restingmotion

Thursday Morning

Dawn was beautiful this morning.

In fact the skies were beautiful long before dawn, and I had gone out without my camera, so I hurried Tikka the last tenth of a mile home in order to fetch the camera.

All to the good, it seems, because I don't know enough about taking photos in low light to have expected success, especially with a small dog constantly pulling on her leash in excitement.

I do want to learn more, but sometimes, just remembering to take the camera off automatic is a bit of a challenge.

This photo makes me smile however.  The tree, almost shockingly bright in the light of the flash perfectly captures how I felt earlier this morning when my internal alarm clock misfired and my body decided that I needed to leap out of bed at 3:45 AM.

 

 

 

 

Delayed posting:

The following was written early, before my internet service went down for the day.   Rather than letting it waste away in the unfinished post queue, I might as well go ahead and post.

 

As Tikka and I took our early morning trip across the street the rain turned to show and it was beautiful to stand in the darkness surrounded by tiny crystalline puffs of snow.  It was still snowing a couple of hours later, at 7:30, when we took our regular walk, a little later than usual.   It was still not very light outside, but it was light enough to observe the delica Ite white flakes landing on blue parka and watch them as they slowly dissolved.  It was light enough to see the light dusting of snow on the tips of Tikka's honey-colored fur. 

 

The snow didn't last of course.  It was too warm, even before dawn. But walking in the light snow was lovely, and far more pleasant than yesterday's rain, a good reminder about appreciating simple pleasures.

 

The above was written in the morning, before my internet went down for most of the day. 

 

 

Books Read 2014

 How quickly we forget.  I didn't read much the last three months of the year, maybe four books, two of which were rereads, and I forgot how much reading I had done in the early part of the year, when my back was bad and I was confined to bed.  I suppose it all balances it out in the end.  I enjoyed a great many of the books and there were few disappointments.  My favorites were primarily not fiction, and this is unusual, but most of my fiction reading was light genre fiction, enjoyable, but often not particularly moving or thought provoking.  

I've added links to any reviews that appeared in the blog, and added a comment here or there.  My favorite books of the year are highlighted in turquoise.  Only one is fiction.  Interestingly enough, books by siblings Deborah and Mike Madison topped my list.

