88 posts categorized "Musings"

We were young then

WhenwewereyoungYoung at heart / September 2012

"I remember not long ago hearing Picasso and Gertrude Stein talking about various things that had happened at that time, one of them said but all that could not have happened in that one year, oh said the other, my dear you forget we were young then and we did a great deal in a year."

~ from The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas by Gertrude Stein

The deep questions

May_dinner A meal not to be forgotten / May 2011

“We are much involved, all of us, with questions about things that matter a good deal today but will be forgotten by this time tomorrow — the immediate wheres and whens and hows that face us daily at home and at work — but at the same time we tend to lose track of the questions about meaning, purpose, and value. To lose track of such deep questions as these is to risk losing track of who we really are in our own depths and where we are really going.” 

~ Frederick Buechner

Beautiful in its simplicity

Shadowsonsteps Late afternoon sun / April 2010

She was never unkind. (A comment that I read last week about the actress Elizabeth Taylor; and, I thought, a much nicer thing than being called “hollywood royalty”)

“There is nothing that the world needs more, and nothing else that leaves more real and far-reaching good in human lives. ...

Kindness is beautiful. It is beautiful in its simplicity.”

~ J.R. Miller in Beauty of Kindness, 1905

Friendly with myself

FriendlyReflecting in the afternoon sun  / August 2010

“Though the world know me not, may my thoughts and actions be such as shall keep me friendly with myself.”

~ Max Ehrmann

The Shambolics

FastenersStraight pin, safety pin, paper clip — can any of these fasteners make order out of the shambles? / Dec. 2009

This was the day of pondering that word . . . shambolic. As in, disorderly or chaotic (it's a shambolic system). It even has an adverb version: shambolically; i.e., “in a shambolic mannner.” Seems like such an apt description for the state of the world and the state of my surroundings. Also a great name for a group of disorderly back-up singers . . . tonight we're pleased to welcome Jake Slake and the Shambolics.

What the rabbit knew

FirstgrowthA delightful surprise; things have been going on under the piles of snow / New Jersey / March 2010

This is the morning of discovering what the rabbit knew all along: that the cycles of the earth have their own power and the tiger lilies their own drive and determination and schedule.

Adverbly pronouned she verbed

The bright red leaves on the spirit tree frame the new angled porch window / New Jersey / Nov. 2009

When I was in grammar school I had a hard time learning the “parts of speech” (according to a grammar web site there are eight of them: verbs, nouns, pronouns, adverbs, adjectives, prepositions, conjunctions, and interjections). Reading came easily to me. I don't remember having to actually learn to read. One minute I couldn't and the next I could. I remember feeling so empowered — I could read not only books, but signs and billboards and things on the TV and newspapers — and I read voraciously. But I couldn't be bothered with learning the parts of speech and failed a number of tests. I was thinking about this recently after a discussion about school. It occurred to me that reading came so naturally to me that to actually break sentences and thoughts down into “parts of speech” seemed not only unnecessary, but ruined the poetry of the words. It spoiled the beauty of reading for me. Even though my (adjective*) teacher (noun*) railed (verb*) at (preposition*) me (pronoun*), I wasn't going to waste time with it. And all these years later I can say that I've gotten along just fine with words after all.

* According to the dictionary; I can't say for sure.



The colorful scarf I've been working on; piecing together a collection of woven fabrics / New Jersey / Oct. 2009

The spiders have been busy in my house. I keep coming across tiny cobwebs, spun like the finest of silk in odd places, usually only when the light happens to hit them right. A cobweb is really a masterpiece of design and weaving — a network of fine threads spun by a spider. I think of some of the beautiful fabrics that I have been working with — all designed then woven, too. At this time of year some people decorate their houses with fake cobwebs. It occurs to me that perhaps my delicate, woven cobwebs are not a sign of insufficient housekeeping, but rather they are “seasonal decoration” not to mention works of art and design. I resolve to leave them undisturbed. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

Life is a mystery

Cafes at night in a livable city / Ljubljana, Slovenia / May 2005

Cleaning off my desk trying to make some space in my mind and calm the demons I find a scrap of paper that says: A mystery is not the same as a puzzle.