Cosmic Egg (Carrie Elkin)

Hey, Peeps!  I hope all is well.  If you have the time/energy/inclination, pop in below and offer up a comment (25-words-or-less or a lengthy treatise) on how you are doing... 💞

It's been quiet, here on the blog and in my real life... and I realized I not only don't mind, but I am actually loving it.  I shared a meme with someone the other day that said:  "People who say 'go big or go home' seriously underestimate my willingness to go home.  Like, it's literally my only goal."  Or, in my case, it's *stay* home.  The pandemic was the catalyst for me to channel my inner hermit, and I am feeling no desire to emerge from my cocoon, even now that it's safe to do so.  I have never feared alone time; rather, I actually relish it, probably going back to the days of when the children were small, my husband was traveling, I read the last bedtime story, shared the last sips of water, tucked everyone in, and then... silence.  Aaahhh!

I'm still ordering my groceries via Amazon (Whole Foods) and Instacart (Sprouts and Costco; continuing to boycott Publix!), Target is still the only store I have physically stepped foot in, still no live music opportunities (other than Dave's house concert a month or so ago).  I'm still scheduling catch-up phone calls once or twice a week with various friends (although this last week got away from me).  Inspired by the article on The Value of Letter Writing (below), I will toe-dip back into the world of actual penned correspondence soon... 😍

I did venture forth into the medical world last week to have a routine colonoscopy (it had been 11 years since my last one); there were not only *no* polyps, but my colon was declared "spic 'n span", and she said she'd see me in ten years (thankyoujesus).

I am not making as much progress as I'd like on my To Do (Ta Dah!) List, but I have been reading so many wonderful books (Brandi Carlile's memoir!), viewing some great British crime drama (thanks, Judi!), and cooking up so many delish dishes (the best curry I've ever put in my mouth!).

I was sad to hear that singer, songwriter, slide guitarist Ellen McIlwaine died a few weeks ago.  I discovered her in college (early-70s) and, in addition to her original work, was completely enamored with her cover of Blind Faith’s “Can’t Find My Way Home”.  Wow!

The pandemic has changed me in many ways and, for the record, I like "The New Me":  speaking up/pushing back more... a lower tolerance for things/people that don't bring me joy... feeling a greater need to live in/embrace the moment (probably spurred by the tragic collapse of Champlain Towers South in Surfside)... trusting my intuition of self-worth and self-confidence... the continued pursuit of brain challenges (NYT mini-crossword puzzle and Spelling Bee, Jeopardy, reading like a motherf*cker)... taking much better care of myself physically, emotionally, and spiritually... all adding up to more awareness/mindfulness in every aspect of my life.

N(ow)R(eading):  A long-distance friend and I began our own Party-of-Two book club a few months ago, taking turns choosing monthly selections.  My pick for July/our third is The Night Watchman by Louise Erdrich, which was recently declared the 2021 Pulitzer Prize Winner in Fiction.

It is indeed Feel Good Friday and, as is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy! 

~ 50 Reasons to Love Joni Mitchell’s ‘Blue’:  The singer-songwriter questioned everything on her fourth album. Twenty-five musicians speak about the LP’s enduring power on its 50th anniversary.

~ LeVar Burton’s Quest to Succeed Alex Trebek:  If the right person catches the right project at the right time, the culture will always hold that person close. Do it three times, as LeVar Burton has done, and our relationship becomes something even deeper. 

~ If You Give a Mom a Cookie:  If you give a mom a cookie, she’ll ask whether you remembered to turn the oven off after you baked it.

~ Oliver Burkeman's last column: the eight secrets to a (fairly) fulfilled life:  After more than a decade of writing life-changing advice, I know when to move on. Here’s what else I learned


~ The Value of Letter Writing:  There are so many different kinds of letters that I’ve written and received over the years. I remember running to the mailbox as a child and as a teenager, glancing quickly through the stack to find my name, immediately turning the envelope to identify the sender—a girlfriend, boyfriend, crush, or my twelve-years-older brother who often lived elsewhere—and then running to a quiet place where I could read and re-read my letter in private. 

SONG:  Cosmic Egg by Carrie Elkin (Cosmic Egg symbolism, dreamwork, and meanings)

BOOK:  Hatching the Cosmic Egg by Michael J Dorer, Andrew Kutt (Composer), Beth Wilson (Illustrator)

POEM:  Born. Living. Will. Die. by Camonghne Felix

          for my favorite auntie, Jeanette

Sometimes I think I’m never going to write a poem again

and then there’s a full moon.

I miss being in love but I miss

myself most when I’m gone.

In the salty wet air of my ancestry

my auntie peels a mango with her teeth

and I’m no longer

writing political poems; because there are

mangoes and my favorite memory is still alive.

I’m digging for meaning but haunted by purpose

and it’s an insufficient approach.

What’s the margin of loss on words not spent today?

I’m getting older. I’m buying smaller images to travel light.

I wake up, I light up, I tidy, and it’s all over now.

  

[Camonghne Felix:  “This poem is an ode to my auntie, who is the freest person I know. In her garden in Antigua, she grows mangoes, which represent the sweetness of life and the serenity of self-sufficiency.”]