1. Mike Madison, Blythe Tomato.

2. Thomas Stanley, Stop Acting Rich.

3. Brene Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection.

4. Orson Scott Card, Ender's Game.

5. Debbie Macomber, The Inn at Rose Harbor.

6. Debbie Macomber, Rose Harbor in Bloom.

7. Charles Rosenberg, Long Knives.

8. Charles Rosenberg, Death on a High Floor.

9. Gabe Lyons, The Next Christians.

10. Catherine McKenzie, Hidden.

11. Oonagh Shanley-Toffolo, The Voice of Silence.

12. William Paul Young, The Shack.

13. Julius Erving, Dr. J: The Autobiography.

14. Anthony Colpo, Whole Grains, Empty Promises.

15. Malcolm Kendrick, The Great Cholesterol Con.

16. William Goldman, The Princess Bride.

17. Elizabeth Bard, Lunch in Paris.

18. Eileen Goudge, The Replacement Wife.

19. Christopher Bryan, And God Spoke.

20. Rita Mae Brown, Sour Puss.

21. Rita Mae Brown, Catch as Cat Can.

22. Phyllis T. Smith, I Am Livia.

23. Patrick O'Keeffe, The Visitors.

24. Martin Gilbert, Churchill and America.

25. Jennifer McGruther, The Nourished Kitchen.

26. Dennis Lehane, The Given Day.

27. Alex Renton, Planet Carnivore.

28. Lawrence Block, The Burglar in the Library.

29. Lawrence Block, The Burglar in the Closet.

30. Lawrence Block, Burglars Can't Be Choosers.

31. Lawrence Block, The Burglar Who Painted Like Mondrian.

32. Lawrence Block, The Burglar Who Studied Spinoza.

33. Lawrence Block, The Burglar Who Liked to Quote Kipling.

34. Lawrence Block, The Burglar Who Thought He Was Bogart.

35. Lawrence Block, The Burglar Who Traded Ted Williams.

36. Lawrence Block, The Burglar on the Prowl.

37. Lawrence Block, The Burglar in the Rye.

38. Lawrence Block, The Burglar Who Counted the Spoons.

39. Deborah Madison, Vegetable Literacy.

40. John J. Collins, A Short Introduction to the Hebrew Bible. (Class Text.  Inconsistent and Choppy)

41. Paul Tough, How Children Succeed.

42. Christine Kling, Dragon's Triangle. (fast paced, clichéd, lacking character development)

43.  Elizabeth George, Just One Evil Act.

44. Nicole Mones, The Last Chinese Chef.

45. Julia Glass, The Whole World Over.

46. Georgette Heyer, Faro's Daughter.

47. Reza Aslan, Zealot.

48. Jonathan Stone, Moving Day.

49. Maggie Callanan, Final Gifts.

50. Karen Mack, Freud's Mistress.

51. Tish Jett, Forever Chic.

52. Tom Clancy, Command Authority.

53. Eric Metaxas, Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy.

54. Tyler Hamilton, The Secret Race.

55. Michael Connelly, The Fifth Witness. (first Michael Connelly book I've read; will read more)

56. Elvin McDonald, A Garden Makes a House a Home. (pretty pictures, not much more)

57. Jeremy Duns, Free Agent. (compelling, complex primary character)

58. Alfred Lansing, Endurance: Shackleton's Incredible Voyage.

59. America's Test Kitchen, How Can It Be Gluten Free Cookbook.

60. Miroslav Volf, Free of Charge. (Compelling enough that I plan to reread this year)

61. C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity. (reread for a class)

62. Lena Dunham, Not That Kind of Girl.

63. Eben Alexander III, Proof of Heaven.

64. Julia Reed, One Man's Folly. (review forthcoming)

65. Elizabeth Strout, Olive Kitteridge.

 

 

 

 

Dressed

The mantle project turned out to be not so daunting after all.  Perhaps success simply follows from finally having the furniture arranged in a way I like and use.  Perhaps success comes from just letting go, trusting my instincts, and not trying so hard.

 

I must thank Lisa over at Privilege for her comment on using paintings on her own mantle, as she prompted me to look at the small row of prints, paintings, and photographs that is in the guest room, awaiting placement.  There were two photos there, taken by George, that had not yet found a home.  They have now:

In front of them I placed a brass pharmacist's mortar and pestle and a tiny wind-up car, salvaged from a miscellaneous toy box.  I like the scale of the very tiny car with the oversized mortar and pestle, and the brass, black, and gray pick up the colors of the painting above, its frame, and the mantle itself.

 

Tricia's comment about balance also made me think, as this is an issue I struggle with to some extent.  I save photos of beautiful symmetrical arrangements even though it seems that I am more often attracted to balanced asymmetry.  I prefer odd numbers, I prefer to play with scale.   I would say I do like balance of a sort, and I don't reject symmetry outright, as evidenced by the symmetrical planter arrangements outside my garage,  but it is not my default mode.  I suppose part of my struggle with the mantle is that the room is already shaped by both the symmetry of the windows flanking the fireplace combined with the very real absence of any architectural detail in the room as it was built.  I altered that sense of symmetry by having the bookcase built along one wall, and although I couldn't articulate until now, I believe this was part of my struggle and also a part of my solution.  My first thought upon putting up the photos and objects on right side of the mantle was that I needed a single tall narrow object on the left to provide balance. It wasn't until after I stood back and looked at the room as a whole that I realized this mirrors the balance of the room (which I regretably cannot capture without a wider angle lens than I currently possess) with a single tall object on the right, and many smaller objects of varying heights on the left of the fireplace.

