More days that start with such energy and possibilities. And then……Life. Age. Interest. Boredom. Anger. Frustration. And the day ends with a body anxious to simply lie down. This is “oldness”.
But sometimes with the sun out showing shadows and new angles on the familiar, things shift. The mind opens to another way of seeing. Here is this morning.
And oh, the company of cats!
And sometimes I just need to look at something that brings back a time when my mind would find solutions to having something stay with me. A memory of how I would hold onto a past that seemed so brimming with laughter and good company. These memories are like a bus ride backwards…then stepping off to look back still holding onto the bus door to keep it open. Open just long enough to watch a bit of the past before taking that first step back up and in where control of where to go next is up to someone else. And wherever we go, I can nod off in a comfortable seat with a smile on my face. Here is one of my favorite tickets for that very long bus ride.
The horrible wine in fish bottles no longer available. Hand too arthritic to manipulate baling wire. But stones still wait for me to move around into new positions of interest.
I saw instructions on how to make these stars and was pretty successful in my attempt. The acorns glued into honeycomb shapes were a reminder to not take on more than old hands can manipulate. These will be new additions to the Christmas trees covered with ornaments made from old books.
After having read what I wrote so far, I think I’ll spend the afternoon writing. And because I talked of stones, I will add my old poem on Owning Stones before I leave.
Stone Stories S. Webster
I take the stones to own.
There is no thought
given that they are
removed from
their home, their place.
Once in my hand they
are mine and other
things I own
will be left behind
to accommodate
the stones’ passage back
to my home, my place.
Here they are arranged
to my liking…
sorted, stacked and circled.
Each offering to be held
again and again as
I make them into
my story.
Each bearing
the marks of memory
from their own.
I wrote that poem several years ago. And did a limited edition of books illustrated with my wood engravings of some favorite stones kept in bowls around the house. Later, I did a tiny 2″ square book using the poem with small watercolors of stones in place around the yard. I should do a blog one day of poems that inspired artworks. Maybe next week. I need to act on my ideas with more urgency nowadays.
Last week at the library I started another story for the Letters book. This time a man finds himself boxing up his deceased mother’s library and finds a letter among the poetry books. The temptation is to go all romantic with this one. But no, that is not in me. Nor was it in the now dead mother. Might continue that one today. Or maybe the Stair Stories No. 2 about those tiny stairs in a dollhouse.
My mind has wandered a bit today. I think I have not stepped back on the bus yet.
Til later….