to the sea and back
one warm sunny day and then
snow captured my head
a path of voices
retrieve the warm clues scattered
your time approaches
I have never stayed with one theme on my blog for very long. This is my third consecutive week to post a “Week in Review: B&W”. Progress? Calm in my chaos? If nothing else, a personal record! 🙂
A week in review. A visit to Tower Hills Botanical Garden in West Boylston MA is always a treat. Especially when a greenhouse orchid show helps me resist a chilly Sunday afternoon.
The stack of books pictured are half of what I will be reading during Expressive Arts training. Natalie Rogers, daughter of Carl Rogers, is a big proponent of various art modalities as healer. I plan to spend my remaining time helping others find their voice in paint, dance, words and song.
It feels good to have a purpose. I find we all need to heal generational trauma. Whether abused or the abusers, we must stand still and look towards the sun. A new day dawns. Hope rises.
And ten years blogging? Wow! And it has been 12 years since my brother left earth. This blogging journey will go on until I too am released from gravity. 🕊
Looking ahead. I feel myself changing. It has certainly been a while since I have revamped my image. “Borderline Crossing” will reemerge as something new in the future. Even I will be surprised as to what becomes of this journey.
I see far too many people who are not thinking… and well i have to turn away and protect my thoughts. composting logic
reality forced anger
paths burdened with tears
My religious views are Work-in-Progress and my political views are Independent. I am a free thinker who will listen and either agree or disagree with you. My main philosophy is that life is precious regardless of your worldview. So act like life matters and we will get along just fine.
Side note: Most people, family included, have or had no idea I struggled with suicidal ideation since age 8 until 50. My brother acted on his depression. I wanted to but was fearful of the consequences. We wonder if people who die by their own hands go to heaven. I wonder if we will ever learn to listen and hear people. Even in their silence there are clues… i saw my brother’s anger mixed in with his smile. I was too caught up in raising my daughter that I chose only to see his love for me and Anna and Jeff. I walked past his anger and should have called him to talk. 💔 I play that look over and over in my mind. Like today. I dislike what i see in so many eyes and feel helpless. Daily. How do we fix the pain that surrounds us? How? 💔🌏
Literature is strewn with the wreckage of those who have minded beyond reason the opinion of others.
A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction. –V Woolf “A Room of One’s Own”
Well… i am off to assemble a “Room of My Own” and enjoy what are the last few weeks of a gorgeous summer. Life is different in Massachusetts. It is a good change for my mental health. A much needed change and very few sour notes exist in my song book. Grateful for the positive energy surrounding me.
A month ago -snow
and the complaints
come full circle.
better to stay within
by boundaries -knowing
what tomorrow brings
or do you dare
the scope of man’s imagination
tormented by inconsistencies
The future is not for the faint. Hearts face eye-to-eye. Don’t blink
if you want to survive.
Instead of watching the news
she ran away
burned the newspaper clippings
forgot her name
changed the sky to green…
to never be seen. Again.
Still Life (Fish with Red Bowl) 1923-24 Salvador Dali
I’m quiet. Sorry
the mass of mail -stacked
knee-high and wearing wader boots
slipping off -the rainbow trout
loves the May fly
and a rocky river bottom
you blossom. I promise
to tie loose ends -taut
bought a pair of boots
scaled back on the email
let’s cast this line out -together
rock the rafters
Life is black and white to me -moving
changing course and the color bled.
too many damn books*
incapacitate my head
loose emotions die
coral reef ascend
ready to cooperate
salt water trickle
(*i don’t believe this. Just too “much” today.)
Stepping outside this morning
a crispness filled my lungs.
The birds spoke,
warning, it is time to move on.
I am sure the language
should be heeded
but I intend to hunker down.
I lack freedom to seek warmer gardens.
I will watch as the flowers disappear,
knowing they prepare a new spring.
as time wears away the grin.
I will keep my spirits cheery
by thinking: Changes bring panic
until we wake the next day
to find all is right.
So, like the pot of chili cooking
on the stove this cool September,
I promise to keep warm
wrapped in the smells and memories.
A good pot of chili, in my estimation, starts with a base of garden-fresh tomatoes. I grow several varieties which yield a summer taste incomprehensible to any store bought canned good. I then add chilies and onions bought at the Farmer’s Market in town and generously sprinkle other spices that make the chili sing. It cooks with swooning smells throughout the house until I no longer am able to wait. The family gathers at the table, spoon in hand, ready for the feast to begin.
Chili in America travels from Texas and means many things. There is Cincinnati Chili which adds cinnamon for a sweet twist or Cowboy Chili adding beans. I prefer a smoky chili so cumin and ground chipotle makes for a nice mix of heat. The origins of chili are unknown but there are stories to be told. Mexicans do not take credit for the dish and plenty of others take the creation as their own. In Texas a bowl of red is a staple. They refer to themselves as chili heads.
Yep, chili has made its way across America as the landscape changes, from the streets of Ohio, the back woods of Wisconsin, the hills of the Plains and the shores of the coasts, chili has become an American staple.
“delectable chile-con-carne… composed of delicate meats minced with aromatic herbs and the poignant chile colorado — a compound full of singular saver and a fiery zest…” —O. Henry ‘The Enchanted Kiss’
“Next to jazz music, there is nothing that lifts the spirit and strengthens the soul more than a good bowl of chili.” –Henry James