Of course all these thoughts and words may just be stuff an nonsense.  Perhaps what I really need is to just sit myself down and study some of the basic principles of design.  But I am happy with the final result and even happier to have found a solution using items that were already floating around the house. The simple truth is that I just don't have the patience required for hunting down perfection.

Little Bits of Color to Brighten the Winter Doldrums

This past week was not my best, and I really have no explanation for it other than I was just in a bit of a slump, a slump without reason.  Yes, the weather was cold and rather dreary.  Yes, life was also rather busy and although there is nothing planned that was not anticipated, for a few days there I felt overwhelmed.  Perhaps that was because I seemed to be in the throws of yet another sinus/congestion/allergy headache that just seemed to slow down my thinking and leave me drearily befuddled.  It ended up not being allergies but one or the myriad viral things that get grouped together under the heading of having a "cold", and I am now well on my way to recovery. Pehaps it is just my clearer head, or yesterday's burst of sunshine, but things look brighter today.

 

I'll be busy for a few months though, and posting may continue to be erratic as I am working on several big projects that aren't really blog fodder at the moment.  I am taking time however for handwork, for solitude, for savoring this earth and this life, and not being constantly driven to do.  How that will play out in my posts is yet to be determined, but I will be here, and will post, hopefully not too erratically. 

 

In the meantime, I have to small things to share.  They are not significant, but each of them, in their own way brightens my days not because of what they are per se, but because they simply make me stop and smile.

 

Tikka and I walk by this stand of grass, and the tree with the lovely red berries every day on our walk.  It is one of Tikka's favorite stopping places, and one of mine as well.  There is not a lot of nature to be seen on our winter walk in my small housing development, and although planned rather than random, this little vignette offers a cheerful resting place before we tackle the last steep hill on the way home.  The red berries offer a rare bit of color, and a promise that life is merely resting, that noursihment and rebirth will come.  Every day I look at the same grass and the same berries, and every day my cold hands seem a little warmer and my spirits a little lighter, reminding me that is not the grand miracles that keep us going but the small moments of joy.

Although I can't really take those red berries with me everywhere, I can take this bright floral Vera Bradley tote andit has replaced my more practical, and boring neutral totes whenever I need books, laptop, and/or writing materials.  Even when not in use, hanging on the closet door as shown here it brightens my office with its cheerful pink and red flowers, flowers that don't wilt, flowers that Sam won't eat.  I am rediscovering the joys of pretty tote bags. It is true that my large leather tote is more versatile; it is also true that the row of functional LL bean totes in the closet holding various seasonal items may be more practical; but practical can be overrated.  This makes me smile.

 

Bare

The mantle is bare again and it is a rather sad and lonely thing.

It was so festive over Advent and Christmas.  Exuberant even, and I love the pure excess of it, although in retrospect I might tone it down just a little bit next year.

 

But now I am back to ordinary time and my still bare mantle. 

 

It hasn't always been completely bare.  Various items have taken up temporary residence, but none have lasted long.  The painting stays. One would have to be very convincing to get me to move it.  But the rest of it seems to be beyond me.

 

I have no experience with mantles. There were two fireplaces in the house in Hyde Park, but neither was traditional, and one, a large stone fireplace between the kitchen and family room, had nothing that could even remotely be considered a mantle. The second fireplace was modern, and free standing, and had a shelf on four sides that was perfect for displaying art and small objects, but it was nothing like a mantle.  

 

I can collect pictures of mantles that inspire me, but translating the ideas to my own house, seems to be beyond my ken. I've tried going out looking for specific types of objects, shopping with a specific idea in mind, but that hasn't really worked for me either.  My insistence that everything has to be loved or have some particular meaning in and of itself before it is purchased has foiled me.  I am sure perfect things exist, but they elude me.  I am stymied.

 

I am hoping now that the room is more settled, now that I have furniture arranged in a way I like, the mantle project will become easier, my attentions more focused.  Perhaps not.  Nonetheless, let the mantle project begin.

 

Refocusing

Tikka on New Year's Day.

