Writing

“Woolf penned roughly 535 words and crossed out 73 of them, netting her 462 words for her day’s work. Let’s say she worked for three hours. That’s about 178 words an hour including the words she deleted—and Woolf was writing at the height of her creative powers.” 

                                    — Louise DeSalvo

A Reverie

A Reverie, 1868, John Everett Millais.

Summer Girl

Truth

“Neither Darwin nor Nietzsche was politically correct, fortunately for us.” 
                          

                                    — Daniel C. Dennett

The Secret by Eleanor Fortescue Brickdale

Eleanor Fortescue Brickdale (1871-1945), The Secret. Pencil, watercolour.

This Day...This Night

When you know you are running out of time, the lens through which you view life is suddenly very clear and more focused. And everything you feel is razor sharp.

When the World Seems Overwhelmingly Grim

“You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming.”

                                                            — Pablo Neruda

Princess with a Spindle by Hanna Pauli

'Princess with a Spindle' • Hanna Pauli, 1896

Marc Chagall quote

"If all life moves inevitably towards its end, then we must, during our own, colour it with our colours of love and hope.” 

                            — Marc Chagall

Johnny, four years later

  Today is John's birthday. It is the fourth birthday that I have celebrated without him, because in my heart there is always a little celebration that he was born and lived and that he loved me. We were two oddballs, little freaks, outsiders, desperately romantic people looking for a connection and we found it. That's a miracle, because as I live and breathe now, I see so many in the world who never experience that sort of miracle. During this self-quarantine due to Covid-19, I've had a lot of time alone to reflect on the beauty that one single human being can be. And he was beautiful. Funny. Smart. Kind. His kindness made him a great favorite among so many groups of people. His work ethic, his ability to negotiate challenges, his willingness to listen.

And he listened....

This is one of the things I miss so much.

I remember the day this photo was taken. He loved his grandchildren so much and he told me personally that his deepest regret in dying was that he would not live to see them as teenagers and adults. And he meant it. 

There are some aspects and circumstances that I have yet to address concerning his death. And I suppose his "dying." But I do possess an inkling of what they are. There is no dress rehearsal for such an event and it was so tragic and painful an experience that I did not have the ability to view it from any judicious position. I had only one stance, that of trying to mitigate his suffering and I suppose my own while it was happening. There is a little lie that  caregivers tell themselves when they are caring for a loved one who is dying. It is this: "I will keep you alive, one day at a time."  I tried.

Happy Birthday, Johnny.

Sign, Still The Widow.

John Lewis quote

"You must be bold, brave, and courageous and find a way... to get in the way." 

                            —John Lewis

The Shrinking Season by Michael R. Burch

The Shrinking Season

by Michael R. Burch

 

With every wearying year

the weight of the winter grows

and while the schoolgirl outgrows

her clothes,

the widow disappears

in hers.

It's July, people!

Wow!  July is here, already the 7th of the month. Time flies when you are having fun. I suppose time flies when you are miserable too. Ben came today and he mowed the yard and he and I worked for nearly three hours in the backyard, cleaning up. It was hot and I think it felt somewhere around 100 degrees out in the sun. I had to stop two or three times, drink water and rest. Getting old. After he left, the heat was really oppressive and one of those storms blew up. The rain poured for another hour. I've had a good start to the month if now an awkward one. Too much going on, too many things fluttered around my head, that antsy feeling I always get when I want something to be done before it is done and I know I am just going to have to be patient.  So grateful that I have survived depression and am drug free. I keep posting this because I don't like chemicals  messing with my head, even when I know they are doing the right things. I just don't. And now I am free of them and still doing very well. I have to keep a close eye on my moods, how I sleep, and how I handle stress. It all looks good.

I bought a nice camera and some lens. The lens are everything and the most expensive things. I am interested in low light photography at the moment. I want to do some interiors with people. I want black and white. I researched it for nearly a year because I wanted to do what some film people do with a digital camera. So many people were helpful in buying the right tools to do this. Not the most expensive, the ones that worked for me, a beginner. Pleased so far. Lots of practice.

The novel is going good. Kind of scary. So many years of trying and lots of failures. Now that I am moving along without too much fuss, it's kind of scary. But it's not so much work that it feels bad or overwhelming. I can deal. I have another couple projects working side by side. Nothing ambitious as the novel and it's all good. Not too much work. Not a form of procrastination either. 

I miss Johnny. I've been alone so much of this year due to C-19. Not having my loved ones around more makes me miss him, but I am not too weepy or sad. He's been gone for nearly four years now. I am used to sleeping alone. I am used to doing everything alone. I know I am alone.

Listening to Placebo's Loud Like Love right now. Molko has worked for sincerity here. He's still rootless. He's still a bit sad as ever. He's still alone, too. I wonder if he is like that now?  If he is still as rootless as ever? It's 2020. Soon we will have new music and I'll be able to hear it, if the rootlessness is still there.

Ben and I ended our day with a serious talk on politics, the nature of fascism in our country and how people are so divided. I could only think of how fragile everything really is. Because of my childhood in the South, I've never really believed in American Exceptionalism. Oh, I know we have done good things. But we are still a wild and highly reactive political beast. I've given all my children a free press to move, knowing I would not. Of course, Ben and I are realists. We are not cynics, but we have a good sense of what is happening. It's troubling. It's all troubling.

I thought about love today. Real love. 

When You Are Old

WHEN you are old and grey and full of sleep, 
And nodding by the fire, take down this book, 
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look 
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; 

How many loved your moments of glad grace, 
And loved your beauty with love false or true, 
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, 
And loved the sorrows of your changing face; 

And bending down beside the glowing bars, 
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled 
And paced upon the mountains overhead 
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.” 

                                 ― W.B. Yeats