Like Gold or Emerald or Purple Repeating to Itself

  No matter what anyone says or does, my task is to be good. Like gold or emerald or purple repeating to itself, “No matter what anyone says or does, my task is to be emerald, my color undiminished.” ~ Marcus Aurelius Antoninus (A.D. 121-180), Meditations And yet, it is such a joy to be found, to have someone say out loud what we ourselves … Continue reading Like Gold or Emerald or Purple Repeating to Itself

“But The Kettle’s on the Boil and We’re so Easily Called Away”

We’re so sorry Uncle Albert But we haven’t done a bloody thing all day We’re so sorry Uncle Albert But the kettle’s on the boil and we’re so easily called away This song popped into my head when the boys arrived home from school, and I realized that I hadn’t done much today, but read blogs, and look at things on the internet. I’m wanting … Continue reading “But The Kettle’s on the Boil and We’re so Easily Called Away”

The Sustenance of the Psyche

My father told me when I was young that “Thoughts untangle themselves when they cross our lips or pencil tips.” We develop as humans when we discuss ideas with others, or when we wrestle them out on paper. When we are in dialogue – either with others or internally – we learn and grow and broaden our minds and infuse our spirit with the sparks of … Continue reading The Sustenance of the Psyche

“I Will Not Pretend That My Hands Don’t Work”

When Scott and I were first married, and setting up our home together, I was unpacking boxes of files to put into the office, and came across an envelope full of sentences he’d had his boys write as a consequence for behavior that got them into trouble. I sat on the floor flipping through these pages, laughing until I cried. Scott didn’t ever just have … Continue reading “I Will Not Pretend That My Hands Don’t Work”

This is the time I feel closest to the page

This time is the time I feel closest to the page; here, at this table, with a warm cup of coffee, now, in the wee hours, dark all around me, sun not ready to peak over the ridge for several hours, children still tucked into bed, silent for these few hours. Silence. Golden. Shimmering. Silver-plated. Polished. Vibrant. In a few more minutes, there will be … Continue reading This is the time I feel closest to the page

Between the Two World Wars

T.S. Eliot is another one of my favorite poets. The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock, perhaps, being one of the most haunting and beautiful poems I have ever read. He has a way of speaking that is lilting, and ominous at the same time. This morning, I read East Coker, one of the poems in the book, Four Quartets, by T.S. Eliot. Here is a … Continue reading Between the Two World Wars