I just got back from a night swim at Janet Penley's. We had an interesting conversation about aesthetic: what and whom do we consider beautiful and why?
We each value our own versions of beauty--in houses and objects--but what is beauty?
Some people value physical beauty more than other people do. For some of us, the look of things matters very much while other people may place a higher priority on cleanliness or practicality or comfort.
I'm going to be thinking about that question for a while. I don't know the answer, but the question intrigues me.
Monday, June 30, 2014
Here's my Jackson--oldest grandson
This is the day of his first solo flight! His best friend moved to Colorado this year, and he's off to spend a week with him--SO excited.
Jackson will be a teenager in October and a seventh grader--he just graduated from elementary school this week. His grandmother (and everyone else) thinks Jackson is one awesome little guy.
This is Just to Say
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
William Carlos Williams
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
William Carlos Williams
The Red Wheelbarrow
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens
This poem by William Carlos Williams (1923) has always been one of my favorites. When I'm driving and looking, I often say it to myself.
It has often been parodied by other writers, but it almost calls out for copying, doesn't it?
so much depends
upon
a blue chipped
colander
filled with red
berries
dripping underneath with
water.
or:
so much depends
upon
my favorite blue
Le Pen
its point pushing into
white paper
When asked what the poem means, here is what William Carlos Williams said:
["The Red Wheelbarrow"] sprang from affection for an old Negro named Marshall. He had been a fisherman, caught porgies off Gloucester. He used to tell me how he had to work in the cold in freezing weather, standing ankle deep in cracked ice packing down the fish. He said he didn’t feel cold. He never felt cold in his life until just recently. I liked that man, and his son Milton almost as much. In his back yard I saw the red wheelbarrow surrounded by the white chickens. I suppose my affection for the old man somehow got into the writing.
In Oregon last fall, I photographed a pink wheelbarrow on an early morning drive through the Columbia River valley. I think it was filled with pumpkins. Or maybe apples.
But when I look back at the picture, I notice that it is empty, a vessel that has potential to carry pumpkins or apples, and I notice that it is glazed, not with rain water but with dew.
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens
This poem by William Carlos Williams (1923) has always been one of my favorites. When I'm driving and looking, I often say it to myself.
It has often been parodied by other writers, but it almost calls out for copying, doesn't it?
so much depends
upon
a blue chipped
colander
filled with red
berries
dripping underneath with
water.
or:
so much depends
upon
my favorite blue
Le Pen
its point pushing into
white paper
When asked what the poem means, here is what William Carlos Williams said:
["The Red Wheelbarrow"] sprang from affection for an old Negro named Marshall. He had been a fisherman, caught porgies off Gloucester. He used to tell me how he had to work in the cold in freezing weather, standing ankle deep in cracked ice packing down the fish. He said he didn’t feel cold. He never felt cold in his life until just recently. I liked that man, and his son Milton almost as much. In his back yard I saw the red wheelbarrow surrounded by the white chickens. I suppose my affection for the old man somehow got into the writing.
In Oregon last fall, I photographed a pink wheelbarrow on an early morning drive through the Columbia River valley. I think it was filled with pumpkins. Or maybe apples.
But when I look back at the picture, I notice that it is empty, a vessel that has potential to carry pumpkins or apples, and I notice that it is glazed, not with rain water but with dew.
Sunday, June 29, 2014
Favorite Things
Certain objects have imaginative juice, just as certain places and people do. Who's to say what quirks in my psyche fuel my love for Mini Coopers, for example? Is it a story embedded in my imagination that features a cute, retro, puppy-like car? Is it reminiscent of some old car I saw in a movie once upon a time attached to a story I don't remember? Is it a metaphor for freedom and individuality? Does a car have qualities I'd like to embody in myself, even though I don't know what they are?
Why we love what (and whom) we love is often outside the realm of reason. All we know for sure is that they make us feel happy whenever we encounter them in the geography of our imaginations.
The pleasure of the presence of our loved things may be as ephemeral as the flare of a birthday candle, here, then gone. But once we claim them as ours, we're always alert to their showing up, and we look for them like people in love look for their beloveds in a crowd. Our faces light up, we feel happy.
