Showing posts with label Friday Calm. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Friday Calm. Show all posts

Friday, April 28, 2017

Time and the River, Thyme and the Sea


I love this recollection of Colette by her stepson, which I found in the Colette day book of my mother's, given to her by my father, among old family photographs and other saved scraps.

If you would know her, think of a garden in Brittany, by the sea.  It is early morning and she has been awakened by the melancholy two-note whistling of those birds we call courlis; she has come down, carefully bypassing a small stack of sleeping cats, and the bulldog has followed her silently.  She sits in delightful loneliness on the damp and salty grass and her hand enjoys the roughness of the herbs.  The sound of the waves fills her mind, she looks now at them, now at the flowers which are moving faintly upward as the weight of the dew dissolves . . .  What matters to her is the rapidly changing colour of the sky, the increasing roar of the incoming sea, the polish of a pebble which she had now picked up, and venturing further, the prompt dartings of a shrimp which feels that the tide will liberate it from its narrow pool.  It is also the gait of her husband when he comes out:  she will watch whether it is lightened by the enjoyment of the crisp air.
—Bertrand de Jouvenel, Time and Tide, 1954

I would be happy to be remembered that way, and indeed might be.  Those gentle pleasures of the French writer's are mine as well, and soon my garden will be by the sea.  I'm already planning for herbs, and salty grass, and missing only cats and bulldog.

My search for an appropriate image has led me to
. pictures and sketches of Colette in Brittany and elsewhere
. herb gardens in Brittany or by the sea
. herb gardens in bone china teacups, Twinings or Harney & Sons tea tins; decorated with blue & white plates
. French Trappist monks creating Port Salut, a monastery cheese
. French omelette with chives and cherry tomatoes or with soft green herbs
. how to design a potager garden
. and finally,
thinking about making the good kale and quinoa breakfast bowl—which I will go and do.




Friday, October 16, 2015

Gathering Madonnas


Today—

. loving the brief visit of rain
. wearing flannel
. gathering madonnas—by Perugino, Botticelli, and Piero della Francesca
. coming across a recipe for muscat grape tart
. baking sheep Amaretto cookies
. learning that centaur in the constellation Sagittarius, hunter with an artist's soul, was either a friend of Gilgamesh or son of Pan, raised with Muses
. placing meditation cushions in my story and behind my back this afternoon, while meditating on the Oliveira painting of sun rays, and then a Japanese maple
. giving my character Moroccan fried eggs for his breakfast, remembering the little place around the corner from us on Columbus in New York
. rereading The Professor's House, remembering how much I love Willa Cather
. learning about cooking with lemon leaves, apparently common in Italy
. counting my blessings





image:  Piero della Francesca, Madonna del Parto

Friday, February 27, 2015

Friday Calm: Gratitude



What I’m grateful for today:
  • the blossoming fruit trees
  • a gift of coffee beans
  • the promises of Friday
  • al fresco cocktails with coworkers
  • my lambswool sweater
  • favorite comfy jeans
  • aromatic wood lotion
  • walnut flaxseed bread with white Vermont cheddar
  • my old Thesaurus
  • batik bag to hold my edited pages
  • rosemary
  • wooden benches dappled with sun
  • John O’Conor’s piano recordings
  • a free weekend
  • my healed heel
  • my hooded bathrobe
  • getting the griping out of my system
  • junkos
  • Gaston de La Touche
  • everything calm, calming, calmed 




image:   Pardon Breton, Gaston de La Touche

Friday, November 14, 2014

Friday Calm



And again the words are slow to come.

The silence of the vanished birds, the moss-cool stones, is all there is to listen to or say. 

Two by two the hours slip away.

There is calm in the slippage.  A certain calm in the absence of words and birdsong; no need just now to wonder where and why they've gone—that needless seeking.





image:  Sparrow

Friday, September 5, 2014

Friday Calm: Thread


I love to follow threads through their windings and un-, through labyrinthine passages of old Minoan stone or into messages like Charlotte wove.
 
I love the image of the button dependent on thread in this bit of a Jane Hirshfield poem:
Amoralist, sensualist, dependent of cotton thread,
its sleep is curled like a cat to a patch of sun,
calico and round.


