incredible, steely dedication to not eating carbs unless they come bought from the store in the shape of a horrible donut, means that I have not even ventured to make any of those delicate treasures like Meatloaf (which I’m sure would be wonderful, how could it Not Be Wonderful) and Meatballs. But way back when, like in May or something, I tried, during Tapas Tuesday, to make little Turkish lamb meatballs but leaving out the bread crumbs. I didn’t substitute anything, I just left it out. Egg, ground lamb, spices, in the oven, oh my word, so so so so so perfectly delicious. So yesterday, because, well, just because, I applied egg to meatloaf mix, ground pork and ground beef and formed it into clever little balls. No Breadcrumbs. Really, I feel I have arrived, in some sense, at the pinnacle of carb-free perfection. You don’t need the breadcrumbs. You don’t, you just need patience, and maybe probity, whatever that even is.
Five
I fear I will bore you in the matter of Luncheon but I must just say one thing about my Large Pan. Really, the providential serendipity of the Pan and the radical embrace of Luncheon is beyond anything I could ever have imagined. See, my friend gave me this pan. It’s so wonderful. I carried it to Texas and back this summer. It’s the only one I cook out of any more. Every lunch can be completely cooked in this pan. How I thought I could live, for twelve years, without the Big Pan, I can’t even remember. It’s like The Internet, it’s That Good.

Six
Today, along with a rushed library trip, I will face down the Final Frontier of the Atria. Sunday School starts Sunday. All the little children will come tripping in, ready for another struggling year of them trying to draw pictures of the next Star Wars and me trying to get them to draw pictures of Jesus. We struggle on together. I suppose, while I’m there, trying to get ready, I could pray, more, or something. The Prayer of Jonah has gotten me through all these many months–me lying there, in the dark before the dawn, just saying “Oh God Help Me”, then struggling out of despair to Do All The Work. As I was trying to explain to someone, I forget who, this has been the summer of there being nothing. If ever I have carried along, my jar of oil completely and totally empty, this has been the time. And yet, somehow, I’ve gotten up every day, and cooked and cleaned and written a book and planned a school year. Except that when I say ‘I did such and such’ that is in some way wrong, because there wasn’t anything there with which to do it. It’s like I’d come to the end, like that creature in that cartoon, past the edge of the cliff, and just kept going. So, in some real and true way, I would have to say that I wasn’t the one that did any of it. I think always before I had some measure of personal strength that drove me forward. Like in the Great Flood of 2010 when I was so pregnant and also teaching school and Matt broke his Achilles’ tendon and then the basement flooded and all our pictures and papers had to be laid out to dry all over the house. I just did what I had to do, ever day. I prayed actual stuff. Like, “please let the pictures dry”. But now, now there’s been nothing, and only the Jonah prayer, and yet I’ve gone on, or rather, God has gone on, and I’ve watched from the outside how he’s gone on.
Seven
Did you know that the last Psalm, Psalm 150, is just like seven or eight lines of Praise the Lord? I mean, I knew that, because of reading the bible before, but I saw it again this morning. Praise the Lord, praise God in his sanctuary, let everything that has breath, praise the Lord, praise the Lord. It seems like a good idea. Going to give it the good college try this weekend. I’ll let you know how it goes.

And while I do that, you should go read lots more interesting takes.

faith alone

Life Going On

The Prayer of Jonah

Work and the Christian

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