I deliberately decided not to reopen this blog with a New Year's Day post thinking that was just too much pressure, but the truth is, much as I miss this blog, it has been difficult to begin again.  It seemed appropriate therefore to refer back to my last post and doing so made me smile because once again I had a photo of Tikka, and once again I was thinking about winter weather.  The temperature was only 28 this morning when I walked and 23 on New Years, but  despite what I said in November, I was cold.  Although Tikka and I were both well bundled, I probably needed the bundling more than she did.  We tend to move at a brisk pace, with Tikka for the most part happily prancing along, but we seem to disagree on the feasibility of stopping for breaks on windy hill tops.  Much as I enjoy our early, pre-dawn walks and the peaceful joy of watching the sky lighten and the world waken around us, I am also occasionally impatient on those hilltops as the icy wind beats against my legs and face. 

I wouldn't stop walking in the mornings though, and I have to thank Tikka for getting me back into that routine, rain or shine, fair or foul weather.  The return to routine, and yes, discipline, has been one of the rewards of my brief period clearing-out, both externally and internally.  There is still more to do; I suspect there is always more to do in whatever place or stage in life we may find ourselves.  And yet the processes of cleaning out has helped me clarify my own thoughts  and needs.  Or perhaps that should be the other way around, the process of clarifying my thoughts and needs has helped me let go of things.

Anyway, I have

• Finally tackled George's nightstand drawers and his boxes of papers.
• Cleaned out my closet and this time around found it far simpler to see what to keep and what is no longer a part of my life.  Some items were sold.  Most were donated.  I got my own personal value from them, now they should just go to anyone who will use them.
• Rearranged the furniture in the house in a way that seems comfortable to me.
• Unpacked and cataloged fabric and yarn.
• Worked at organizing and setting up the studio upstairs.
• Cleaned out closets and drawers.
• Celebrated various seasonal holidays with merriment, much cooking, and general good cheer.
• Taken another short trip to San Antonio to see my aunt.
• Picked up my knitting and needlepoint again.

I've also spent a great deal of time on the deep work of wending my way through and sorting out my own inner clutter and turmoil as well as my own insecurities arising from my inability to control that inner turmoil.  That process has perhaps been simultaneously more and less successful than the above physical cleaning-out.  But progress has been made, and I am ready to move forward.

It appears to me now that, rather than feeling remorse about my occasionally all too public breakdowns and outbursts, and my occasional inability to focus and present things in a clear fashion, I should accept that this is just a part of the grief and transition process that I have needed to experience, be grateful that at least some people are willing to cut me a little slack, and perhaps cut myself a little slack as well.

When George was alive, and declining, I pretty much locked my emotions up tighter than a drum.  There was a long time when I felt very isolated and alone and the only way I could cope was to shut everything up inside and throw away the key.  This was perhaps not the best choice of coping mechanism, but there is no undoing it now. When that lock finally broke, some months after George died, I was inundated with the torrent of emotions and questions and turmoil which overtook me.  The truth is I still have trouble controlling that primitive instinct-driven part of my brain.  It is almost as if, once released it grew and grew refusing to be contained.  Only at the end of the year did I realize that after years of repression I probably needed to suffer through this period of inner chaos in order to, hopefully, come out as a better and stronger person.  I still don't know that this is where I am going to end up -- better and stronger that is -- but I have obviously changed and hopefully grown.  Rather than fighting against my more turbulent emotions, I need to accept that this part of myself is as valid and as vital, in both its strengths and its weakensses, as the more rational organized part of myself.  As long as I allow myself to use one aspect of my personality to repress another aspect of my personality I can never grow into a wholy integrated person and my fears and weakness will sabotage my efforts despite all my good inentions.

It seems like such a simple realization.  I am sure there that the actuality of life will not be as clear as it seems now, but for the first time in a long time, I feel like I am not destined for eternal flakiness.  I accept that I won't get my old self back, I accept that I don't really know where I am going, but I can live with that uncertainty because it is the ony way to move forward.