Not to be heavy or anything, but how close do you think life and death really are?
Sometimes, and especially in certain seasons, like Lent right now, the difference seems to be just a whisper. The two states of being, one actually of not being, couldn’t be more opposite. And yet, looked at in a certain light, they are also right next to one another, chock-a-block, and sometimes you might even mistake one for the other. People who are grieving the loss of a loved one feel their world turned upside down, know that everything has changed. And yet in a certain way the person who has disappeared has taken on a different form, is still very much real.
WHEN IN LENT
Inside our wood stove, the hot coals glow brightly, but without enough encouragement they go dull, breaking down into ashes that need to be carted out. Right before you trot off to do the next thing on your agenda, they seem to say, “Dust thou art and unto dust shalt thou return.” (Genesis 3:19)
Having just rounded a corner from February into March, we eagerly lap up outdoor time on sunny days, seek any signs of spring, nurture hope that we can shed our masks before long. Easter is still a month away, though, and chilly evenings remain just right for snuggling inside. How you choose to do your snuggling, and with whom, of course, is entirely up to you.
A kind of snuggling can actually happen with certain words, too. A little bit like two creatures who are strikingly different but come together cozily, they can mean very different things but still get jumbled up. And for this purpose, I’ll stray a bit from plain old life and death— you’re heard those a million times.
May I suggest “compostable” and “combustible” for your consideration? Besides the “p” and the “b” difference, and that tricky bit with the “a” becoming an “I” — they look and sound almost the same.
The first term describes organic material that can be turned into compost: a good and peaceful thing, overall, especially for gardens. The second word describes materials that are able to catch fire easily: sometimes (if you’re talking about explosions of ideas, for instance) but rarely, a good development; much more often a very dangerous one. Watch OUT, KaBOOM! At this point, it might be relevant to tell what happened when someone in my family thought it was safe to take dormant-looking ashes out to the compost and then depart, causing another family member to put out the flames that started to erupt. But I wouldn’t want to cast any aspersions and besides, it all calmed down soon enough.
Last weekend I was treated to a demonstration of how these two very similar-sounding words are miles apart…… and yet also maybe not.
COMPOST
At home, our compost situation was in dire need of remediation. My husband and son had gotten a new bin quite recently, and moved it to a better location, but what we didn’t have was enough of a system for moving the organic material from stage to stage. And the top part of the container was no easy twist-off on a cold night, either. Maybe if we didn’t own a dog, the fact that cast off rinds and shells and rotten vegetables sometimes ended up on the ground, mixed in with straw, wouldn’t be a problem. But each time we walked by the spot, Rocky would become fascinated and saw no reason to move.
So Rob gallantly spent the better part of a day procuring and then assembling two NEW, horizontal compost containers that would, combined with the first upright one, provide us with a much better setting (a key element when you’re talking about true compost and not just biodegradable stuff) for our operation.
It looks kind of like a three piece band, doesn’t it? Alternatively, you might expect to see Vanna White — she’s just a tad older than I am, actually — appear any moment in a dazzling gown to do what she does best: turn compost. Oops, I meant letters.
COMBUST
On the very same weekend that we were flexing our compostable muscles around here, trying to set up the right kind of station for the quiet process of biological breaking down, across town a certain teenager with whom I visit regularly was preparing flashcards. She attends the Concord Regional Technical Center, in a program for students who want to become certified in Emergency Services. When I met her for a walk around her neighborhood, she read her notes aloud to me, and I got a crash course on how some buildings burn way, way faster than others. In fact, they can be put in categories based chiefly on how combustible they are. A firefighter is trained to see structures through a particular lens.
Is it possible that one day my teenage friend, now a junior in high school, will be confronting a terrifying scene like this? Time will tell. But the fact that she is eagerly starting out on a path that could qualify her to wear a bulky uniform, to wield ladders and hoses, to know how and when to combat orange tongues leaping out of structures — this quest gives her a clear sense of direction and also makes me very proud.
Then again, maybe I could also encourage her to consider a career in agriculture, in which she could emerge each morning onto a dewy field, feel the kind earth under her feet, witness green growth as well as gradual decomposition, and never get in the line of fire.
BREAK DOWN OR BURN, BABY, BUT SLOOOOWLY
Over the course of one weekend, early in Lent, I watched Rob delay his sermon preparation on a Saturday afternoon in order to put together black bins that we now turn, providing our kitchen remnants with a death that turns into new life and preventing Rocky from nosing around in the rotting stuff; I also listened to a teenager reviewing vocabulary that makes clear how every single building we see could, at different rates, be destroyed by conflagrations.
What, is everything breaking down, just in different ways?
I’m no Vanna White, but I’m seriously considering mastering the art of smoldering for the rest of March.