Monday Morining

The tree and shrub trimming, weeding, and garden clean-up yesterday began at 7 AM and lasted, with frequent breaks, most of the day.  It was satisfying, but I was ready for that hot bath (with Epsom Salts) when I finally gave out.  Some daylilies are divided and moved, but more to go.  

Each year dividing daylilies is on my list, but for the last several years, it hasn't been checked off.  One reason has been the longer summers that has them bloom again late in the season, and after waiting for the bloom to finish, my mind is on other things.

This year, I'm going to get it done.  My husband suggested that sometimes I have "empty intentions."  That isn't true.  My intentions are full and true, my execution of those intentions doesn't always happen--it is the follow-through that is often lacking.  And I have so many intentions about so many things!  The truth is that it is a case of the pot calling the kettle black, as I wait years for the things he "intends" to do!  I'm currently making a list to present to him. :)

This morning, Iliana mentioned Anne Sexton's "Welcome Morning," which is one of my favorite poems.  I have poetry books stacked by my reading chair, and I'd read Sexton's poem again recently, so Iliana's post and the way I feel this morning reminds me again of a "thank-you on my palm."  You can read the poem here.

The weather is cooler, I got a lot done yesterday, and I'm feeling grateful for so many things at the moment.  Poetry, art, family, autumn, mail, books, efforts to help the environment, beautiful animal photography, funny memes, the cardinal that comes for the peanuts each day, the Monarchs on the milkweed, the remaining cosmos, the Torii gate my husband built, the Roomba now running again after being ill, the coffee in my cup and the cat in my lap.

Edgrr in my chair

Amelia has a tennis tournament and party this coming weekend.

  LOVE the head dress she created! 

Now--which of my intentions will I see about next!  

Another cup of coffee, first.  I'll let you know how it turns out.

Miscellaneous Thoughts and Activities

 "When we let ourselves respond to poetry, to music, to pictures, we are clearing out a space where new stories can root, in effect we are clearing a space for new stories about ourselves." --Jeanette Winterson  (via Stories that Take Root by Terri Windling)

The idea immediately resonated with me.  We absorb all kinds of art (poetry, music, painting and sculpture)  into our lives, don't we?  Without even realizing it at the time, we incorporate information visually or aurally and it becomes part of our mental landscape.  Poems and songs from our childhoods reverberate in many ways throughout our lives, and we keep adding to these influences with new experiences.  

Isn't Amelia's new shower curtain lovely?  I adore it.  Unable to find it among Henri Rousseau's tiger/jungle paintings, it is, nevertheless, based on Rousseau's style.  

 

Which reminded me of Paul Simon's "Under African Skies" and Rouseau's desert painting "The Sleeping Gypsy."  Paul Simon is one of the best contemporary poets, although it is hard to separate his lyrics from his music.  A couple of verses from "Under African Skies":  

Joseph's face was black as night

The pale yellow moon shone in his eyes
His path was marked
By the stars in the Southern Hemisphere
And he walked his days
Under African skies

This is the story of how we begin to remember
This is the powerful pulsing of love in the vein
After the dream of falling and calling your name out
These are the roots of rhythm
And the roots of rhythm remain

Amelia also has two of these possum pillows, and I fell in love with them.  We have an occasional visit from a possum,  a welcome visitor who dines on slugs and snails.  In the woods, possums help keep the tick population down.  

A funny possum poem that made me smile:  The Possum Circus.

Books/Reading:  check A Garden Carried in the Pocket for all my bookish stuff.

Garden:   This is where I'm spending most of my days now.  Suffering through all the pollen (that is both a positive/negative side effect of spring) with itchy eyes and sneezing.  This narrow bed by the fence has been a bugger to prepare.  The fence was covered with two kinds of jasmine, monkey grass, and a ground cover, which meant layer after layer of roots to dig up.  Finally, I smoothed it out and covered it with pine straw.  Next--some ferns and partial shade plants for the area.  

See my lovely yellow shovels--Fee broke one of my old short shovels and bought me these to replace it.  I like shorter shovels for most jobs, often in confined spaces, and now I have bright-yellow-shiny-brand new-short shovels!

