This really got me : “The children are somewhere in the house, either sleeping or staring at screens. When I was growing up, weekends were for bike rides and boredom, and I suppose every generation has their own version of waiting for something to happen.” ... I would share that with our kids, but they might not get it. (Yet.)
I turned 55 on Friday (Bilbo and Frodo’s birthday, too). I borrowed a flannel shirt in ancient Stewart tartan from my 80 yo dad for a renaissance faire. Mom just had open heart surgery and she laughs at my fussing and fuming about middle life. I’m gratefully still fulfilling “yets” for them, as I wait for grandkids to complete some in my 20-somethings. Meanwhile, the twenties and I cheered birthdays and football season, Viking humor and Irish wolfhounds over absinthe like Van Gogh and Toulouse Lautrec. The rain cascading down the greenhouse roof was magical, like sitting under a waterfall. But it could’ve been the absinthe. And so much life was happening in the mud and rain and laughter and tales that I forgot to take pictures.
Thanks, Jeff, for the lyrical quality of your prose.
Great post Jeff! Somehow it pulled me into McCartney and Lennon going back-and-forth in A Day in the Life. It carried me to my childhood riding my bike and creating things to do in the forest. It took me back to young parenthood and copious coffee and unfinished books. New homes. Repairs. Laughter. It took me to that thief called time.
She is the greatest of thieves
Not for a moment to be caught
Looking forwards we illusively try
to overtake her
Continuously looking backwards
to remember her
She stares back from the mirror
Our wrinkles
quietly whispering
her name
And it took me to my pen where I quietly turn coffee into Ink.
In Portland, Oregon, the rain is falling, reminding me that summer is over. Cold air is seeping into different areas in the house. My body feels the cold and it hurts. I will soon turn on my electric blanket, get a book and curl up and read.
I long to be "back home" in Natal, Brazil. Tonight I would be curled up in my hammock with a book.
The night sounds would be quieting: No more dogs barking, only occassional cars driving by our apartment building, The cobblestone streets have a unique sound: very different from the smoother streets. Once in a while I hear people's voices - and a warm breeze wafts some delicious aromas up to our apartment verandah . In a few more minutes I will go make a cup of coffee for my husband and myself.... then I will sit back into the hammock and sip my coffee and read.
My heart's home is in Brazil. My body is in Portland. God knows where I am supposed to be -
It's funny how I picked today as "purge my junk day". I am sitting amongst a pile of unread books and no good place to store them. People call junk "decisions delayed". Nostalgia is like that. A sweet clutter that can be hard to escape from if you stay too long. The problem is the more you look back and regret the less time you have to move forward. If you are not careful nostalgia becomes deadwood that eventually holds you in place, unmoving like an old tree. So here is to new beginnings. Live life new everyday. Travel lightly. Keep what is valuable and purge the rest. Thanks for the post!
And here I am at the end of the day. I had spent most of my day going through old photos and everyone in my family saying, "Oh, send that one to me...". Then I sat and watched an old Hallmark movie with my wife and listened to the rain falling outside. Ha Ha! Nostalgia is really a sticky place but I guess today was a good day to enjoy it. Happy Autumn.
Beautiful way to start off my day. Thanks, Jeff. You always remind me that good writing doesn't have to always be a means to an end. It could be the end itself.
This really got me : “The children are somewhere in the house, either sleeping or staring at screens. When I was growing up, weekends were for bike rides and boredom, and I suppose every generation has their own version of waiting for something to happen.” ... I would share that with our kids, but they might not get it. (Yet.)
Heh. They never do. Here's hoping for the "yet"!
I turned 55 on Friday (Bilbo and Frodo’s birthday, too). I borrowed a flannel shirt in ancient Stewart tartan from my 80 yo dad for a renaissance faire. Mom just had open heart surgery and she laughs at my fussing and fuming about middle life. I’m gratefully still fulfilling “yets” for them, as I wait for grandkids to complete some in my 20-somethings. Meanwhile, the twenties and I cheered birthdays and football season, Viking humor and Irish wolfhounds over absinthe like Van Gogh and Toulouse Lautrec. The rain cascading down the greenhouse roof was magical, like sitting under a waterfall. But it could’ve been the absinthe. And so much life was happening in the mud and rain and laughter and tales that I forgot to take pictures.
Thanks, Jeff, for the lyrical quality of your prose.
That means a lot to me, Kim. I appreciate your noticing. It could've been the absinthe! Love that line. ;)
Great post Jeff! Somehow it pulled me into McCartney and Lennon going back-and-forth in A Day in the Life. It carried me to my childhood riding my bike and creating things to do in the forest. It took me back to young parenthood and copious coffee and unfinished books. New homes. Repairs. Laughter. It took me to that thief called time.
She is the greatest of thieves
Not for a moment to be caught
Looking forwards we illusively try
to overtake her
Continuously looking backwards
to remember her
She stares back from the mirror
Our wrinkles
quietly whispering
her name
And it took me to my pen where I quietly turn coffee into Ink.
I love that poem/reflection, Jamie. And love that Beatles tune. One of my faves.
Your post reminds me of the Mary Oliver meditation/poem:
The Summer Day
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
One of her absolutely perfect poems. My favorite line is "who made the world?" Such a beautiful question that deserves a wordless answer.
That was a beautiful, meditative piece.
Thank you, Gail!
In Portland, Oregon, the rain is falling, reminding me that summer is over. Cold air is seeping into different areas in the house. My body feels the cold and it hurts. I will soon turn on my electric blanket, get a book and curl up and read.
I long to be "back home" in Natal, Brazil. Tonight I would be curled up in my hammock with a book.
The night sounds would be quieting: No more dogs barking, only occassional cars driving by our apartment building, The cobblestone streets have a unique sound: very different from the smoother streets. Once in a while I hear people's voices - and a warm breeze wafts some delicious aromas up to our apartment verandah . In a few more minutes I will go make a cup of coffee for my husband and myself.... then I will sit back into the hammock and sip my coffee and read.
My heart's home is in Brazil. My body is in Portland. God knows where I am supposed to be -
Am I going to trust Him?
Earth is a school of karma being played out.
If you are looking for heaven on this plane, disappointment will be your prize. Look into your child's eyes. No thinking allowed....jut feeling.
This is a lovely piece.
Brilliant read to start the weekend Jeff! 👏🏼
Thanks, Mackenzie!
It's funny how I picked today as "purge my junk day". I am sitting amongst a pile of unread books and no good place to store them. People call junk "decisions delayed". Nostalgia is like that. A sweet clutter that can be hard to escape from if you stay too long. The problem is the more you look back and regret the less time you have to move forward. If you are not careful nostalgia becomes deadwood that eventually holds you in place, unmoving like an old tree. So here is to new beginnings. Live life new everyday. Travel lightly. Keep what is valuable and purge the rest. Thanks for the post!
And here I am at the end of the day. I had spent most of my day going through old photos and everyone in my family saying, "Oh, send that one to me...". Then I sat and watched an old Hallmark movie with my wife and listened to the rain falling outside. Ha Ha! Nostalgia is really a sticky place but I guess today was a good day to enjoy it. Happy Autumn.
Love this melancholy masterpiece, husband of mine.
Good gravy your writing is beautiful. Thank you.
Beautiful way to start off my day. Thanks, Jeff. You always remind me that good writing doesn't have to always be a means to an end. It could be the end itself.