yourpassions.tk

TURKEY DELIGHT Twas nearly Thanksgiving and all through the house, not a creature was stirring 'cept maybe a mouse, The fridge held a turkey long since safely dead, and visions of cranberries danced in my head.  Then I glanced out the window and what did I see? A full-feathered turkey looking straight back at me! The turkey was perched aloft on our car, I suppose it had flown there from somewhere afar.  It returned to its preening with no further thought; And I yelled for a camera to snap a great shot. My mate came a running with shutter all set. He set about snapping, each shot the best yet. The turkey's head rose and down she did squat, A gift she then left us, and not in a pot. Ere long her four flock mates ambled onto the scene, And the turkey decided to return to the green. Her huge feathered wings spread open quite wide to assist her ungainly hop down to the side.  Then off the flock waddled, deep into the woods In search of delectable dinnertime...

My overdue post was all written, and I was ready to pop a picture into place and click Publish. Something awful happened, the stuff of which nightmares are made. Blogger burped. That event had cosmic consequences. The cursor flew down to a graphic near the end. Then Blogger burped again.  POOF! No more post. Nada. Blank white space, as pure as new-fallen snow appeared in the Compose window.   

The crude stick drawings above tell a story: Soku and Buho have a spat. Soku apologizes. They reconcile. The end.  In October I attended a Road Scholar program at the Pilgrim Pines Conference Center near West Swanzey, New Hampshire. During the course of the week, Alan Rumrill, Director of the Historical Society of Cheshire County shared stories of local history and legends. One of my favorite was about Mrs. Taggart. One winter day in the pre-Revolutionary era, Mr. Taggart took off for town to stock up on desperately needed provisions. He got caught in a blizzard that detained him for an indefinite period of time, and back then this meant days or weeks, not hours. When he was finally able to return, he did so with dread, fearing his family had perished from hunger. As he finally emerged into the clearing, he found smoke rising from the chimney and his family hale and hearty. Mrs. Taggart had slaughtered and butchered a moose with the family axe, ensuring her family's survival. Fr...

Drawing by Rick S. Hall Am I the only one with 23 unread books piled on my shelf? Each seemed so urgent when I found it, mostly at the Library’s Used Book Sale. All were titles I’d heard of, and intended to check out, so why not buy? I feel stressed! Am I the only one unsubscribing like crazy from e-mail lists? Skimming blogs I used to savor? Am I the only one who doesn’t keep up with all 583 Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter friends? I feel stressed! Now the question arises — if I’m stressed and slowing my reading down, maybe others are too, and I’m still writing this blog — is anyone still reading it? Well, yes. I do check stats now and then and see people stopping by from all over the world, and bless all of you who leave comments. BUT ... I’m keenly aware this could change. Any day. On a whim. The day really could come when everyone turns off, unplugs, tunes out — for a day, a month. Maybe for good. So what will we all do when everyone is too stressed out to connect with the amazing ...

Art by Willie Jimenez J.F YOU REALLY WANT TO HEAR about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth. In the first place, that stuff bores me, and in the second place, my parents would have about two hemorrhages apiece if I told any-thing pretty personal about them. They're quite touchy about anything like that, especially my father. They're nice and all—I'm not saying that—but they're also touchy as hell. Besides, I'm not going to tell you my whole goddam autobiography or anything. I'll just tell you about this madman stuff that happened to me around last Christmas just before I got pretty run-down and had to come out here and take it easy. … — J.D. Sallinger, Catcher in the Rye  I read this book when I was a freshman in ...

Once, when his father was alive, Langdon had heard his mom begging his father to “stop and smell the roses.” That year, Langdon bought his father a tiny blown-glass rose for Christmas. It was the most beautiful thing Langdon had ever seen. . . the way the sun caught it, throwing a rainbow of colors on the wall. “It’s lovely,” his father had said when he opened it. “Let’s find a safe spot for it.” Then his father had carefully placed the rose on a high dusty shelf in the darkest corner of the living room. A few days later, Langdon got a stool, retrieved the rose, and took it back to the store. His father never noticed it was gone. — from Angels and Demons , Dan Brown Doesn’t this passage just tear at your heart? Isn’t it amazing that such a tiny detail can say so much about an entire relationship. In only 124 words and one fragile, non-fragrant glass rose, Dan Brown has captured the essence of Langdon’s father and their relationship, while also saying a lot about Langdon. Of course ther...

Sharing words of story connects people in a powerful way. And as anyone who has ever listened to David Sedaris knows, stories read by their author take on an extra dimension of life. I love reading to groups regardless of who wrote the story, and I especially enjoy reading my own work.  My love of reading to others was sparked by Mrs. Schmidt, the third of my string of four first-grade teachers (we moved a lot that year). She insisted the Blue Birds read “with expression.” I loved it! From that day on, I read to anyone who would sit still and listen — sister, brother, classmates, children, grandchildren. Today I read mostly to classes and writing groups. Most recently, I read one of my stories for the Talent Night event at a Road Scholar program in New Hampshire. To my horror, I forgot to take a copy of the story with me, so I had to rewrite it before I could read it. But read it I did, and I’m still basking in the warm glow of appreciation. I highly recommend this experience to others...

I write to listen I write to order swirling thought I write to still my mind I write to make thinking visible I write to understand I write to heal I write to learn — about life, love, self I write to anchor insight I write to celebrate Story  I write to celebrate Life  I write to celebrate the Sacred I write to connect I write to uplift I write to encourage I write to comfort I write to explain I write to instruct I write to praise I write to express gratitude I write to celebrate success I write to document life I write because I can I write because I must Writing is my practice Writing is my path Writing is my work Writing is my calling Write now: make a list of all the reasons you write.   Photo by Matsuyuki