Thursday, November 2, 2017
Saturday, April 23, 2016
The Window Through Which We Look
A young couple moved into a new neighborhood. The next
morning while they were eating breakfast, The young woman
saw her neighbor hanging the wash outside. 'That laundry is
not very clean,' she said. 'She doesn't know how to wash
correctly. Perhaps she needs better laundry soap.'
Her husband looked on, but remained silent.
Every time her neighbor would hang her wash to dry, The young
woman would make the same comments.
About one month later, the woman was surprised to see
a nice clean wash on the line and said to her husband:
'Look, she has learned how to wash correctly. I wonder who taught her this.'
The husband said, 'I got up early this morning and cleaned our windows.'
And so it is with life.
What we see when watching others depends on the window through which we look.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Oh, I've been writing every day -- just not here.
And in case you're looking for me and wondering where I'm at....
I'm over at A Year of Making a Difference.
Hope to see you there if we haven't connected in awhile.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
When I was a child my mother said to me, 'If you become a soldier, you'll be a general. If you become a monk, you'll be the pope.' Instead I became a painter and wound up as Picasso. Pablo Picasso
I am teaching at The Peace Academy on Thursday night next week. My 2 hour course is a guide to making peace with your inner muse -- based on my course -- Right Your Heart Out -- I'll be guiding participants in how to create with joy and freedom from your core creative self.
Do come and play if you're in town! It will be fun!
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
You can protect your liberties in this world only by protecting the other man's freedom. You can be free only if I am free. Clarence DarrowShe didn't know her own strength. She'd never been tested. Never been put up against man's nature to tear things down.
No one knew what would happen when the winds of advertsity blew. When the gales howled. When the hurricanes ripped through the foundations of her belief. Give me your tired, your poor...
No one knew the measure of her strength under pressure of another's assertions he knew best, that his truth was the righteous belief of mankind's salvation. No one knew.
And, when the winds came, as they often do, they howled and careened around her body, pummeling her righteous stance, her insistance that she not be swayed. Her belief that she must hold fast. Be strong.
The winds roared and she stood strong and true as she stands strong and true today. True to the foundation upon which she was built, a symbol of friendship, freedom and peace, this lady of liberty. This lady of the strength to hold fast the belief of nations and the dream of all mankind. Liberty for all. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me...
Hers is the strength of a dream woven into the fabric of their collective nationhood aspiring for equality, justice, freedom, and the pursuit of happiness for all mankind. A nation of people who stand true in their belief in the rightness of all men to worship from their own separate pew. The strength of a nation that stands true to the right of all men, women and children, where ever on earth they may stand to rise up and be heard, be seen and be free. I lift my lamp beside the golden door!
Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!
The above is the inscription inside the base of the Statues of Liberty in New York harbour, Swan Ally Island in the Seine River in Paris and Paris' Luxembourg Gardens. The lines are found in a sonnet by Emma Lazarus, The New Colossus written in 1883.
The New Colossus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name Mother of Exiles.
From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
Emma Lazarus, 1883
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
I am relaxing in the 'sitting room' of the B&B where C.C. and I are staying in Sonoma County. Yesterday we drove along the coast from San Francisco, the top down on the mustang convertibe we rented for the next three days we'll be here in wine country.
Can you say 'supercalifragilisexpealidocious'?
The sun pouring down, the sea breezes wafting all around. Eagles soaring above. A view that just won't stop. We drove through forests, along winding roads and along cliffs bordering the Pacific. Sublime.
Today, we visited vineyards. Small, out-of-the-way places I've never heard of. Arista. Moshoin. Iron Horse.
At each, we were greeted by friendly and knowledgeable staff who poured and chatted and shared stories of the places. At Moishon we bought a Pinot Noir and a book on Dogs of the Vineyards. At Arista, a beautiful desert wine and at Iron Horse, a lovely bubbly that ticked my nose with delight. Also a at Iron Horse, the daughter of the owners poured bubbly into tall flutes, while sharing stories of growing up in this magical place.
I think I'm in heaven. Seriously. Heaven must be a vineyard somewhere and why not here?
