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Friday Freeform

July 12, 2013

Sometimes, things come to me in batches.  I’ve read two young adult books this week, The Graveyard Book by Gaiman and The Truth About Forever, by Sarah Dessen, that both deal with themes of loss and the detriment of living the “safe” life. The detriment  being that living safely means you’re not really living. Stylistically, you can’t find two authors who are more dissimilar, and yet, both deliver the universal story of learning to come in to one’s own, falling soundly in my lap, one on top of the other in the same week. Within four days.  Through the YA venue. Which I don’t often read.

Coincidence? I think not.

I am not a huge taker of risks. Most times I’ve taken risks, it’s turned out bad. So I try to live quietly.

Except when I keep getting poked by the universe like this. Then I try to pay attention and figure out what the universe is trying to tell me.  Some of us call that poke God – ymmv.

Then today I saw these two poems, more poke,poke. I’m just pondering the message being spoken to me today.

Alone in the Fog

I Am Much Too Alone in This World, Yet Not Alone

Rainer Maria Rilke
translated by Annemarie S. Kidder

I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone 
to truly consecrate the hour.
I am much too small in this world, yet not small 
to be to you just object and thing, 
dark and smart.
I want my free will and want it accompanying 
the path which leads to action;
and want during times that beg questions, 
where something is up, 
to be among those in the know, 
or else be alone.

I want to mirror your image to its fullest perfection, 
never be blind or too old
to uphold your weighty wavering reflection. 
I want to unfold.
Nowhere I wish to stay crooked, bent; 
for there I would be dishonest, untrue. 
I want my conscience to be 
true before you;
want to describe myself like a picture I observed 
for a long time, one close up, 
like a new word I learned and embraced, 
like the everday jug, 
like my mother's face, 
like a ship that carried me along 
through the deadliest storm.

See more at:



Daisy world
If you want what visible reality
can give, you’re an employee.
If you want the unseen world,
you’re not living your truth.
Both wishes are foolish,
but you’ll be forgiven for forgetting
that what you really want is
love’s confusing joy.



July 12, 2013


Guess the bed is better here than in the crate??!! I suppose this is preferable to watching her tearing around the house with it in her muzzle trying to kill it.

Wednesday Wisdom and Poem

July 10, 2013
tags: ,

The Joy of just Being

Wednesday Wisdom and Poem

My inside, listen to me, the greatest spirit,
the Teacher, is near,
wake up, wake up!

Run to his feet–
he is standing close to your head right now.
You have slept for millions and millions of years.
Why not wake up this morning?


12 Steps To Self Care

July 9, 2013

12 Steps To Self Care

Just a reminder to me.

Poem of the day – A blurry photograph by Martha Ronk

July 9, 2013

glass bottom filter

The tree azalea overwhelms the evening with its scent,

defining everything and the endless fields.

Walking away, suddenly, it slices off and is gone.

The visible object blurs open in front of you,

the outline of a branch folds back into itself, then clarifies–just as

you turn away–

and the glass hardens into glass

as you go about taking care of things abstractedly

one thing shelved after another, as if they were already in the past,

needing nothing from you until, smashing itself on the tile floor,

the present cracks open the aftermath of itself.

Love that last line, speaks to me powerfully.  Also, ETA photo is not mine, got it off the net somewhere…


Failing and Flying by Jack Gilbert

December 4, 2012

I just love the line “Anything worth doing, is worth doing badly.”  How freeing. I’m posting this for my enjoyment of the imagery, and because I was reminded of the poem today in my email feed. I am so touched by Gilbert’s imagery.  We lost a beautiful voice when he passed this year.

Failing and Flying

by Jack Gilbert
Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew.
It’s the same when love comes to an end,
or the marriage fails and people say
they knew it was a mistake, that everybody
said it would never work. That she was
old enough to know better. But anything
worth doing is worth doing badly.
Like being there by that summer ocean
on the other side of the island while
love was fading out of her, the stars
burning so extravagantly those nights that
anyone could tell you they would never last.
Every morning she was asleep in my bed
like a visitation, the gentleness in her
like antelope standing in the dawn mist.
Each afternoon I watched her coming back
through the hot stony field after swimming,
the sea light behind her and the huge sky
on the other side of that. Listened to her
while we ate lunch. How can they say
the marriage failed? Like the people who
came back from Provence (when it was Provence)
and said it was pretty but the food was greasy.
I believe Icarus was not failing as he fell,
but just coming to the end of his triumph.

“Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses?”

December 4, 2012

I’m going to bump this post because, I’m still feeling this way two years later and it makes me sick to my stomach (it was originally posted in December 2010).

