Mary van Balen

Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.



from Mary Oliver's poem Sometimes
(Mary Oliver, 1935 - )




"I didn't get your book proposal," my sister messaged and I received on my new iPod Touch.

"Sorry. I pulled up your email address. Just forgot to do anything with it. Where IS my mind?"

Where indeed. This is a "day off" and already I am behind. Sore from a night of trying out a foam mattress at the same sister's house, I have driven my car to the auto shop where repairs were completed after a fender bender, but an oversight on the door lock needs attention. I have visited two grocery stores (feeling a bit like an old lady in a nightgown as I dressed by pulling a knit sleeveless dress over my head, ran a brush through my hair, and slipped on stretched out black flats that slap the floor when I walk) finding all three ingredients for meatball appetizers (read frozen meatballs, grape jelly, and chili sauce) I am crockpotting for a swim party tonight. Did I mention that this is the first day in weeks that we will have rain? Read More 

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
Another cool, blue-sky day. I rose early to bake a carrot cake before driving off to work. A friend's birthday is Monday, and this particular recipe requires refrigeration for two days before icing and serving. A kitchen that smells of spices and carrots justifies an earlier than usual start to my day. After making counter top room for cooling cake, I noticed the striking color combination of drying Italian chili peppers and chestnuts waiting to be roasted.
 Read More 

PHOTO: MARY VAN BALEN
Sparkling drops of water dripped from broccoli flowerets and lettuce leaves. Radish red and carrot orange were bright and the eggplant's smooth, purple flesh looked like satin. I stood in front of the vegetable case, a pilgrim to a fresh food shrine. Slowly, I made choices and piled the cart with colorful, fragrant produce that would soon grace my dinner plate.

I am returning to basics that have been missing from my life for a while, and in addition to cooking fresh foods, I am setting the alarm early enough to insure time for quiet prayer before the day gets rolling.

Cooking fresh provides the opportunity to appreciate the beauty and variety of creation while reverencing life and the One who set it in motion. I remember once sitting in the student union while an undergraduate student, raising an apple to my lips, stopping before a first bite. Read More 

PHOTO: SAINT JOHN'S ABBEY
Life’s twists have turned me into a vagabond, and my Benedictine spirit is rebelling. A large canvass tote packed with a change of clothes, calcium pills, and a notebook sits at my bedside, ready to go. My purse holds a toothbrush and phone charger as well as more standard fare. I have deodorant and a Ziploc of herb teas on the nightstand at a friend’s house and have to look at my planner to remember where I need to be the following night.

This morning, I walked into the kitchen of my father’s home, switched on the electric teakettle, and felt an overwhelming need to cook. I wanted to fill the refrigerator with foods like eggplant, sugar-snap peas, and chicken. I wanted to stay put instead of shuttling between the house I am preparing to sell, a friend’s where I crash after I’ve packed a day’s worth of boxes, and the big home where I grew up. I carried a mug of tea into the upstairs bathroom where I sank into a tub of hot water and read a few pages of Anne Lamott before realizing that what woke me at 6am was the same thing that had dogged me for a couple of weeks: My monastic soul longed to stay put. I needed to cook, to pray, and to be faithful to the writerly life. Why didn’t I? Read More