Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
Thursday, November 13, 2008
I will miss Dot, although for me she will never be gone; she is with me in every stitch I make, every gift I give, every person I make feel loved. Dot's light shines brightly in the twinkling eyes and cheshire grins of her children and grandchildren. I hope in their grieving they know their Mother's spark burns brightly in the hearts of every one she met. Let us all live by that standard.
"Let us be grateful to people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom." Marcel Proust
Monday, November 10, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
A short walk from my house there is a fishing pond with green water full of catfish the size of my leg. On the north side hangs a swing, just a couple ropes and a board, enticing me to linger here and ponder things. I am drawn to swings and bridges, those spaces that are liminal, meaning they are neither here nor there. On the swing I am not on the ground, not in the sky. I am on the threshold between the world beneath my feet and the world above my head. Liminal spaces are perfect for ruminating and seeing your surroundings with new eyes, fresh intention, and a sense of possibility. For instance, how many of you noticed what time I took the picture?
I've heard that you can spot a tourist because they are always looking up. An inhabitant never looks up; presumably they have seen it all before, there is nothing new to bother with. I am determined to be a tourist in this life I inhabit. For too long, I've found myself shuffling along, assuming the world around me was never going to change, never would there be anything new to see. But today I feel different. I want to thank the person who hung that crooked wooden swing. If they hadn't acted with selflessness, I wouldn't have looked up to see the beauty that exists when you leave your cynicism on the ground and let your soul take wing.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
When reeds are dead and a straw to thatch the marshes,