Jim Mayzik SJ                   Everything Matters
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Jim Mayzik SJ Blog

I'll be using this space from time to time to share my reflections and thoughts on various topics.  Please feel free to add to the conversation by writing some reaction in the COMMENT section! 

 

 

No cross, no glory.

I’m thinking about those cloaks they threw down on the muddy ground. Throwing your cloak onto the ground was a sign of submission and showing respect. They were pretty important pieces of clothing.

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Mercy, mercy, mercy.

She sat there alone in the hallway of the studio, waiting to be called to audition for my film, her fingers doodling in the sand. The ad for the audition said: mature woman 60-70 years old needed.  I could see her through the window of the rehearsal room, and I thought of my Aunt Anna.

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POEM SHARE: El Florida Room
Not a study or a den, but El Florida 
as my mother called it, a pretty name
for the room with the prettiest view 
of the lipstick-red hibiscus puckered up
against the windows, the tepid breeze 
laden with the brown-sugar scent 
of loquats drifting in from the yard.
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Don't you dare laugh.

I think I was on my third or fourth ravioli and the bread was great and the wine was better and we were having a good conversation about some movie, my friend and I, and of course I secretly harbored the opinion that my celluloid observations were far more brilliant than my companion's because after all I am the filmmaker, am I not, but anyway the dinner was, as I said, going down well in this quiet little restaurant, until this... disturbance began.

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Purpose.

I was in the Tivoli diner, down the street from the church, and I was with one of my former students.  He’s struggling with questions about his career.  He’s not sure what he wants to do anymore: what direction to take in a job, where he should live, even whom to love.

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The plus sign.

If you’re like me, I see the advent of Uber and Lyft cars in the city as a very mixed blessing.  On the one hand, they are very convenient, no doubt. On the other hand, they are definitely clogging up our streets and slowing down traffic immensely.

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The Dude.

I went to a restaurant the other night, and on the way in, a guy accidentally bumped into me.  “Sorry, dude,” he said, and I thought dude? I’m a dude? Maybe I’m THE dude!.

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Searching all your life.

This is the story of a woman named Donna, and her husband John, the story of what happened to them on the Eve of the New Year.  It’s a true story, or at least I believe it to be true, as true as any story you could tell me about someone you know. 

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With broken fingers. On Christmas.

I was on Prince Street, and it was 4:45 in the morning.  Dark, of course. It’s a good time to be walking the streets of our city. It’s quiet. You can walk down the middle of the street without fear of being run over by an Uber or a delivery man on a silent bicycle.

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The smell of holiness.

Did you ever notice that every family has a particular smell to it?  When you visit their home, are invited into the apartment, the first thing that hits you is the smell of them. It's hard to describe the particular smells of a particular family, the only thing you can say is, it smells like, like, well, like the Mayziks, or the Tituses (which of course includes the smell of Murphy the dog). 

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