Journey

Ah, could I lay me down in this long grass
And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind
Blow over me—I am so tired, so tired
Of passing pleasant places! All my life,
Following Care along the dusty road,
Have I looked back at loveliness and sighed;
Yet at my hand an unrelenting hand
Tugged ever, and I passed. All my life long
Over my shoulder have I looked at peace;
And now I fain would lie in this long grass
And close my eyes.
Yet onward!
Cat birds call
Through the long afternoon, and creeks at dusk
Are guttural. Whip-poor-wills wake and cry,
Drawing the twilight close about their throats.
Only my heart makes answer. Eager vines
Go up the rocks and wait; flushed apple-trees
Pause in their dance and break the ring for me;
And bayberry, that through sweet bevies thread
Of round-faced roses, pink and petulant,
Look back and beckon ere they disappear.
Only my heart, only my heart responds.
Yet, ah, my path is sweet on either side
All through the dragging day,—sharp underfoot
And hot, and like dead mist the dry dust hangs—
But far, oh, far as passionate eye can reach,
And long, ah, long as rapturous eye can cling,
The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake,
Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road
A gateless garden, and an open path:
My feet to follow, and my heart to hold.


Edna St. Vincent Millay

Where the Sidewalk Ends

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

 --Shel Silverstein

A step in the right direction...

The Journey


One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.

--Mary Oliver

Miracles

Why! who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach, just in the edge of the
water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love--or sleep in the bed at night with
any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with my mother,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive, of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds--or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sun-down--or of stars shining so quiet
and bright,
Or the exquisite, delicate, thin curve of the new moon in spring;
Or whether I go among those I like best, and that like me best--
mechanics, boatmen, farmers,
Or among the savans--or to the soiree--or to the opera,
Or stand a long while looking at the movements of machinery,
Or behold children at their sports,
Or the admirable sight of the perfect old man, or the perfect old
woman,
Or the sick in hospitals, or the dead carried to burial,
Or my own eyes and figure in the glass;
These, with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring--yet each distinct, and in its place.

To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the
same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same;
Every spear of grass--the frames, limbs, organs, of men and women,
and all that concerns them,
All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles.

To me the sea is a continual miracle;
The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the ships,
with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?

-Walt Whitman

Thanks Mr. DeWitt! 2 for 2!

-JMB

Welcome Spring!

Do you ever just feel a little shift?  Like you are a tiny bit more yourself? You may not know who that is, but you feel more at home in your skin.  It is happening in me.  It is Spring. One of my favorites from High School English class with Mr. DeWitt-- A Blessing
by James Wright
Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota, Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass. And the eyes of those two Indian ponies Darken with kindness. They have come gladly out of the willows To welcome my friend and me. We step over the barbed wire into the pasture Where they have been grazing all day, alone. They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness That we have come. They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other. There is no loneliness like theirs. At home once more, They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness. I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms, For she has walked over to me And nuzzled my left hand. She is black and white, Her mane falls wild on her forehead, And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist. Suddenly I realize That if I stepped out of my body I would break Into blossom. We could be in for some good things in this new season! --JMB

And we begin again!

And we start the learning again.... I think I am the oldest in the class, but that is OK because I am comfortable with my age and I am going to PRINT!

I love how messy it is.

I love how you can't QUITE tell how it will turn out-- but then it does!

--JMB

Spring Break-- it looks a little like winter!

In between 2 weeks of travel, I was able to convince Big Daddy to take us over the mountains for a little break.  I wanted to go to see this quilt show.  Kristin is such an amazing quilter.  We met SO very long ago in one of Tonya's quilt alongs. (I am betting that Kristin finished her quilt and mine is still hanging out in the craft room somewhere.) Last summer all three of us were able to hang out in Sisters during the Quilter's Affair.  FUN FUN FUN to meet cool people online and then find that they are cool in person as well.--- more on this show on another post.

We were able to find a cute little house (isn't my brood cute?!) (Brownie and his rocker hair-do!) a block from the park and just a short walk downtown.  Sometimes the best trips come together at the last minute, just how I like it!

We went to the sno-play park for the first time!!!  Yes, I have lived here for over 20 years and this is my first "serious" sledding excursion.  It was GREAT!!  Everyone had a wonderful time.  Did I forget to mention earlier that another reason we went away for a few days was to mark Blondie's BIRTHDAY!  He is now 6 years old!!!  He was so at home in the snow.  Since he was in-utero I have thought that he was going to grow up to be an extreme sports enthusiast.  His antics on the sledding hill told me that we need to get that boy a HELMET!  On one trip up the hill to meet me, he "accidentally" dropped the sled and had to retrieve it 3 times... endless energy.  What a little bundle of love!

At one point I looked up the  (Big, BIG) hill and saw Big Daddy getting ready to slide Mango down the hill on her snowsuit.  Of course I gave that the big "NO" frown, only to find that it was all "little" Mango's idea.  She saw a big boy going down on his snow pants and she thought that she should too.  The only thing that I can come up with is that we get these kids A LOT of supervised snow experience while they are young so that they can be somewhat savvy when they get older and Mom is not around.  I am going to have totally white hair by 40!

No trip to the high desert would be complete without a tortoise shot?  A man brought a tortoise out for a walk to the park.  It was just really funny.  Weird, but funny.

The joke of the whole trip was my never ending knitting project.  I have finally realized that I like the knitting almost more than I like the finished project.  I also am a HORRIBLE gauge swatch knitter.  I am just always off and not too consistent.... blah blah blah.  A few birthdays ago I bought this BEAUTIFUL yarn for myself.  I finally knit is up in to a simple cowl, wore it sledding, and decided that it was too wide.  My husband was kind of shocked when, on the way back from the mountain, I unraveled the cowl and began to re-knit it in a smaller width.  I think that if I could just keep knitting that yarn for every project I would be a happy girl. (I should just buy another skein or two and be done with it!)

Brother Jon's served us some mighty fine grub and their sentiment is sweet and direct!  A new motto for me!

In the meantime I have been working on some patterns and tutorials... you know, just trying to figure out my way in the world.  March was my month in the EMQG bee so I came up with this to make an "X" block.  I always like to find a way to "liberate" another quilter!


I am a little reluctant to say it, don't want to jinx it-- but I feel like I am more accepting of this "new normal".  The normal without my mom daily in my life.  I finished the session of grief classes that I talked about a few months back.  I made myself go to the first three (it felt REALLY awful), but then I continued for the next four.  It was really nice to have a place that was really safe to express how sad I am about losing my mom.  A place where I am not worried about scaring my kids with my grief.  It was so nice to hear from other "eldest" children about how responsible they feel for all the little details of their parents affairs.  It was comforting to learn about how other people are struggling with their own "new normal" and to just not feel crazy.  My class was through hospice care at the local hospital.  I am going to continue when it starts up again in May.  I would really recommend trying it at least three times.


So many times the past few months I have thought of these lyrics by Mat Kearney-


... fear is an anchor
time is a stranger
love isn't borrowed
we aren't promised tomorrow

we'll never be ready if we keep waiting
for the perfect time to come


--JMB