Ernest, Sylvia, and Books

A young, broke Ernest Hemingway, was loaned a few books one day by Sylvie Beach, from her famous bookshop, Shakespeare and Company, in Paris.

From what I read and hear, she was a very kind and gentle woman. Smart, too. 

Her parting words to Ernest that day as he tucked the books under his arm and headed for the doorway were to enjoy the books, and to read them slowly. 

That sentiment struck me right between the eyes the first time I read it. I sometime read quickly, as if the goal is to finish the book only to begin another. Books can be page-turners, which only fuels the rush. However, when I do remember Sylvia's words, I make myself slow down, savor the book.

What a difference it has made! The contents wash over me, immersion, the difference between a quick dip in a pool or a full plunge into a lake and a dilly dally, too. 

January is 'read books slowly' month for me. The yard is asleep, though daffodils have pushed through and are wearing soggy autumn leaf hats in their little bed. The after-holiday lull quiets the neighborhood and village and home. Books beckon.

It is my hope that you, too, will pick a good book to plunge into. A paper book, if possible, for the feel of the pages, and their smell, and the sound of them turning.

Maybe you will take the book outside, if the weather permits, or sit in a clean, well-lighted place, a hot cuppa at hand. Perhaps you'll breathe deeply, and take Sylvia's advice.

Maybe you'll think of me, doing the same. 

Perhaps the thought will curve a smile.

Now, go, tuck a book under your arm, plunge, dilly dally, and slowly read to your heart's content.

You won't be sorry.

The Eleventh Hour of the Eleventh Day of the Eleventh Month

106 years ago today . . . 

Armistice Day is commemorated every year on 11 November to mark the armistice signed between the Allies of World War 1 and Germany at Compiègne, France, for the cessation of hostilities on the Western Front of World War 1, which took effect at eleven o'clock in the morning, the 'eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month' of 1918. An American artillery gun from the 11th Field Artillery Regiment named 'Calamity Jane' fired a single shot at this time, known as the closing shot of the war. The armistice initially expired after a period of 36 days. A formal peace agreement was only reached when the Treaty of Versailles was signed the following year.

May we never forget the horrors of war in order that we be diligent in forging pathways to peace.

Magical Day Under Falling Leaves

Tiny joyful girls twirling as a gazillion golden leaves flutter and spin and fall all around them from the same trees their mommy used to play under during the glories of warm fall crunchy-leaf days.

The laughing children chased leaves. And caught some. Leaves landed on us. The girls heaped them with rakes, along with already fallen leaves, then jumped in. 

Leaf salads happened.

Pretending to nap in the comfy pile, Grandpa was soon leaf-covered by gleeful granddaughters. 

The baby giggled and wiggled as she watched the leaves fly all around her bright-eyed self.

Squirrels skittered.

Birds swooped and soared, seeming to observe and even play along.

Rope swing rides ensued, curly golden hair floating on air, strong short legs pushing and pulling, cheeks rosy and glowing, eyes looking upwards into the oh-so-tall old trees, swinging forward and back, forward and back, dreaming.

Lunch on the patio.

Nuts set out for squirrels.

Happiness and restoration. Magical!

Autumn Sunday pleasures.

Have a lovely day!

Morning in America, Again

According to my Facebook memories for today, four years ago I had a cold, COVID was reaching it nasty fingers worldwide, and my guy lost the election.

Seven years ago I was in Paris.

Eight years ago my guy won the election.

Twelve years ago Obama won a second term, and I was completely undone about it.

And do you know what? All of the many comments on my posts during those various and varied moments - from friends and family who politically agreed or didn't - were just as civil and kind as could be. No one took offense at my sharing my sadness or happiness.

(Everyone especially loved my Paris pictures and news, gotta say.)

I was equally kind to my friends when the shoe was on the other foot, whether they were despondent or satisfied. Why? Because we love each other and we like each other and we have each other's backs knowing we will disagree now and again. Agreement doesn't matter.

It's so different now. Because of this odd cultural climate we find ourselves in, I am hesitant to share my views and responses. Fingers wag and warn: don't do it! Menacingly, threateningly. Tippy tippy toe egg-shell walking only.

It's nuts.

I have decided today, however, in light of the strong waves of thoughts and emotions filling my mind and heart, that I'm going to share these despite cultural warnings to keep silent. All those years ago it was okay to share such things. I'm tired of caving to irrationality and childishness.