QUOTE:  "If life's journey be endless, where is its goal? The answer is, it is everywhere. We are in a palace which has no end, but which we have reached. By exploring it and extending our relationship with it we are ever making it more and more our own. The infant is born in the same universe where lives the adult of ripe mind. But its position is not like a schoolboy who has yet to learn his alphabet, finding himself in a college class. The infant has it own joy of life because the world is not a mere road, but a home, of which it will have more and more as it grows up in wisdom. With our road that gain is at every step, for it is the road and the home in one; it leads us on yet gives us shelter." ~ Rabindranath Tagore

Garden Rose (Kris Delmhorst)

I had a very full weekend... my husband's out of town until tomorrow evening... I think I'm coming down with some sort of cold or flu bug... my son Eric is leaving Friday to go back to college... I'm under-rested and overwhelmed... went into work late and left early - not sure how to describe my feelings other than out of sorts... discombobulated... not quite focused? Have decided to spend about 30 minutes catching up on e-mail and then popping 3 extra-strength Tylenol and crawling between the covers - will probably take the phone off the hook to avoid interruption. The way I feel, I could very well sleep straight through until tomorrow morning - bliss...

SONG: Garden Rose by Kris Delmhorst

BOOK: New Menopausal Years, The Wise Woman Way: Alternative Approaches for Women 30-90 by Susun S. Weed

POEM: Thistles by Louise Erdrich

Under ledge, under tar, under fill

under curved blue stone of doorsteps,

under the aggregate of lakebed rock,

under loss and under hard words,

under steamrollers

under your heart,

it doesn't matter. They can live forever.

The seeds of thistles

push from nowhere, forming a rose of spikes

that spreads all summer until it

stands in a glory of

needles, blossoms, blazing

purple clubs and fists.

QUOTE: "What is a weed? A plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered." ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Break the Cup (Buddy Mondlock)

My favorite chapter from the book below seems to sum up my attitude after this last week of struggle:

"See the Glass as Already Broken (and Everything Else Too)

This is a Buddhist teaching that I learned over twenty years ago. It has provided me, again and again, with greatly -needed perspective to guide me toward my goal of a more accepting self.

The essence of this teaching is that all of life is in a constant state of change. Everything has a beginning and everything has an end. Every tree begins with a seed and will eventually transform back into earth. Every rock is formed and every rock will vanish. In our modern world, this means that every car, every machine, every piece of clothing is created and all will wear out and crumble; it's only a matter of when. Our bodies are born and they will die. A glass is created and will eventually break.

There is peace to be found in this teaching. When you expect something to break, you're not surprised or disappointed when it does. Instead of becoming immobilized when something is destroyed, you feel grateful for the time you have had.

The easiest place to start is with the simple things, a glass of water, for example. Pull out your favorite drinking glass. Take a moment to look at and appreciate its beauty and all it does for you. Now, imagine that same glass as already broken, shattered all over the floor. Try to maintain the perspective that, in time, everything disintegrates and returns to its initial form.

Obviously, no one wants their favorite drinking glass, or anything else, to be broken. This philosophy is not a prescription for becoming passive or apathetic, but for making peace with the way things are. When your drinking glass does break, this philosophy allows you to maintain your perspective. Rather than thinking, "oh my god", you'll find yourself thinking, "ah, there it goes". Play with this awareness and you'll find yourself not only keeping your cool but appreciating life as never before."

P.S. I've googled myself silly and can't seem to find Buddy Mondlock's lyrics anywhere - do yourself a favor and go to his website to familiarize yourself with an extraordinary songwriter (soft voice, huge heart... :-)

SONG: Break the Cup by Buddy Mondlock

BOOK: Don't Sweat the Small Stuff--and it's all small stuff by Richard Carlson

POEM: Advice to Myself by Louise Erdich

Leave the dishes.

Let the celery rot in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator

and an earthen scum harden on the kitchen floor.

Leave the black crumbs in the bottom of the toaster.

Throw the cracked bowl out and don't patch the cup.

Don't patch anything. Don't mend. Buy safety pins.

Don't even sew on a button.

Let the wind have its way, then the earth

that invades as dust and then the dead

foaming up in gray rolls underneath the couch.

Talk to them. Tell them they are welcome.

Don't keep all the pieces of the puzzles

or the doll's tiny shoes in pairs, don't worry

who uses whose toothbrush or if anything

matches, at all.

Except one word to another. Or a thought.

Pursue the authentic - decide first

what is authentic,

then go after it with all your heart.

Your heart, that place

you don't even think of cleaning out.

That closet stuffed with savage mementos.

Don't sort the paper clips from screws from saved baby teeth

or worry if we're all eating cereal for dinner

again. Don't answer the telephone, ever,

or weep over anything at all that breaks.

Pink molds will grow within those sealed cartons

in the refrigerator. Accept new forms of life

and talk to the dead

who drift in though the screened windows, who collect

patiently on the tops of food jars and books.

Recycle the mail, don't read it, don't read anything

except what destroys

the insulation between yourself and your experience

or what pulls down or what strikes at or what shatters

this ruse you call necessity.

QUOTE: "My theory on housework is, if the item doesn't multiply, smell, catch fire, or block the refrigerator door, let it be. No one else cares. Why should you?" ~ Erma Bombeck