Category Archives: answers

reflecting

IMG_0786The Day is filled with raindrops and certainly a bit of melancholia…the news coming out of Orlando is haunting and makes me feel so vulnerable and sad.

I have spent the last several minutes mindlessly digging around in my blog, trying to stay off of FB and the constant reminder of how bad this situation is. 

My blog tells a story and offers a timeline of thoughts from a few years ago; the look back  has been enlightening, I suppose…still asking myself the same questions it seems.  That’s not really good. But, I did find something a, then, 17 year old Elizabeth sent to me that I thought I would share with you on this day of reflection…

b u

p scoffin

 

 

my summer house

Genevieve's Window by Lucy Hunnicutt

Genevieve’s Window by Lucy Hunnicutt

I am in my summer house now, now that May is almost gone. The blinds are open just like always but now, in this summer house, the light comes in at a different slant and dances over my paintings and our harvest table with more enthusiasm and delight. The yard in summer speaks a different language also. The birds have returned from their long journey across the Gulf of Mexico and they reconnect to one another with loud and boisterous sounds when the heat is at its highest in the middle of the day and in the morning, they exchange gentle chirps and melodies that wake me. At night, in the summer yard, there are tree frogs sounding away their thoughts and needs throughout the dusk and are silenced only by the distant howling of coyotes and the nearby rustling of raccoons in limbs all looking keenly for food. I haven’t heard the cicadas, the ice cream truck or the mosquito truck yet, those sounds will wait and come deeper in summer. For now, I will enjoy the delicate light through my keeping room window in the late afternoon, pick blackberries in the early morning beating the birds and the heat, cut early blooming zinnias to put in Elizabeth’s clay pots and enjoy these effervescent moments in my summer house.

This summer will be my 62nd summer of this life. I reflect about how much I have seen and how little I  know. I think of the lives before me and how they accumulated knowledge and passed it on and I wonder how we don’t know everything by now, why don’t we learn, why don’t we listen?

It really all stays the same, we really are no different than those who lived before, only the costumes and props have changed. As I write this, I think, maybe this is how it should be, maybe we all have to take the same journey again and again, maybe that’s life. If so, perhaps we should just enjoy this gift and not look so intensely for the answers, for even if they are found, many times we don’t learn.

Many of the answers we need have been discovered anyway. We all know that love is the most important and beneficial emotion we have and yet we still witness hate each day of our lives, we all know that money cannot buy lasting happiness yet we all watch and sometimes partake in the intense and sometimes corrupt pursuit of it, we know that wars do not bring about peace but we still fight, we know that we all are fighting the same battles yet we still hurt and humiliate each other, we all know that overeating makes us fat yet we are the weightiest ever, and we know that children need love and guidance but so many are denied either. It seems we should be so shrewd by now, we should have life figured out by now.

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making honey…

I think these thoughts as I approach 62 and , like you, scratch my head and try to understand but, like all that have come before, I will not fully know why. So, I write about the honeybees that I watch each day and find solace in their routine and their predictable pattern that they have followed forever. I find joy discovering the first dragonfly of summer and the discovery of bluebirds in the handmade box that faces the field and I wait for the full moon every 28 nights, for these things are real and these things show me that life is a continuous cycle that certainly includes us, tenacious as we may sometimes be.

I will spend my day doing many things, many tasks that need to be done, but I will wait for the late afternoon sun to spill into my kitchen and assure me that life goes on as it always has and I will, for that moment, feel a part of it and I will be happy in my summer house. ps

knowing my mother

  

painting easter blocks

painting easter blocks

  Sunday morning is here. I have a bit of a “to do” list – a fun one – try out green smoothie recipes and paint a couple of Easter Blocks, but it seems I am drawn here to this page. I think of different things on Sunday than I do during the other days of the week. I suppose my “system” has throttled down a bit by now and I am in this more tranquil zone and I suppose that is exactly why I find myself here writing/posting.

 

I posted a picture of my dad and me from the 50s yesterday. It came from an old family album and this morning I went to put the album away and found another picture, one of my grandmother, my mother and me. I suppose, like many things, I have seen this photo many times, but today it was as though it were the first time. At three – which is how old I was in the picture, you are not really aware of your mother’s life, you are still very narcissistic and your mother is just the person who sees about you, you don’t see her as really having a life; she is just there for you, right? Well, I look at this picture of my mother and realize she was just 25 years old, still so young and so beautiful and I wonder now what was her life like then, what were her dreams, who were her friends, where did she go, what were her and her mother talking about and I bet they were speaking in French?

 

111 beech st., ville platte, la 1957

111 beech st., ville platte, la 1957

 

I only know her in relationship to “me”. I suppose that is the miracle, the beauty of motherhood; mothers are custom made for their children and each child builds that unique relationship with their mother. I have talked to my brother and sister a lot about “our” mother and we each have a “different” mother even though she is one in the same. Anyway, just a narcissistic post I suppose but I felt like asking myself a few questions and then thinking a bit about that day 55 years ago while still trying to know her.

 

On a side note and one of humor, I posted the back of the photograph – it was developed in New Orleans Louisiana in 1597! Oops I think they meant 1957 – gotta love life before digital huh?

1597?

1597?

b u

p s

genius

I just wanted to share this tidbit with you. It is in line with the many books I’ve read about the power of our subconscious mind – the place with all the answers. I hope you can draw from this…

“During his day, Edison would take time out by himself and relax in a chair or on a sofa. Invariably he would be working on a new invention and seeking creative solutions to the problem he was dealing with. He knew that if he could get into that “twilight state” between being awake and being asleep, he could access the pure creative genius of his subconscious mind.

To prevent himself from crossing all the way over the “genius gap” into deep sleep, he would nap with his hand propped up on his elbow while he clutched a handful of ball-bearings. Then he would just drift off to sleep, knowing that his subconscious mind would take up the challenge of his problem and provide a solution. As soon as he went into too deep a sleep, his hand would drop and the ball-bearings would spill noisily on the floor, waking him up again. He’d then write down whatever was in his mind.”

http://www.wilywalnut.com/Thomas-Edison-Power-Napping.html

a place to rest a while

a place to rest a while

b u

p s

questions

There are no answers. We spend our lives asking questions but no one has been able to come up with the answer key. Minds far greater than mine have thought and pondered and died…never returning to let us know if they were right. I suppose that is why really old people, at least the ones that have been observant, are great sources of wisdom and while they don’t have “the answers”, they can make better assumptions. There are messages in their stories and lessons from their lives, but who even listens – youth is being carelessly spent on  worldly things.
 It can be so Shakespearean…
Macbeth:
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
ok, this is deep and dark and Shakespeare is scary and tragic…I will take the antithesis of this projection and flood my day with light.

I have a lot of questions today; it is a day without a job, a day to be with my thoughts…here’s one I ask myself: 
 Not now, so, when?
b u
p s