Or maybe we forget about them, then they appear out of nowhere, and we have to stop what we are doing to say, "Oh, there you are! I remember you! Come here."
Like the smell of cinnamon, the fragrance of sandalwood.
Thomas Moore writes, "The secular and the spiritual are two sides of the same coin. There is no separation between them. If you want to be spiritual, you have to live fully in this world--and vice versa."
Reading this line got me thinking about "ordinary things" that bring unreasonable pleasure.
I love colanders, bowls and handcrafted wooden spoons.
Patchwork quilts and mosaics.
Pictures of small houses, even dilapidated ones about to crumble into the ground.
Taking the time to brew aromatic tea, the way the leaves expand when I pour hot water into the glass pitcher.
The fragrances of lemons and oranges, jasmine, honeysuckle.
When I travel, I always pick up pine cones, smooth river stones and sea shells.
I like post cards, teddy bears, the color blue, silver and white jewelry, toy shops, bakeries.
I love the texture and smell of real books, especially when I own them and can underline in them, leaving tracks.
I like doors and windows, open to the outside, open to the inside.
Kaleidoscopes and marbles.
The pink and blue and green and red giraffe in my bedroom.
Maybe falling in love with things keeps our senses alive to the beauty all around us--and in my book, that's religion, too.
Why we love what (and whom) we love is often outside the realm of reason. All we know for sure is that they make us feel happy whenever we encounter them in the geography of our imaginations.
The pleasure of the presence of our loved things may be as ephemeral as the flare of a birthday candle, here, then gone. But once we claim them as ours, we're always alert to their showing up, and we look for them like people in love look for their beloveds in a crowd. Our faces light up, we feel happy.
Or maybe we forget about them, then they appear out of nowhere, and we have to stop what we are doing to say, "Oh, there you are! I remember you! Come here."
Like the smell of cinnamon, the fragrance of sandalwood.
Thomas Moore writes, "The secular and the spiritual are two sides of the same coin. There is no separation between them. If you want to be spiritual, you have to live fully in this world--and vice versa."
Reading this line got me thinking about "ordinary things" that bring unreasonable pleasure.
I love colanders, bowls and handcrafted wooden spoons.
Patchwork quilts and mosaics.
Pictures of small houses, even dilapidated ones about to crumble into the ground.
Taking the time to brew aromatic tea, the way the leaves expand when I pour hot water into the glass pitcher.
The fragrances of lemons and oranges, jasmine, honeysuckle.
When I travel, I always pick up pine cones, smooth river stones and sea shells.
I like post cards, teddy bears, the color blue, silver and white jewelry, toy shops, bakeries.
I love the texture and smell of real books, especially when I own them and can underline in them, leaving tracks.
I like doors and windows, open to the outside, open to the inside.
Kaleidoscopes and marbles.
The pink and blue and green and red giraffe in my bedroom.
Maybe falling in love with things keeps our senses alive to the beauty all around us--and in my book, that's religion, too.
Happiness
One of my favorite NPR programs (online only for us in San Antonio) is On Being with Krista Tippett. In this show, she is talking with the Dalai Lama and four other religious leaders about the pursuit of happiness:
http://www.onbeing.org/program/pursuing-happiness-dalai-lama/147
http://www.onbeing.org/program/pursuing-happiness-dalai-lama/147
Ordinary Things: a question
As I am finishing the Thomas Moore book this Sunday afternoon, I'm having a bit of an epiphany about colanders, those metal bowls with holes for the water to drain out.
I'll be writing more about colanders and spirituality in my next post--but for now, I'm curious about the ordinary things that you are attracted to, love to touch, smell, taste, look at, buy, hang on your walls, or give as presents.
Remember Julie Andrews singing "These are a few of my fav-o-rite things" in The Sound of Music?
Raindrops on roses
Whiskers on kittens
Brown paper packages tied up with string....
If you want to play Favorite Things with me, please send me an email and let me know a few things that, as Betty said on the phone today, "make your heart sing." Thomas Moore says that the "ordinary things" that we love can be portals into our souls.
I'm liking that word, portal.
I'll be writing more about colanders and spirituality in my next post--but for now, I'm curious about the ordinary things that you are attracted to, love to touch, smell, taste, look at, buy, hang on your walls, or give as presents.