Its understanding is the understanding
of honey and jasmine, of letting what happens come.
The thread is the calm being, the sensible, practical being.  It gets us wayward ones through our sensual journeys; mends us; holds us without fuss to our still, cool, cotton center.




image:  Yehuda Edri (with Ruswanti Sri)



Friday, August 8, 2014

Friday Calm: It Is Enough



“She had known happiness, exquisite happiness, intense happiness, and it silvered the rough waves a little more brightly, as daylight faded, and the blue went out of the sea and it rolled in waves of pure lemon which curved and swelled and broke upon the beach and the ecstasy burst in her eyes and waves of pure delight raced over the floor of her mind and she felt, It is enough! It is enough!”
(Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse)







image:  Henri Lebasque, Girls on the Terrace at Sainte Maxime, Seven Arts Friends

Friday, May 2, 2014

Friday Calm: Listing



It’s that time of week when I’m gathering odds and ends about me—
  • This lovely centerpiece with plates and teapot (gravy boat?) and roses.
  • A recipe for Anasazi beans with juniper berries.
  • Reminiscences of Crete.
  • Pictures of Shabby Chic bedding and bags.
  • Belated pictures of Easter eggs with confetti.
  • Adverbs, by Daniel Handler (aka Lemony Snickett).
  • Sicilian Lemon white balsamic vinegar.
  • Promises of postcards from Paris.
  • Bottles of dry rosé.
  • Mozart church sonatas.
  • The possibility of butterfly bushes, Russian sage, olive trees in pots.



Friday, March 21, 2014

Friday Calm


Happy Friday!


Our thought for today: 
“Silence Has A Sound....”
—Muhammad Imran Hasan 
Let us be very, very still, and try to hear what it’s saying to us.





image:  Yehuda Edri

Friday, January 10, 2014

Friday Calm



Somewhere in the world . . . and once upon a time.

I feel that I should write a fairy tale about this group, a fable full of lessons learned and unexpected kindnesses and reckonings.  A meditation, an exploration of place, deep as the woods behind, but entering a clearing.





image:  Yehuda Edri

Friday, July 12, 2013

Friday Calm: In the Hammock



This was the most relaxed I can ever remember being—though at the same time I was working diligently on my novel in my head.  And soaking up the local color, fragrance of Aleppo pine, and sound of goat bells drifting up from the valley.

Mallorca was a special place and time!







image:  Me, writing hard, at The Writing Mill, Mallorca, 2003

Friday, May 24, 2013

Friday Calm: Nancy Delouis



I am excited to have found this wonderful new artist, born in Limoges in 1941, with her colors and subjects reminiscent of Bonnard—who is, she says, one of the artists who has most influenced her art.  (Further, her mother was an art teacher, and her grandfather was Auguste Rodin's cousin.)

"Delouis celebrates the role of the woman at the very soul of the home, whether at her washing, in the kitchen or sewing, all set in an atmosphere of peace, gentleness and beauty."







image:  Nancy Delouis, Hésitation

Friday, April 12, 2013

Astonished Gratitude



A break in the clouds, a ray of sunlight on the water . . . let me be in that ray, today.  In that quintessence, that resplendence, that moment of astonished gratitude.  Let me bathe in the intensity of being.
 
Simply, and absolutely, being.

Being there.  Being here.

Have a blessed Friday, all.




Friday, December 7, 2012

Friday Calm: Woods



Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

—Robert Frost


A poem from my deep past . . .


image:  Thyme and Again

Friday, November 9, 2012

Friday Calm: Bird Tracks


Despite the record in the sand, the seabirds who left their tracks were calm, graceful, at ease in the landscape.  
 
Their work was to leave tracks on the quiet beach; as my work, described so beautifully by Mary Oliver in “Messenger,” is not to fret, not to let my mind tug me away into the realm of busy worry, but to stand still, and learn to be astonished.
Are my boots old?  Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect?  Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.



image:  Christie B. Cochrell, Tracks

Friday, October 26, 2012

Friday Calm: A Bowl of My Own


I do like being "in the swim of things," but find that often others like to swim faster, and tend to thrash about more, agitating the water.  I like to envision being in a clear bowl of water inside other water, with a momentary membrane of glass between me and those others.  Not barricade but pause, or breath, allowing me to remain still within the general hurry.  To remain unmoved—when I choose—by the current.  I like having the sky and sun too in my bowl, the company of trees and clouds and colored light.





image:  A Quiet Retreat

Friday, August 3, 2012

Friday Calm: The Golden Tree of Life



It’s interesting—my Friday Calm postings more often than not include water—still surfaces mirroring (or hoping to inspire) an inner peace.

But calm can often be in the least expected places (just as repose can be situated at the very brink of toppling), and the golden tree of life must include a certain turbulence as well, within which stillness is somehow kept safe.

I remember so well the summer morning when I stood beside a redwood-shaded creek at the Russian River quietly drinking in Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto which drifted from the open window of a cabin on the other bank like slow silvery ripples on the deep green swimming hole—until I was interrupted, disturbed, agitated.  The calm was shattered, not to be regained.

And on the other hand, I’ve been finding great stillness of spirit within Verdi’s lively and continually forte or even fortissimo early opera Attila.  That dynamic music creates for me a deep pool of calm.





image:  the golden tree of life, ThereseNicolas