I'm going to be pleased to have this area finished and cleaned up.    Everything has been getting a makeover this spring for various reasons--freeze damage, overcrowding, unsuitable plants for location, and so on.  I alternate between areas that need re-working.  

Weed pulling goes on, but the strong vinegar solution I ordered last year is also helpful.  I didn't think it would kill the poison ivy I found in a corner, but with a heavy dose and sunny days it did!  The strong vinegar mixture is organic and much easier than trying to pull every weed in every nook and cranny around the yard, between sidewalk cracks, etc.  

Had my left eye glaucoma laser surgery yesterday, and since I didn't come home and immediately get busy in the garden this time, it was so much easier!  With an audiobook ready to listen to and staying away from sun and pollen, this one was a breeze.  This morning, the rain is keeping me inside, so I'll catch up on neglected household chores.

Mail:  not much recently, but I had fun with the robot on this one.

January Week Two, Done and Dusted

Recently, I've been reciting this mantra:  Time to adjust my crown and get to work.  (I don't remember where I saw the original version, but I've been using it several times a day.)  

This morning while I was making an organizing effort, I spotted my real crown, which sits on the head of a papier mache cat, and decided to actually wear my crown for a bit.  

Outgoing Mail

Week 2 Goals:  daily yoga (shortest practice 7 min.; longest 50 min.), walking (as long as I make two miles, I'm pleased), and out of the house (twice this week!)-- all accomplished.

25 Million Stitches:  Panel #2 mailed; panel #3 started.  This is the longer panel and a much more open weave.  I'm using pearl cottons and making bigger stitches.  Still a long, long way to go!

Books/Reading: 













I loved Welcome to the Pine Away Motel and Cabins by Katarina Bivald.  Review scheduled for Jan. 16 on my book blog. Another win in reading was The Hollows by Jess Montgomery.   Just posted the review.


Interesting podcasts:  
The Power of Words to Save Us
Tell Me a Story:  What Narratives Reveal About the Mind

I'm pretty new to the podcast thing.  Do any of you have favorite podcasts or sources?

Day 4

Day 4: Fee received flowers, a cyclamen, because cyclamen comes from the Latin that means circle or wheel. The circle or wheel is one of the symbols of the Solstice, and red is one of the Solstice colors (believed to deflect evil) as well as a Christmas color. The poem is Welcome Morning by Anne Sexton, and I've posted it before here if you want to read the whole thing. It is a lovely poem.
Fee is going out of town again tomorrow and said he is taking his lap top so he doesn't miss any of his birthday/advent/Winter Solstice gifts.

Camille (Thimble Blossoms) is having a pattern give away on her blog. Her quilts are so fresh, vibrant, and fun!

I had to stop and clean up my sewing room today. The chaos finally got to me and functioning was no longer possible. Fabric had to be folded and put away, pieces of various projects sorted into baskets and plastic bags, notes gathered up in hopes of organizing them--although some notes are so brief, ambiguous, or illegible that it isn't entirely clear with which project they should go...

When the room was reasonably straight, pandemonium ensued once more. I have not forgotten the PIF gifts, but they must wait until after Christmas. My winter class quilt is also on hold at the moment. So much to do and our new grandbaby, according to Amelia's doctor will be arriving on the 11th, if not before. Everything is in place. Baby Bryce is ready, Amelia is ready. I have to see if I can get my doctor's appointment moved up a day so I will be ready.

Pomegranates and flowers

I love Dijanne Cevaal's Pomegranates and was amused to read that she ended up stitching them so intently that they became more time-consuming than she wanted. We all find that it is easy to get caught up in the stitching and spend way more time than intended. At any rate, I find the little pomegranates with their seeds and stitched details, elaborately stitched backgrounds, lovely colors, and "Cevaal" look so charming.



Some fall pots. Not much selection at Lowe's yesterday, but these little asters and dianthus were pretty. Other early morning shot of Chinese Chives -- invasive little buggers -- but so welcome at this time of year.

Anxiety and laughter...

I've been in a funk all week, although I've certainly resisted this yucky feeling. High anxiety. Unable to focus. Really tired of this feeling which may be familiar, but never welcome. The water lily serves as a peaceful, serene image of what I want to feel.

"A good laugh is as good as a prayer sometimes." L.M. Montgomery.

