REDONDOWRITER'S SACRED ORDINARY

Haiku My Heart Friday: Amaryllis

One of Fran aka Redondowriter's Christmas customs is to force a red amaryllis to bloom each year inside the house around Christmas. This beauty is from the local Trader Joe's and she's magnificent. There's another whole bud opening on the opposite side which will probably be a little smaller than this one. Talk about sacred ordinary. 

Amaryllis fire

Red Lion-like each Christmas 

Blessedly blooms sacred.

Be sure to stop by Rebecca's Recuerda mi Corazon for the Friday gathering of haiku writers. 

Haiku My Heart Friday: Rooted in Love

Where will life take us?

Lost, sometimes found, I remain

Still rooted in love. 

When Rebecca at Recuerda mi Corazon posted tonight for tomorrow's Haiku My Heart challenge, I was deeply touched by her image and her words. Please be sure to visit her and other haiku writers to see for yourself. 

This is student art work from Sarah Lucenti. It was part of a Valentines Day collaborative and though all the art on display those weeks was moving, it was Sarah's I wanted to share with you today. 

Art Journal: Honoring Pied Beauty and Gerard Manley Hopkins

It has been many weeks since I've created an art journal page, but I literally compelled myself to go to the "creation table" today and work. A little bit here, a little bit there, and voila: my tribute to Gerard Manley Hopkins and my very favorite of all his poems, "Pied Beauty." Each time I read Hopkins, I feel utterly elated.

Because my handwriting may be hard to read, here is Pied Beauty typed out. 

Pied Beauty

GLORY be to God for dappled things—         

  For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;    

    For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;  

Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings; 

  Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;           

And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.           

 

All things counter, original, spare, strange;           

  Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) 

    With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;    

He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:                   

                  Praise him.

 

 

Haiku My Heart Friday: Dog Days

Preparing for rain

One cold last walk with  Mollie

Before settling in.

 

Dog’s indignity,

From a flea infestation,

Mollie plans revenge.  

 To see more haiku, visit Rebecca's Recuerda mi Corazon. 

Bukowski: What Matters Most

Ever since my family and I visited the Charles Bukowski retrospective last February at the Huntington Museum, I've had this postcard propped against my iMac at home. I wrote about what Bukowski means to me in a 2007 post called Memories of Poet Charles Bukowski.

At this point in my life, these words mean so much to me. When you start out in life you have no idea what lies ahead--and that is a good thing. I'm not sure I would have had the courage to move ahead had I known--and I know my final set of years will undoubtedly bring even more challenges than life has presented so far. Now I'm up for it 'cause I have indeed walked well through fire on more than one occasion. Haven't we all? I always used to say, "I Never Promised You a Rose Garden," but Bukowski's words resonate even more deeply.  

Haiku My Heart: The Old Dreamer

From Gourdonstun School's archives of a Shakespeare play. 

Times gone by, she dreams

An old woman now, young still

Behind closed eyes. 

Thanks to Rebecca at Recuerda mi Corazon and her Haiku My Heart Friday challenge. Join us, won't you?

Haiku My Heart: Handful of Rainbows

Colors of a boy

Joy, a handful of rainbows

Afterwards, nip a nap.

 

Visit Rebecca's Recuerda mi Corazon, our host, for Haiku My Heart.  

Thinking About Aging: Rumi's "The Guest House"

Many of my family and friends are suffering from the effects of aging and sometimes I can't help but think about my aging process and what is yet to come. I don't allow myself to dwell on this too much because I actually, in spite of some problems, have been largely healthy and energetic the past months. I am very blessed. My own mom didn't live to my age. Part of why I'm relatively content is because I keep busy. At one point in time I used to put myself down for being a human doing. These days I'm glad I am busy; I'm just extremely selective at my age about what I do to stay busy.

The following poem is from Aging Today in an article written by Harry Moody. At this link there are two other aging poems I'll write on another time. All of them have such meaning for me. Living alone at this point in my life is sometimes a little scary, I'll admit, but if something really bad happens, I do have family and friends nearby. That brings me comfort when I allow myself to think about what might be coming next. Today and yesterday and the day before were all fabulous days. I'm grateful.

The Guest House

by Rumi

This being human is a guesthouse.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight . . .

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

A Three Old Recites Billy Collins Poem

My friend Loretta at Paper and Pomegranates posted the following YouTube video of a three year old reciting one of Billy Collins' poems and I just had to pass it on. There is a part of me that is utterly enchanted because Billy is a favorite poet--and this little guy is adorable. But there is another part that hopes his mommy has him also playing legos, going on playdates, and swinging so high he feels exhilarated in between memorizing poetry. Is he ready for American Idol, do you think? 

 

When a Precious Journal is Lost

Since I was 14 I have kept diaries and journals and I've taught different methods of journal keeping for many years. I always say that if I have a journal and pens, and a book, I can stay occupied for many hours. But there is a twist. When I flew to Las Vegas to see my sister a few days ago I left my current journal on the plane along with the book I was reading, Steve Berry's "The Amber Room." I've got the airline alerted about the journal, but it would be nothing short of miraculous to get it back.

I got home from the airport last night about 10:15 p.m. after my two day visit with my sister Virginia and while I was there I found myself writing on plain paper for inclusion in a later journal. I began making the covers of the new journal today and have continued processing my memories of the visit and my see-sawing feelings. 

While downloading some photos tonight this photo I took in Portland 2 1/2 years ago begged to be shared. It's such a beautiful now moment photo. What could go with this? Mary Oliver's "The Journey" seemed perfect for she says things that I am not only unaware that I'm feeling, but she brings peace to the place I'm in right now. 

The Journey

by Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.