A seed knows how to wait.
Most seeds wait for at least a year before starting to grow; a cherry seed can wait for a hundred years with no problem. What exactly each seed is waiting for is known only to that seed…
A seed is alive while it waits.
Every acorn on the ground is just as alive as the three-hundred-year-old oak tree that towers over it…they are both just waiting…the seed is waiting to flourish while the tree is only waiting to die.
When you are in the forest, for every tree that you see, there are at least a hundred trees waiting in the soil, alive and fervently wishing to be.
Each beginning is the end of a waiting.
We are each given exactly one chance to be. Each of us is both impossible and inevitable. Every replete tree was first a seed that waited.
From: Lab Girl, by Hope Jahren
Tag: writers as readers (Page 2 of 3)
Orange Rose from Ma & Dad’s Garden 2016
When I first heard this poem, my mind immediately flashed on a photo I took during my Summer of Dad – that of a lone rose thriving in the midst of Ma & Dad’s overgrown and neglected garden.
“…for my blooms have served a purpose…”
From Just Thinking a collection of “little writings which may produce some little thoughts” here is Colin Chappell reading his poem, Just a Rose.
Note: All proceeds from book sales will be directed to Colin’s daughter who was diagnosed with a brain tumor in 2007. She is still fighting, but the treatment programs have taken their toll and she is unable to hold down a paying job for a variety of reasons. She is therefore dependent on benefits from her disability provider…She uses her time to volunteer for non-profit organizations, and has been involved in giving some dignity to the women who are living on the streets in Vancouver’s downtown East-side…She has also written a number of poems, two of which are included in the book!
“Admit it. You tuned in to see who won a copy of “What I Wish I Could Tell You.” Well, I’ll get to that right after this…”
Thus begins a typical winner revealing post from the blog of L.Marie with my own book offering inserted into the original text. That great opening line is in fact taken from one of my favorite posts of hers called “Wall-to-Wall People.” It is a fine example of how easily she articulates thoughts I am only able to think. Continue reading
Postcard sent to Ma & Dad, Lakewood, CO May 2005:
I often send greetings via snail mail to loved ones
Message on back:
“Remember that all music, in general, is a succession of rainbows.” Pablo Casals
Ma & Dad: I hope your day is filled with color and harmony. Love, Laura
Waiting for Brenda
Of course wouldn’t you know, the day’s dark grey skies decided to pour forth a drenching rain the moment I stepped out of the car. Brenda and I were meeting that morning at the FloTown Starbucks on Palmetto for a quasi-interview, so I wanted to get there a bit before the appointed time.
After my mad dash into the tiny building, I quickly scanned the area for an available table. As a veteran of numerous coffee shops, I know that claiming one’s territory is best done first. I planted my book bag atop my find as evidence of ownership then proceeded to redeem my empty bean bag* for a free cup of coffee.
Returning to ‘our’ table with java in hand, I settled in to read a few pages of ‘Home to Cedar Branch’ while waiting for Brenda’s arrival…
Home to Cedar Branch is Brenda’s second novel in the ‘Quaker Café’ series. While not intended to be a part of an actual series, this stand-alone book clamors to be part of something larger than itself. Writing has a way of making demands on its author and Brenda is accommodating those demands by crafting yet a third book in the ‘Quaker Café’ series as of this posting.
Both novels, along with an in-progress third, are centered around the fictional community of Cedar Branch. I asked Brenda if she would like to live in Cedar Branch. Surprisingly, she told me that she Continue reading
I am currently enjoying getting ready for our son’s 10 day Thanksgiving Holiday visit starting Monday. Very excited. He’s coming straight from his 2.5 month vacay in the Dominican Republic on his way back home to Colorado, so we’ll have even more catching up to do! I’m also frantically working on a grant that’s due the end of the year to help fund recording expenses of my ‘Swimming with Swans: the music’ …thrilled with the prospect of the assistance, but won’t know if I will be awarded anything until after the New Year. Meanwhile, I will be getting ready for our middle daughter and son-in-law’s visit with us over the Christmas Holidays and hubby’s b-day. They’ll be driving from their new digs in Michigan, so we’re hoping the weather will co-operate and allow us this treat. I love it when things get bunched up because of family gatherings…for me, this is true bliss.
As concerns my blogging frequency: I keep trying to finish several blog posts I’ve got in the queue, but just can’t seem to focus. So, please accept this little quirky, made-up-by-me game “find the flaw in the following quote” as a sort of blogging peace offering and placeholder. Continue reading
Have you ever picked up a best-selling novel or classic titled tome, started to read and then realized, “Nope, don’t like this, even though I’m supposed to because it is a best-seller/classic/got rave reviews”? Continue reading
As referenced in my last post, there exists an elite stash of books which grace the backside of my desk work surface. I thought I’d list them out in their order of appearance in three sections from left to right.
The first section
3 issues of Poets & Writers Magazine
Medieval Instrumental Dances by Timothy J. McGee
life is a verb by Patti Digh
Cassell’s Italian Dictionary
The Inextinguishable Symphony – A True Story of Music and Love in Nazi Germany by Martin Goldsmith
Transformations poetry by John Reibetanz
Journal of a Solitude by May Sarton
Introducing Fractal Geometry
Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg
101 Great American Poems
Becoming a Writer by Dorothea Brande
Journal of a Novel by John Steinbeck
A Year in the World – Journeys of a Passionate Traveller by Frances Mayes
The Right to Write by Julia Cameron
Cruden’s Compact Concordance
Jesus Calling – Enjoying Peace in His Presence Continue reading
Surrounded by Introducing Fractal Geometry and May Sarton’s Journal of a Solitude, Julia Cameron’s The Sound of Paper sits amongst an elite stash of books which grace the backside of my desk work surface. Picking it up, I opened its pages to where I last placed a 2004 Barnes & Noble bookmark and began reading.
Searching for words to cup a myriad of incoherent and vague thoughts swarming about my heat-wave induced spacey-brain, I came across practical encouragement in my current state of conundrum. That state of wild productivity amidst desperate isolation, struggling to finish projects that are taking on the shape of completion.
Oh – so – slow – ly.
I wouldn’t go so far as to say my ‘Mojo stopped Mojoing’ but I have come up wanting in the energy department of late. The constant drain of daily in-ing and out-ing in this humid triple digit heat has taken its toll. The term languid suggests more than a glamourous lady lounging alongside the pool with margarita in hand to weather the weather. It conjures up a wild-eyed mad-hatter creative, scurrying from instruments to computer to manuscript paper to WORD documents to notebooks to research to pacing to exercise machines to eating tons of watermelon to striving to keep cool to…ad infinitum.
Oh – so – slow – ly.
Quilted design on backside of potholders
Resulting in?
Potholders.
See here the fruit of my labors.
A set of potholders made from fabric purchased some 21 years ago.
Say, what? Continue reading
A short while ago, I reread this classic novel. It’s one of the greats. What surprised me this time around was that amidst the storyline and lyrical prose, its message speaks to the heart of what I’ve been presenting within my blog series, Giving Voice.
Very timely as the quotes I’ve pulled from within its pages read better than anything I could attempt to pen.
Meant to be read as a single ‘blog post’ the following quotes are from “A Tree Grows In Brooklyn” by Betty Smith.