When I was a little girl the story of Eden enthralled me. I imagined palm trees, ocean breezes, birdsong and flowering plants everywhere. I didn't know then the joys of wine, but if I had, I would have imagined vineyards sprawled out along valley bottoms, climbing up hillsides, green shoots shooting out into the sun.
Sort of like the Sonoma valley, in particular, the east side of the Russion River in Sonoma valley country.
Lush. Verdant. Towering redwoods. Olive groves and citrus. The world is a tapestry of rich, full and vibrant sights, sounds and smells here in the valley.
Just like the Eden of my imaginings long ago.
Unlike my childhood imaginings, this particular Eden is also filled with people, my beloved and the wayfarers along the way we've met and shared a story here, a tasting there. Like Len and his wife, Gegina (and I'm not sure I've got that right -- she is originally from Sweden, or was that Denmark?) and their friend Moat. A delightful couple sharing their trip up from LA with Len's best friend, and former police partner, Moat. The laughter and repartee between all three was engaging. Both C.C. and I were enchanted by their warmth, their humour and their generosity of spirit.
We met them at the Arista Winery. A small, 5,000 case a year winery specializing in Pinot's. We laughed and joked and agreed to meet up at Iron Horse.
C.C. and I got lost. When the map showed a right, I said left -- I am directionally challenged, I cannot deny it. Even turning the map upside down does not always make sense of East, West. North. South.
Twenty minutes later, after insisting that we must be going in the right direction, there are hills with vineyards and Iron Horse is on top of a hill I told him, we decided we'd best turn around.
Sure enough, we were headed in the opposite direction.
Laughing, (okay so I was laughing and C.C. was more being patient than anything else -- but then, he's accustomed to getting lost with me as navigator) we made our way back, and up and over hills to arrive at Iron Horse.
Len and Moat and Gegina were waiting for us. "We figured you must have been lost!" they said when we drove up. "If it wasn't for GPS, we'd never have found the place either."
We laughed. Even with GPS Louise can get us lost, C.C. mentioned and then told them about my artistic navigation skills.
We're found now, I insisted and we walked up to the tasting table and began 'the task' of sipping on bubbly from the Iron Horse vineyards.
Standing on a hilltop overlooking the Russian River and the 320 acres of grapes ripening, rolling hills, eagles soaring, palm trees standing sentinel, we spent a delightful hour with, as Gegina said, "Our new best friends" and agreed to meet again, some other time, some other place.
It is the way of the wine country.
Strangers meet. Share a glass of nectar, a tall tale or two and form fast friendship -- maybe we will, or not, meet up again. In the moment, beneath the sun and heat of the day, the pleasure of eachother's company is intensified by shared experience..
Contact info exchanged, we parted ways. C.C. and I to Guernville, the trio back to Santa Rosa where they are staying.
And between us, a delightful encounter that has the promise of becoming a deeper friendship like a new wine settling into old.
I hope we do stay in touch. I hope we do connect again. The realness of their presence, the laughter and the depth of their conversation left me wanting to know more.
You're a real social animal," C.C. laughed when we parted with our new friends.
"I am," I agreed. "And most of all, I just really like people. And they were nice people to like in this place that feels like heaven on earth!"
Monday, June 25, 2012
BREATHLESS I FALL
In this place,
ocean breezes carry me
thoughts unravelling streaming out like clouds floating by without regard to time or space into fantasy
where sun and sand and sea meet on the playing field of dreams>
running naked into untold stories of men with hooded eyes who
sit and sip fingerprinted glasses full of absinthe
voices rich with tall tales woven into visions of walruses and sailing ships pushing outmy breath catches on your lips red rimmed with the wine we tasted together laughing at a bar
sighing I fall
into the fragrance of this soft summer night
captive in the pages of a story yet untold beckoning
I unravel the chords of life killing me softly
upon the sultry notes of a jazz piano spinning me
senseless into the night
satiated I let go of needing to know for whom the bell tolls
and find myself running breathless into the arms of my beloved waiting to catch me
senseless I fall into the night.