Remember Julie Andrews singing "These are a few of my fav-o-rite things" in The Sound of Music?
Raindrops on roses
Whiskers on kittens
Brown paper packages tied up with string....
If you want to play Favorite Things with me, please send me an email and let me know a few things that, as Betty said on the phone today, "make your heart sing." Thomas Moore says that the "ordinary things" that we love can be portals into our souls.
I'm liking that word, portal.
Rodeo in Seguin
Today I drove to Seguin to see Will and Veronica and friends in a real rodeo. I thought it started at 3:00, but as it turned out, it started at 5:00, so I wandered around downtown for a while.
In a thrift shop, I overheard two men talking about singing gospel music in a home for "All-Timers patients." The patients sing along, they said. "They can't remember what they just ate for lunch, but they can remember the words to them songs."
By the time I met the Pritchetts at five, it was almost time for the women's event. Veronica, her sister, and two friends were a team--and Nathan and Elena and I (along with Will and several other friends) got to watch all four of the women's roping events.
I stayed for the first two of the men's events, then decided to head home about 9:00--it was an hour's drive each way, the longest I've driven solo for a long time.
Thanks to the body work I've been doing with Gabi Marcus, I had no pain in my leg all day. (And to think that just a little over a week ago, I was considering knee surgery!)
Gabi is brilliant at determining the source of pain (mine originates in the lower back) and her Neuro-Kinetic Therapy is exactly what I needed. I can't explain how it works, but the results are remarkable--just as they were several years ago when she banished some nagging pains in my hands.
In a thrift shop, I overheard two men talking about singing gospel music in a home for "All-Timers patients." The patients sing along, they said. "They can't remember what they just ate for lunch, but they can remember the words to them songs."
By the time I met the Pritchetts at five, it was almost time for the women's event. Veronica, her sister, and two friends were a team--and Nathan and Elena and I (along with Will and several other friends) got to watch all four of the women's roping events.
I stayed for the first two of the men's events, then decided to head home about 9:00--it was an hour's drive each way, the longest I've driven solo for a long time.
Thanks to the body work I've been doing with Gabi Marcus, I had no pain in my leg all day. (And to think that just a little over a week ago, I was considering knee surgery!)
Gabi is brilliant at determining the source of pain (mine originates in the lower back) and her Neuro-Kinetic Therapy is exactly what I needed. I can't explain how it works, but the results are remarkable--just as they were several years ago when she banished some nagging pains in my hands.
 |
| I love this little boy! He came up and sat in my lap and asked if he could come to my house; "Just me, okay? Nobody else." We have a date on Thursday when they get back from the beach. |
 |
| Here's how you cool off on a hot day: Just pour your own and everybody else's water all over your head. |
 |
| Nathan riding Yancey. |
Saturday, June 28, 2014
"Never change"
Today is the 17th anniversary of my daughter, Day, and her husband, Tom. I find myself asking the cliched question: Where does the time go?
That's the way with time: it flies. We change. We get older. Anniversaries are days to look at the wedding pictures and think: How young we are were! Time has brought Day and Tom two adorable sons and they have a great marriage, reminiscent of the kind of marriage Lloyd and Carlene had, a friendly easy-going marriage.
They had a beautiful wedding in Washington, D.C. Both my parents, my brother, his daughter, and his then-wife were there. Four of my friends and their husbands were there. I have happy memories of that day!
Anniversaries are also sad reminders that some beloved people in the wedding photos are no longer here--Tom's father and grandmother and my daddy, Lloyd. In several pictures I am dancing with my daddy at the wedding reception and he and I are both smiling into the camera, into this day.
I remember seeing Day's father for the first time at the wedding after our divorce was final that same month. He and I walked into the wedding reception together, but not really. That was sad. Children must love it when their parents are still together for their weddings--as was the case last month when I went to Jane and Dillon's wedding in Chicago and saw framed pictures of their parents' wedding on the guest book table.
I remember the night of the rehearsal at Day's wedding when the parents were asked to give the young couple advice. I didn't say anything--I wish I had. Day's father said two words: "Never change."
