Monthly Archives: March 2013
1. It’s J.S. Bach’s birthday on Sunday and it’s Easter weekend, so I will be listening to the St. Matthew Passion (first heard on Good Friday in 1727) sometime this weekend.
2. I think this might be the definition of “happy”: A little girl and lots of dogs in a meadow.
…complete with Yorkshire dialect. This is from The Secret Garden, my spring book:
“Do you believe in Magic?” asked Colin….”I do hope you do.”
“That I do, lad,” she answered. “I never knowed it by that name but what does th’ name matter? I warrant they call it a different name i’ France an’ a different one i’ Germany. Th’ same thing as set th’ seeds sweelin’ an’ th’ sun sunin’ made thee a well lad an’ it’s th’ Good Thing. It isn’t like us poor fools as think it matters if us is called out of our names. Th’ Big Good Thing doesn’t stop to worrit, bless thee. It goes on makin’ worlds by th’ millions–worlds like us. Never thee stop believin’ in th’ Big Good Thing an’ knowin’ th’ world’s full of it–an’ call it what tha’ likes.”
As the Supreme Court is hearing arguments about Proposition 8 and the Defense of Marriage Act, I can only hope that at the end of it everyone will get to marry whomever they feel “wuv, twu wuv” for. (And when I’m feeling less hopeful, I have to read this fake op-ed “by Clarence Thomas” from The Onion.)
No sewing this weekend, but I finally got my gallery wall hung in the living room:
And here it is with the rest of the room:
AND, my dad came up to help me hang new blinds and brought the fanciest new bird feeder ever, which he made, down to the shingles:
I don’t have a picture of the previous birdfeeder because it was so sad and leaning at a 30-degree angle, but this is beyond an improvement. Thanks, Dad!
Saturday was the fifth anniversary of Toby coming to live with me. When I feel like being broken-hearted, I remember that losing him is the only thing that could really break it.
1. Remember when I said this Steve Jobs quote should be a theme for the year? I’m trying to remember, too.
You can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something—your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever.
2. This is perfect, especially in light of the fact that I’m playing with the idea of getting a little brother for Toby.
This was posted on The Writer’s Almanac Tuesday for early spring. I like “We will/ lift up our eyes unto the trees”. Yes we will.
Here in the Time Between
by Jack Ridl
Here in the time between snow
and the bud of the rhododendron,
we watch the robins, look into
the gray, and narrow our view
to the patches of wild grasses
coming green. The pile of ashes
in the fireplace, haphazard sticks
on the paths and gardens, leaves
tangled in the ivy and periwinkle
lie in wait against our will. This
drawing near of renewal, of stems
and blossoms, the hesitant return
of the anarchy of mud and seed
says not yet to the blood’s crawl.
When the deer along the stream
look back at us, we know again
we have left them. We pull
a blanket over us when we sleep.
As if living in a prayer, we say
amen to the late arrival of red,
the stun of green, the muted yellow
at the end of every twig. We will
lift up our eyes unto the trees hoping
to discover a gnarled nest within
the branches’ negative space. And
we will watch for a fox sparrow
rustling in the dead leaves underneath.
It’s the vernal equinox today–equal lengths of day and night and the beginning of the days getting longer than the nights. Maybe it’s because of what’s been going on with me personally, or because the equinox is so linked with Easter/Passover/Ostara, or because I’ve been reading too many shaman reports, but I feel like the symbolism of rebirth and growth is extra-potent right now.
It’s kind of a stretch, but this song captures my mood: Rolling away stones, clearing out the old, asking for what you want, trusting that you”ll get it.
Stars hide your fires
These here are my desires
And I won’t give them up to you this time around
And so I’ll be found
With my stake stuck in the ground
Marking the territory of this newly impassioned soul
So yeah. Happy equinox. Here’s to increase (and more banjo solos).