I trust you, my readers, to understand that elections are cyclical; sometimes we win, sometimes we lose. Remember how our parents implored us to learn how to win and lose with grace in order to keep our relationships above pettiness and jealousy? I remember my mom telling me once, while snapping two fingers, that things change in an instant. Don't toss your friends over disagreements.

So, with grace, I share my election responses.

I am thrilled that Donald Trump won the Presidency for a second time. I am relieved and happy. 

I am overjoyed that the Senate went his way also, and perhaps the House will as well.

I've felt a huge sense of relief all day long, as though a great weight has been lifted from my shoulders, a weight I hadn't even realized had become so slouchingly burdensome.

I feel my kids will be safer and find navigating their lives will be easier. This is huge for me.

My mood has a lightness it hasn't had for four years. Yes, I've had fun and pleasant moments these past four years, but that weight has always been there, pressing, pressing, pressing.

I feel I can breathe again, as an American, as if I can come out of the shadows, see the sun, stretch my arms and gulp in fresh air. I realize just how many millions of other citizens experienced these same things for four years. I am not alone.

I am not garbage, or a foul uneducated thing. Oh, how hurtful it has been to live under such cruel and false epithets. Constantly. Abuse hurled on Trump supporters caused most of us to just keep mum about our support for the issues and candidacy of our choice. We weren't allowed choice. We were ridiculed in the media, in entertainment, online, everywhere. The abuse messed with my mind over time, unbeknownst to me. Today changed all that, lifted the pain and twitchiness. I feel normal again, as if life makes sense.

I love how many of my friends called or wrote to me in jubilation, bursting with joy as was I. What wonderful chats we've had already as this surreal historic moment comes into focus. We are happy. I can't say it enough. Happy. Relieved. Grateful. Inspired. Encouraged. Hopeful.

I am truly sorry for the other half of the country, for. my friends and family disappointed with the election outcomes. I get it. Boy, do I get it.

For those of you 'on the other side' know this, you will win again one day. You will be the happy ones. You will be encouraged and hopeful. When that happens, I will have your back. I will understand. I will encourage you and pray for you and smile with you and revel in the myriad other things in which we share common ground. I will never toss you aside for disagreeing with me. You are more important than an election.

You know, we really are all in this together, this thing called life. We are all under the care of the One who Leads everyone of us. This will never change.

Remember, win or lose, I genuinely love you, my friends and family. 

Always.

Socrates on Transparency

 

We can all do better here . . . thank you, Socrates.

So much pretense in this world. If we could actually be and achieve what we set out for others to see, well, wouldn't that just be something.

Some people would be shooting themselves in the foot, I know. Influencers, for example, who are so fake that even their most sincere offerings are chaff, floating away in the wind.

But for we serious people of this world, we could do better at syncing up the real with the image. We imagine ourselves virtuous, but in our private moments, are we really? Who are we when no one is looking?

This is something I've taken to heart all my life. I do put a good foot forward for guests, it's what a good host does, but I'm not phony. I genuinely want to give my guests the best possible moment that I can, give them a respite from the drudgery of life. 

I don't think Socrates was talking about hospitality. I think he was talking about relationships, about behavior, but mostly about our hearts and minds, our desires and thoughts. What we pretend to be is what we think is the best 'us' to present to the world, so it probably is worth pursuing. The genuine article, our highest potential as human beings.

I have to say, phony people are a pet peeve of mine. Here I am, living as authentically as I can, though not perfectly, putting it all out there, only to have phony people all around me perform. They purr and giggle, they lie and deceive, they manipulate and condescend. I do not like being used, hence my aversion to using people. I do not like to be stroked when I'm hurting, stroked like a little puppy with goofy baby talk and useless platitudes. 

When someone I love is hurting I listen. Intently. And I offer whatever actual help I can give, and I seek to learn what they need from me to get them through the storm. I think about them and about their struggles, they don't leave my mind. I check up on them until they are through it. I care. Sincerely care. I am there for them through it all, not just until something distracts me.

But it's rare for people these days to put it all out there. The social competition is stiff. We don't want to show our flaws, because heaven knows, no one else has any. Seems people are not comfortable baring their souls anymore. It's a rare person who will do so. I do so. And I find people willing to listen and help me and show true compassion with intelligence. While it's one thing for them to dig into my mind, they often put up a guard around their own.