Those were the words we all used to write in high school year books: "Stay as you are; never change." We meant it as a Mr. Rogers sort of compliment: we like you just the way you are.
Change and growth and loss, though, are parts of the circle of life. Change is unavoidable--even though we wish we could pick the parts that would change and the parts that would stay the same.
I wish I had said, "Enjoy the changes!" or "Enjoy the ways your partner changes, as you do your own" or something to that effect. I hadn't yet found the strength of my own voice to speak out loud at a wedding rehearsal. On the heels of divorce--I thought that I had no words of wisdom to offer. I had a grateful lump in my throat, too, seeing my beautiful daughter embarking on a marriage I knew would be a good one.
That's the way with time: it flies. We change. We get older. Anniversaries are days to look at the wedding pictures and think: How young we are were! Time has brought Day and Tom two adorable sons and they have a great marriage, reminiscent of the kind of marriage Lloyd and Carlene had, a friendly easy-going marriage.
They had a beautiful wedding in Washington, D.C. Both my parents, my brother, his daughter, and his then-wife were there. Four of my friends and their husbands were there. I have happy memories of that day!
Anniversaries are also sad reminders that some beloved people in the wedding photos are no longer here--Tom's father and grandmother and my daddy, Lloyd. In several pictures I am dancing with my daddy at the wedding reception and he and I are both smiling into the camera, into this day.
I remember seeing Day's father for the first time at the wedding after our divorce was final that same month. He and I walked into the wedding reception together, but not really. That was sad. Children must love it when their parents are still together for their weddings--as was the case last month when I went to Jane and Dillon's wedding in Chicago and saw framed pictures of their parents' wedding on the guest book table.
I remember the night of the rehearsal at Day's wedding when the parents were asked to give the young couple advice. I didn't say anything--I wish I had. Day's father said two words: "Never change."
Those were the words we all used to write in high school year books: "Stay as you are; never change." We meant it as a Mr. Rogers sort of compliment: we like you just the way you are.
Change and growth and loss, though, are parts of the circle of life. Change is unavoidable--even though we wish we could pick the parts that would change and the parts that would stay the same.
I wish I had said, "Enjoy the changes!" or "Enjoy the ways your partner changes, as you do your own" or something to that effect. I hadn't yet found the strength of my own voice to speak out loud at a wedding rehearsal. On the heels of divorce--I thought that I had no words of wisdom to offer. I had a grateful lump in my throat, too, seeing my beautiful daughter embarking on a marriage I knew would be a good one.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Chapter 3: Dreams--Thomas Moore
Our night dreams are "vehicles of transcendence, means of going beyond the self yet within the soul."
"The dream realm is like a dark, narrow passageway with curtains at each end. They connect... the land of the soul with the day world. The curtains don't open wide, so we only glimpse the two connected realms, but glimpses are always useful."
Dreams take us into the world of images, not coherent and logical stories. In dream landscapes, images often seem all mixed up and we may want simple dream dictionary interpretations: If you dream of a horse, it means so-and-so.
This chapter talks about the individual myths that come out at night to play--and there is no one-size-fits-all guide for understanding the messages coming from dreams.
"You have a Buddha in you and a Jesus and a liberating Moses. In you is the spirit of Thoreau and Dickenson, Socrates and Lao Tzu. Your own spirituality has so much vast potential...."
"Birth is one of the major themes that need not be taken only physically. You are born again and again and again."
"The dream realm is like a dark, narrow passageway with curtains at each end. They connect... the land of the soul with the day world. The curtains don't open wide, so we only glimpse the two connected realms, but glimpses are always useful."
Dreams take us into the world of images, not coherent and logical stories. In dream landscapes, images often seem all mixed up and we may want simple dream dictionary interpretations: If you dream of a horse, it means so-and-so.
This chapter talks about the individual myths that come out at night to play--and there is no one-size-fits-all guide for understanding the messages coming from dreams.
"You have a Buddha in you and a Jesus and a liberating Moses. In you is the spirit of Thoreau and Dickenson, Socrates and Lao Tzu. Your own spirituality has so much vast potential...."
"Birth is one of the major themes that need not be taken only physically. You are born again and again and again."
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