When I saw this quote, I found another example of synchronicity because

1) laughter does so much to dispense with anxiety and stress and
2) I found my copy of Anne of Windy Poplars yesterday and re-introduced myself to Anne, Aunt Kate & Aunt Chatty, Rebecca Dew, Jen Pringle, little Elizabeth, Pauline, and so many more. Amazing how quickly I fell into the life of Summerside, its topography, characters, and events.

The view from Anne's tower window has remained clear for all of these years, and I'm once again pleasantly aware of Montgomery's ability to draw such vivid characters with all of their flaws, eccentricities, and strengths in so few words. No wonder they have remained real for me over the years. Montgomery had such a humorous view of people, celebrating the oddities and exasperating traits in a way that makes you want to laugh out loud. So discovering the above quote this morning after starting the novel last night felt like I must be in for a turning point.

I really need to get a complete works for Mila. I can re-read and enjoy them, and Mila will have them when she is ready.

My copy of Anne of Windy Poplars was given to me by someone in our family when I was in grade school, but I can't remember whose it was. It could have been Mother's, the copyright date is 1936 when she would have been about 11. Or it could have been Aunt Cissy's. Poor little book, it shows it age, but the yellowed pages read just as easily. In the front is a book plate that Erin placed there claiming the book as part of her library.

This is a daguerrotype of my grandfather as a boy. See how someone embellished the watch and chain? He was born in 1881, so this may have been made around 1887-88...

"Poetry is the language

in which man explores his own amazement." Christopher Fry


For the Sleepwalkers

Tonight I want to say something wonderful
for the sleepwalkers who have so much faith
in their legs, so much faith in the invisible

arrow carved into the carpet, the worn path
that leads to the stairs instead of the window,
the gaping doorway instead of the seamless mirror.

I love the way that sleepwalkers are willing
to step out of their bodies into the night,
to raise their arms and welcome the darkness,

palming the blank spaces, touching everything.
Always they return home safely, like blind men
who know it is morning by feeling shadows.
And always they wake up as themselves again.
That's why I want to say something astonishing
like: Our hearts are leaving our bodies.

Our hearts are thirsty black handkerchiefs
flying through the trees at night, soaking up
the darkest beams of moonlight, the music

of owls, the motion of wind-torn branches.
And now our hearts are thick black fists
flying back to the glove of our chests.

We have to learn to trust our hearts like that.
We have to learn the desperate faith of sleep-walkers
who rise out of their calm beds

and walk through the skin of another life.
We have to drink the stupefying cup of darkness
and wake up to ourselves, nourished and surprised.

~ Edward Hirsch ~

This is Henry Duelberg salvia, discovered by horticulturist Greg Grant in an old cemetery surrounding the graves of Henry (d. 1935) and Augusta Duelberg (d. 1903). Maybe Grant named the salvia after Henry because Henry outlived Augusta by 32 years, and the "new" salvia showed similar longevity. Nothing else had survived
the Texas heat and drought, except for this blue salvia. It has been named a Texas Superstar for 2006. I've had it for 3 years and love it for its hardiness and drought tolerance.

Potato vine. Not sweet potato vine which I also love, but a perennial vine given to me by a wonderful gardener who has turned her huge lot into a series of gardens. She dug up a bit, wrapped it in a paper towel, and sent it home with me, where its glory has increased each year.

"a thank-you on my palm"

Welcome Morning

There is joy
in all:
in the hair I brush each morning,
in the Cannon towel, newly washed,
that I rub my body with each morning,
in the chapel of eggs I cook
each morning,
in the outcry from the kettle
that heats my coffee
each morning,
in the spoon and the chair
that cry “hello there, Anne”
each morning,
in the godhead of the table
that I set my silver, plate, cup upon
each morning.

All this is God, right here in my pea-green house
each morning
and I mean
though often forget, to give thanks,
to faint down by the kitchen table
in a prayer of rejoicing
as the holy birds at the kitchen window
peck into their marriage of seeds.

So while I think of it,
let me paint a thank-you on my palm
for this God, this laughter of the morning,
lest it go unspoken.

The Joy that isn’t shared, I’ve heard,
dies young.

--Anne Sexton