While I am thrilled about the repeal of DADT and the possibility of at least SOME benefits for the first responders for 9/11 (many of whom were VOLUNTEERS), I am still dismayed by the words of two prominent Republicans who seem to blame the economic woes of America on the unemployed. I mean, unemployment benefits are so awesome, who wouldn’t want to remain sitting at home on their ass to collect their whopping average $293/week (as reported by MSN Money here.  The max in my home state is a bit more generous at $584/week, but remember, that is the max…Not everyone who lives here gets that when they go on unemployment), rather than going out and finding gainful employment?  Um, what about the employers who feel that the size of their “bonus” far outweighs the benefits of keeping people gainfully employed?

It certainly does bring to mind the famous passage from Dicken’s A Christmas Carol:

‘Are there no prisons?”

‘Plenty of prisons,’ said the gentleman, laying down the  pen again.’And the Union workhouses.’ demanded Scrooge. ‘Are  they still in operation?’

‘Both very busy, sir.’

‘Oh. I was afraid, from what you said at first, that something had occurred to stop them in their useful course,’ said Scrooge. ‘I’m very glad to hear it.’

‘Under the impression that they scarcely furnish Christian cheer of mind or body to the multitude,’ returned the gentleman, ‘a few of us are endeavouring to raise a fund to buy the Poor some meat and drink, and means of warmth. We choose this time, because it is a time, of all others, when Want is keenly felt, and Abundance rejoices. What shall I put you down for?’

‘Nothing!’ Scrooge replied.

‘You wish to be anonymous?’

‘I wish to be left alone,’ said Scrooge. ‘Since you ask me what I wish, gentlemen, that is my answer. I don’t make merry myself at Christmas and I can’t afford to make idle people merry. I help to support the establishments I have mentioned-they cost enough; and those who are badly off must go there.’

‘Many can’t go there; and many would rather die.’

‘If they would rather die,’ said Scrooge, ‘they had better  do it, and decrease the surplus population.”

Really! Imagine, a civilized country, reportedly full of greatness and wealth – the American Dream and all that…which actually gives a shit about its most vulnerable constituents, because, well, it CAN, and it should, and it must.

Otherwise, aren’t we as a nation, like Gingrich and my state’s own Republican leader, Alex DeCroce (who “told business owners last week that New Jersey’s jobless benefits are “too good for these people.” He said someone collecting $550 a week has little incentive to seek work.”) saying we are not quite as civilized, great or wealthy as we claim, if we can’t even manage to take care of our own, be they “deserving” or no?   When did WE the people, begin to mean, ME the people?

In my mind, the people who speak these words can not have been people who have ever been so humbled as to have to seek assistance to keep their families afloat, who have the unmitigated gall and amoral temerity to laud their unchallenged lives as a product of their own fortitude alone, rather than a capricious aligning of opportunity and circumstance.

Last night, I stood on line at the grocery store after work, waiting my turn to pay. I was tired, and aggravated (as grocery shopping tends to make me cranky de facto), and my grocery cart was full, and I was hungry and just wanted to go home.

There was a woman in front of me online, with a carriage full of baby food and formula almost obsessive-compulsively arranged in her cart.  She was shuffling through her assistance checks, to be sure she could pay for what was in her cart, and kept having to put certain items back on the shelf because they weren’t covered by WIC.  All these items were baby food jars – not desserts or junk food.  She had to get out of the line at least twice.

At first, I was very grumpy that I had chosen this line. All I wanted to do was go home, and this woman was obviously going to take a long time to get her order rung up.

But then, it dawned on me, that when I bought baby food for my kids, I never had to worry about buying the right “kind” based on my ability to pay for it.

When she stepped out of the line a second time, I asked the cashier how much the jars were: $0.50 a piece, and there were around 10 of them.  Because her order was already in process, and she was paying with WIC checks, I didn’t have a good way to get the cashier to allow me to pay for the items without the woman knowing, so when she returned with the correct items, I asked her if the foods the cashier held aside were ones her baby particularly liked. (I tried to be as discrete as one can possibly be in the front of a grocery store, because I wanted to help, but not embarass the woman, who seemed to be in her mid-30s, a Russian immigrant).  She told me yes, and I told her that I would very much like to buy them if she would allow me to, as a Christmas gesture to her and her child.

Of course, she thanked me, but wouldn’t let me, and so I walked back to my cart feeling unsure as to whether I had done a good thing or not.

It broke my heart. I paid for the rest of my groceries, packed them into my car, and called home to tell my husband I was on my way, and as I was speaking to him, I burst into tears of anger and frustration as I stared the realization that I could have been that woman had just a few things in my life been different full in the face. There but for the grace of God go I, or words to that effect (because I don’t believe in that kind of God, but you get the gist). The world is capricious and my efforts only go so far – that could have been – could still be – me.

And honestly, that line from A Christmas Carol was reverberating in my head, because, apparently, this is the way so many Americans feel: the poor are parasites whom we can’t afford, so, “Are there no prisons? No workhouses?”

The pertinent part of the video starts at 1.34

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