so I didn't get to work on the coffee shrine as I'd hoped to. oh well. it's good to have projects.
my mother, quoting someone (I think), said that in order to be happy you needed to have three things: someone to love, something to do and something to look forward to.
she was often unhappy. I wish that hadn't been the case. I'd say it's to blame for a large part of my own sadness. the part I'm not responsible for, of course. because once I recognize it as a tendency, however much the getting of it was not my choice, the continuing of it certainly is.
but then again, it occurred to me earlier tonight that as I allow myself to be made uncomfortable (depair or giddiness) by the extremes, the middle becomes broader somehow, like a hammocking sort of effect. perhaps it's the wild swinging back and forth, wearing a groove in the soft middle like path, or a nest.
anyway. I took some cameraphone pictures of the coffee shrine last night. so I've posted those, in case it amuses you to see them.
Monday, December 15, 2008
it was too cold today and tonight to spend much time in the shed.
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4 comments:
the bottom two photos look especially like shrines - bowing down to the bean...
I loved to play word games as a child, too but even more than the sentence structure they finally took, I loved first the music the letters made in certain combinations. Still do.
there's a point in the "la la la" song that bert sings to ernie (after three children, I could do an album of sesame street cover tunes) where he sings "linoleum" and it's obvious how beautiful he finds it. I expect he gets the same puzzled look I get when I expound upon the beauty of particular words, but you know how it goes, if we all thought the same way the world would be unbearably dull after awhile, but it's always lovely when you find someone who shares some of the same delights.
my sisters and I used to play a word game where we said a chosen word over and over until it's original meaning was lost to us and the word took on an entity of its own - I would then weave a story around the "new" meaning. We were odd little ducks...
aha. the odd little ducks play games with words. there's a children's book for future generations of your family to cherish.
when my oldest daughter was my only daughter, and me a new and tired mother, I'd sing her to sleep, holding her in my arms and sort of bounce-rocking on the edge of the bed of the room we shared at my mom and dad's house. one day I started singing a song that was all sorts of odd variations of the word bungalow.
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