It's frustrating. Very. Because there is wealth in sharing our highs and our lows with one another. Dialogues are far superior to monologues. 

Also, I must note that Happy Talk is so sickly sweet it rots our minds like sugar on teeth. Chattering about nothing at all or parroting the words and ideas of others is utterly useless in forming lasting bonds. Stop pretending. Have the courage to reveal who you truly are.

Be yourself. Ask questions. Share ideas. We don't have to have all the answers or even all the questions. But to be curious and to share a hypothesis in process or to puzzle out concepts and ideas, yes, these enliven and enrich us. Hard to find companions who will take the time to linger over conversations such as these, I know. Everyone has to be somewhere else an hour ago. Plus, there is a fear of being revealed, of being known as we truly are. It's sad because most friendships grow in the soil of honesty.

Oh well. I will keep being what I think is the best version of me - still a work in progress - and thank God for genuine people when they pop up here and there.

Those of you who already are with me in this, you know who you are, I treasure you. 

Your honor crowns you.

Sweet June 2024

The air in Springfield this past month has been absolutely delicious! Perfumed. 

Each sunny early morning, the sun's warm fingers tickle the sweet aromas from flowers, blossoms, and grasses. The breezes then entice and carry the loosened dainties far and wide.

Mornings, I lie in bed reading . . . in bliss.

Filmy sheer white curtains lift and gently billow on the air dancing between my room's two huge garden-facing windows, fresh scents swirling with them.

I cannot help closing my eyes in peace, inhaling deeply of the mingled fragrances, smiling in closed-lipped contentment. 

Bright blue sky, no clouds.

I shall meander out to the hose in my herb garden to lightly sprinkle newly sprouting basil, parsley, and cilantro, then, give drinks to the other darlings.

I've already picked a heaping bowlful of red sweet strawberries, stunned at the many ripe orbs peeking out from under sturdy green leaves! 

I snap a handful of warm-from-the-sun asparagus. Prolific, as is everything else in my gardens this year.

Artisan French toast with berries for breakfast along with roasted just-picked-asparagus, and a mug of the tea my daughter gave me for Mother's Day.

Sweet June!

Biden the Literary Pirate

When I was a young woman, 1987 I think it was, I first heard, on the evening news at 6:00, the word plagiarize in connection with a smug and sleazy senator, Joe Biden, unknown to me at that time. 

Grabbing a heavy, bright red Webster's dictionary, I looked up the word. I was appalled. I thought surely the discovery of his crime was the end of this guy's political career.

Ever since then, in my mind the word plagiarize travels interchangeably with the name Joe Biden. He copies the words of other people, presenting them as his own, never noting their true authorship. He plagiarizes.

He's done this throughout his life beginning in school and most

recently during his crabbily-delivered Pointe du Hoc speech of Friday, June 7, 2024, many passages lifted from President Ronald Reagan's Boys of Pointe du Hoc speech from 1984. Yes, a speech writer no doubt wrote the entire body of Biden's speech. But Biden spoke it; the onus is on him to check it out, or have it checked out, especially given his, ahem, habit of cheating. He is the President now, after all. 

Sloppy and sleazy, the heart of a con man, a cheater, a puny fellow who tries to stand on the shoulders of giants, but he cannot rise that high. Ever. 

Joe Biden = plagiarist = sleazy, in 1987, sleazy in 2024.

Here is a link to the text of Reagan's speech, which is one for the ages, a beautiful, dignified, honorable speech worth reading. It cleansed my mental palate after listening to Mr. Plagiarist just now.

Here is a link to a video of Reagan's speech. 

Truth matters.

Omaha Beach, 2017 Photo: Cherie Klusman

Seeing One Another

   "We were created to look at one another, weren't we?" -  Degas

Place de la Concorde, 1875, Edgar Degas

Face to face, eyes upon eyes, feeling the heat and breath from another's body, smelling their clothing and perfume, watching the wind play with their hair, patting them on the arm in comfort, a teasing punch on the shoulder, seeing each other in person, this is normal human interaction.

Screens are abnormal.

And we are paying a price for our abnormality.

Unplug with me. 

Unplug from screens and walk away from fakery in comparison, forgery, manipulation, fake scripted and curated lives with unrealistic standards of plastic beauty. Succumb to the phony no more. 

Walk into real life, real living, flaws and all.

Live amongst people. Genuine people.

We were indeed created for each other.